Two English Queens and Philip

ILLUSTRATIONS

TWO ENGLISH QUEENS AND PHILIP — CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY 1552-1553

At an uncovered table, upon which rested a clock, a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and some other trifles, there sat a prematurely aged man of fifty-two with a long, fair, sallow face and a white beard. His great, projecting nether-lip was cracked and sore with fever, and between it and the tongue there lay a fresh green leaf to give coolness and moisture. His hands and feet were distorted by gout; and his fur-lined, black gown clung around a once-stalwart frame now shrunken with sickness. On his right hand at the other side of the table a stout, somewhat pursy, middle-aged English gentleman, with his cap in his hand and in an attitude of profound respect, was delivering a speech in Italian, to which the old man was listening with eager attention, now and again painfully raising his hand to his flat black velvet cap in salute when the name of King Edward was mentioned. It was in the little city of Landau in the Bavarian Palatinate, and Sir Richard Moryson, the English Ambassador, had ridden from Spires, nearly twenty miles away, that day, the 4th October, 1552, bringing his message to the greatest potentate on earth, the Emperor Charles V.

Fate had dealt hardly with the Emperor of late, and the impossible task he had assumed was breaking him down mentally and physically. Once again he had found himself faced, not only by his old enemy France, but by his own German Princes; and solely by flight and good luck had he escaped capture at the hands of the Judas whom he had made powerful at the expense of right and justice, Maurice of Saxony. From sheer impotence to struggle further, the Emperor had been forced to accept the humiliating terms of the Peace of Passau dictated to him by the Lutheran Princes. But free now from danger from his own people, he had turned again to cope with the foreign ally of his rebel vassals, determined this time to make a supreme effort to crush his French rival utterly before his growing infirmities crushed him.

As he had always done throughout his reign at such a juncture, he looked to England for aid. The insults offered by Henry VIII. to his House and to the Catholic faith, whose champion he was, had not been able to alienate the Emperor, who well knew that with England permanently on the side of France against him, the vast ambitions he cherished for himself, his son, and his country were doomed to failure; and now, notwithstanding the still more aggressive Protestantism of young Edward VI. and his mentors, it was as necessary to Charles as ever it had been to secure the goodwill of England in his struggle against France in defence of his own Netherlands. So long as Charles had been fighting his German Lutheran subjects it was hopeless for him to bid for Northumberland’s help; and one of the considerations that led him to accept the terms imposed upon him by Maurice and the Germans was that thereby he might the better enlist his old ally England against the monstrous coalition of France, the Pope, and the Turk. The suggestion for an alliance had reached Northumberland from Charles’ sister, Mary Queen of Hungary, his Regent of the Netherlands; and Moryson had received his answer from England whilst he was following a day’s march behind the Emperor and his army, who were on their way from Austria to Flanders when Charles had fallen ill at Landau.

Much dulcet verbiage there was in Moryson’s address, and much vague desire expressed on the part of the English King—or, rather, the Duke of Northumberland—to join a coalition against the Turk; but what Charles so eagerly listened for—a declaration against the French—came not; though he knew that the English had just then a bitter quarrel of their own with France about the seizure of English ships and cargoes by French privateers. Charles lisped and mumbled much at the best of times, but now that he had the green leaf on his lip, it was difficult for Moryson to understand what he said in reply to the speech, which, indeed, the Emperor interrupted more than once in his anxiety to get at the important point of it. “He could not forget,” he said, “the love of Henry VIII. for him, shown at sundry times, nor betray the trust the late King had put in him in asking him to protect his young son. He would never forget the amity that for many years had lasted between England and his House, and he had perpetually tried to preserve this ancient friendship.” Then, raising his voice and speaking more emphatically, he said that friendships that had long been tried and found good should be made much of. Charles was not a man to wear his heart upon his sleeve; and his stolid face and leaden eyes as a rule gave no key to his thoughts; but Moryson says that on this occasion “he did so use his eyes, so move his head and order his countenance, ... as I do surely think he meant the most of what he said. Sure am I that he is too wise not to wish the King’s Majesty surely his.”

That Charles was sincere in his wish to gain the help of England against France on this, as on all other similar opportunities, did not require much penetration to understand; but when Moryson left the Imperial presence and came to close quarters with Charles’s minister de Granvelle, the wily ecclesiastic and future Cardinal tried what cajolery could do the further to persuade the Englishman of the goodwill of the Emperor, and his wish for England’s friendship. “He [the Emperor] only wished,” he said, “that he found in the rest of the Princes the like godly mind as in King Edward, his good brother, and did trust he should be a king of as great honour as hath been in England this hundred years. This and a hundred times as much he spake with such affection as, if words may be thought to mean what they say, there can be no more wished for than is to be hoped for.”⁠[1] There was no thought yet of the young King’s premature death; but Northumberland had many bitter enemies at home, and to him it was a matter of policy to secure for himself a powerful supporter on the Continent. The Catholic and Spanish interest being naturally against him for his religious action and his treatment of the Princess Mary, he had always hitherto looked towards France as his friend; but the maritime aggression of the French and ancient prejudice had aroused a bitter feeling against them generally in England; and it behoved Northumberland at this juncture to make an appearance at least of conciliating the ancient ally of England, the Emperor-king of Spain and monarch of the Netherlands. To Northumberland in the circumstances this was a passing expediency: to Charles the alliance or benevolent neutrality of England was a permanent necessity if his cause and country were to prevail.

This necessity became more pressing still three months after the interview just described. The Emperor with a demoralised and discontented army laid siege to Metz, which the French had captured from him, and after months of effort and hardship in the depth of winter he was obliged to retreat, defeated and heartsick; already swearing that he would turn monk: “for fortune, like a very strumpet, doth reserve her favours for the young.” In his palace at Brussels—sick, sorry, and dejected—he was obliged to haggle with the German Princes as to the price of their aid to fight the French. His darling son Philip, they stipulated, must be separated from the succession to the Empire, and the dream of the Emperor’s life to leave Philip strong enough to triumph where he himself had failed must be forfeited. The French had stirred up trouble, too, in the Emperor’s Italian dominions; the Turk was dominating the Mediterranean with the blessing of the Christian Pope; the Netherlands were sore and angry at the war taxes and the presence of marauding Spanish soldiery; the Imperial ministers were at deadly feud with each other; and on all sides Charles was surrounded by debts and difficulties. If only England could be prevailed upon to divert the French by attacking them in the Channel during the coming spring campaign, the tide of victory for the Emperor might yet be turned and France be rendered powerless. That, however, was the last thing that suited Northumberland’s book.

The continuance of the war, nevertheless, was a standing danger to England itself, for it would have been impossible for her very long to have stood by idly whilst the French overran Flanders; and Northumberland made desperate efforts to bring about peace between the two antagonists. To all approaches in this sense the Emperor and his sister, the Queen-Regent of the Netherlands, could only point to the aggressive action and impossible demands of the King of France. “And,” writes Moryson in April, 1553, “whyle all these sturres ar growing great in Germanie, and whyle the French King is plying both sides with secret aydes and unseen practices, th’ Emperor keepyth his bed as unfyt to hear of the myschiefs that grow rownd about him, as unable to devise how to remedie them if they were told him.”

All through the spring, however, the Emperor’s officers worked hard to muster his armies in Germany and Flanders to face the French and save the Netherlands. Northumberland still pressed upon both sides the mediation of the King of England in their quarrel, but in the midst of these negotiations in April, 1553, the new Imperial general, young Prince Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy, suddenly dashed upon the French frontier-fortress of Thérouenne and inflicted a heavy defeat upon the Emperor’s enemies. Northumberland’s new embassy to urge peace upon Charles found less ready response even than before, whilst the King of France in no wise abated his extravagant claims now that the Emperor was looked upon as sick unto death. When the English envoys at length gained audience of Charles in Brussels early in June, 1553, they found him with his gouty limbs propped up, “looking very pale, weak, lean, and feeble,” though his eyes were still bright and his mind clear. “Marry, to judge him by our sight, we must say that he appeareth unto us rather a man of short time rather than continuance.”⁠[2]⁠

How important the life or death of the Emperor was at that juncture to England, few people outside the immediate circle of Northumberland’s friends fully understood. Already dark rumours were spreading abroad that the slight indisposition of the boy King of England was really a mortal malady. If Charles died first, it might easily be foreseen that the break up of his Empire and the confusion resulting from the demise of his many Crowns would deprive his successor of the power at the critical moment to interfere with Northumberland’s plans to exclude the Princess Mary from the throne and to perpetuate the Protestant régime in England under his own Dudley descendants. If, on the other hand, Edward died whilst the Emperor’s power was intact, it was certain that such support as he could give would go to his cousin Mary Tudor. To Spain and Flanders the goodwill of England was the crucial point upon which their future power and prosperity turned. To gain that, Charles had already condoned and suffered much, and there was hardly any sacrifice too great for him if he could win it now. With Mary on the throne and at his bidding—for he had been her only friend in all her tribulations—the sympathy of her country would be secure to him, and he and his could face France with confidence. So Charles and his Ministers were alert for every whisper as to Edward’s sickness, and the English envoys who were at his Court grew daily more apprehensive at what would happen to them and their master if the young King died before the old Emperor.

On the 24th June Sir Philip Hoby, one of the English envoys in Brussels, received a visit from Evered, “the King’s jeweller dwelling at Westminster,” who had just come from Antwerp. In that city, he reported, it was current, and wagers laid on it, that King Edward was already dead, and that Mary had succeeded. To make matters more threatening for Northumberland’s friends, it was further stated that the Emperor was sending to England with all speed three Catholic Flemish statesmen to be councillors of the new Queen of England. Well might Hoby in his private letter to Cecil, written the next day, exclaim in dismay: “Pray God that England’s wickedness may not be the cause of His taking away the King”; for if the country was to be guided by Charles’s councillors, of whom Hoby held but a poor opinion, then goodbye to Northumberland’s ambitions and to the prosperity of all his friends. “England would go to utter ruin,” he said, “if ruled by such men.”⁠[3]⁠

The three envoys sent by the Emperor to capture England for Spanish ends when Edward should die had indeed received their instructions two days before Hoby wrote his letter to Cecil. They were all men of mark—Jean de Montmorenci, Lord of Courrières, Jacques de Marnix, Lord of Tholuze, both members of the highest Flemish nobility, and one of the Emperor’s Masters of Requests, a keen, sagacious lawyer named Simon Renard. Charles had maintained a minister resident in London, one Schefyne, who became Chancellor of Brabant, but for so important a mission as that now in hand he was considered inadequate; and in right of his experience and ability Simon Renard, though inferior in point of rank to his colleagues, became the real leader of the embassy. The envoys were to seek audience of Northumberland and Edward, and to say that, as the King of France had sent a secretary to visit him on account of his sickness, the Emperor, whose affection for him was infinitely greater, could do no less. All sorts of assurances of friendship and goodwill towards England were to be given, and care was to be taken in any case to conciliate Northumberland. “But,” continue the instructions, “if you arrive too late, you must take counsel together and act for the best for the safety of our cousin the Princess Mary, and secure, if possible her accession to the Crown: whilst doing what you see necessary to exclude the French and their intrigues. You must endeavour also to maintain the confidence and good neighbourship which it is so important that our Flemish States and Spain should enjoy with England for mutual trade and intercourse; and especially to prevent the French from getting their foot in, or gaining the ear of the men who now rule England, the more so if it be for the purpose of troubling us.”⁠[4]⁠

Already news had reached Flanders that Northumberland would endeavour to exclude Mary from the throne on the death of her brother; and although the Emperor foresaw that in such case the life of his cousin would be in grave peril, especially if French aid were given to Northumberland, the principal efforts of the envoys were to be directed to assuring the English Government, in any case, that the Emperor was their real friend and not France, the ancient foe of England. If Northumberland and his friends feared that Mary would contract a foreign marriage under the Emperor’s influence, they were to be assured that no such thing was thought of, and Northumberland was to be given to understand that any husband chosen by him for the Princess as future Queen would be willingly accepted, though the actual fulfilment of the promise was to be postponed as long as possible in order that Mary might, if she was strong enough later, avoid compliance with it altogether. The envoys, indeed, were to promise anything and everything to secure the throne for Mary. No change should be made in the government or in religion, and full indemnity should be given for all past acts against her. It is clear throughout these instructions, however, that, much as Charles desired the accession of his cousin Mary, he was prepared to accept any solution that would enable him to remain friendly with England and exclude French influence from the country.

Before Renard and his colleagues arrived in England, Schefyne wrote to the Emperor the news of the King’s expected death, and the patent intrigues of Northumberland to exclude Mary from her inheritance; and when, on the 6th July, 1553, the Imperial ambassadors entered London, though Northumberland’s officers greeted them as though all was well, they promptly discovered that Edward was no more for the world, and that everything was prepared for the elevation of Jane Grey to the English throne. On the day after their arrival, the 7th July, the ambassadors learnt secretly that Edward had died the previous night, and that Mary in fear for her life had fled to Norfolk and had resolved to proclaim herself Queen as soon as her brother’s death was officially announced. In their perplexity at this critical state of affairs, and their dread at driving the ruling power of England into enmity with the Emperor, the envoys took the unheroic course of blaming Mary’s bold action instead of supporting it. Certain it is that if the Princess had waited upon her Imperial kinsman’s effective aid, her opportunity would have been missed and she would never have been Queen of England. She had, indeed, no one to thank for her crown but herself; and the attitude of the Imperial envoys towards her in her hour of trial proves once more the impossibility of the Emperor and his son allowing any considerations, either of religion or kinship, to stand in the way of their securing the co-operation of England to their ends.

Renard and his colleagues were weak reeds for Mary to depend upon, and she did well to go her own way, understanding the feeling of her countrymen better than they did. The envoys found Mary’s action in defying Northumberland: “Strange, difficult, and dangerous.... All the forces of the country are in the hands of the Duke, and the Lady has no hope of obtaining forces nor aid to oppose him, whilst her proclamation of herself as Queen will justify the new King and Queen in attacking her by force, and she will have no means of resisting them unless your Majesty stands by her. Considering your war with the French, it seems unadvisable for your Majesty to arouse English feeling against you, and the idea that the Lady will gain Englishmen on the ground of religion is vain.”⁠[5] Serious remonstrances were sent to Mary herself by the Imperial envoys, pointing out her danger and the hopelessness of her position in the face of Northumberland’s supposed strength; and at the same time they laboured hard to dissuade the Duke from the idea that they had been sent to England to sustain Mary’s cause.

The Emperor himself was no bolder than his envoys. “If you cannot draw the Duke of Northumberland to our cousin’s cause, you may see if you can gain over some of the nobles by promises about religion or otherwise, in order to alarm the Duke into showing some favour to the Princess.”⁠[6] Renard and his colleagues had been in London five days and had already assumed the attitude towards Mary just referred to, before Secretary Petre came officially from Northumberland on the 10th July to inform them of the King’s death. They merely begged the Council to be kind to Lady Mary, although they well knew that she was mustering her forces and issuing her decrees in Norfolk, and that Jane was to be crowned in the Tower of London on the following day; after which they feared that Mary would be captured and done to death as a rebel.

All through the critical time, whilst Mary was sturdily asserting her rights and gathering her friends, the envoys of her cousin were thus paltering, in mortal fear of driving the new government into the arms of France, limiting themselves to a repetition of the mission originally intended for Edward, and: “recommending Lady Mary to them with all softness and modesty, without entering into any contention as to the succession, which would be of no use.” In the meanwhile Northumberland’s cause grew more and more hopeless, though the Imperial envoys did not even yet understand it. English Catholics and others came to them begging for information as to the Emperor’s attitude, and urging him to make at least some declaration in his cousin’s favour; but all the answer they got was a mild deprecation of violence of any sort, and an appeal to the Emperor for instructions. The over-cautious ambassadors first began to pluck up courage when the heralds proclaimed in London the accession of Jane and her Dudley husband on the 11th July amidst the silence of the frowning citizens; but when on the following day, 12th July, a deputation of Jane’s Council, Lord Cobham and Dr. Mason, came to inform them of the accession of the new Queen, and told them haughtily that their embassy had come to an end, as they were known to be in England only to help Mary, the ambassadors replied with bated breath and whispering humbleness, and with perfect truth, that they had done nothing of the sort. Their only mission, they said, which they had hitherto no opportunity of carrying out, was to thank King Edward for his efforts to bring about peace, and to assure the Government of the Emperor’s desire to be friendly with England in spite of French lies and intrigue.

On the 13th July the ambassadors had their first audience with the Council. Northumberland, of course, was absent: he had just started on his disastrous expedition to Cambridge, already a beaten man in the face of Mary’s growing popularity; but Arundel, Shrewsbury, Pembroke, Mason, Petre, and others received them. Renard was the spokesman of the envoys, and he laboured hard, even now, to persuade the Englishmen of the Emperor’s desire to banish from their minds all suspicion of his motives—a suspicion, he said, engendered solely by French misrepresentations. He was naturally anxious for the safety and good treatment of his cousin, Lady Mary, but he had no desire whatever to use her as a political instrument, or to promote her marriage with a foreigner, or indeed to interfere in any way with the established order of affairs in England. The Emperor’s message was received courteously, as well it might be, for the Councillors were already trembling in their shoes, and the envoys were requested to defer their departure from England until further instructions came from the Emperor—a notable change of tone since their interview with Cobham and Mason the day before. The ambassadors, however, were still as far as ever from understanding the real state of affairs, even at the date of their next letter (16th July). “We consider it certain that before four days are over the Lady will be in the Duke’s power if she has no force to resist him.... He is raising troops everywhere and is strong on land and sea, so that we do not see how those who secretly hold with the Lady will be able or dare to declare themselves. We have no confirmation that the Lady is aided by so many people as was reported.... On the contrary, a messenger from the Lady brought us to-day the copy of the Council’s reply to her letter to them, and a verbal message from her telling us that she saw the ruin into which she would fall unless your Majesty helped her.”⁠[7] If this had really been the case, Mary would never have been Queen of England, for the Emperor plainly told his envoys that, for an infinity of extremely sage and prudent reasons which he detailed at great length, he could not give the help that Mary hoped for. New credentials, indeed, were sent to them, and instructions that they were again to ply the Council with assurances that nothing was farther from the Emperor’s thoughts than to interfere in any way in England. A mild word or two was to be introduced on behalf of Mary; but the whole object of the mission was to induce the English Government, whatever it might be, to renounce the French friendship and depend solely upon their ancient ally the Monarch of Spain and Flanders.⁠[8]⁠

Before these instructions reached London, Northumberland’s house of cards had fallen. His son, Henry Dudley, had in vain prayed for help from the King of France; but the latter was now at grips with the Emperor and dared not send troops to England, where the dread and hatred of the French was one of the principal reasons of Northumberland’s fall. The Duke himself was hopeless and helpless at Cambridge, ready to save his unworthy skin by throwing up his bonnet and crying, “Long live Queen Mary!” when in spite of him the Princess he had just declared a bastard was acclaimed Queen; whilst the miserable Councillors he had coerced into being his tools in London were tumbling over each other in their anxiety to disclaim him and betray the unhappy girl whom his ambition was to lead to an untimely death.

On the 19th July the Earl of Shrewsbury and Dr. Mason came to the Imperial ambassadors in a very contrite mood. There was no talk of their embassy being ended now, no haughty reproaches for their supposed support to the bastard Lady Mary. After much hemming and hawing, the deputation of the Council announced to Renard and his colleagues that they came with glad news, which they thought would be welcome to the Emperor. All that the Council had done previously had been under the coercion of the wicked Duke of Northumberland, whom they repudiated. They now all acknowledged Mary as their true Sovereign, and they had decided to proclaim her publicly that day in London. To the delight of the Imperial envoys, but still apparently to their bewildered surprise at the failure of all their predictions, Mary was proclaimed both in the Tower and the City amidst the frantic joy of the people. Bonfires blazed, feasts were spread, wine ran freely in London,⁠[9] and coins galore were scattered; for the rightful Queen had come into her own at last, whilst the “nine-days’ Queen”—the poor fated girl in the grim fortress that had been her only palace—found herself a prisoner instead of a potentate; and the cowardly craven whose tool she had been was basely striving to win mercy, if not favour, from the proud Princess whom he had injured beyond forgiveness.

Still intent, as ever, upon gaining the friendship of England, no matter who reigned over it, the first instructions of the Emperor to his envoys when he heard the good news of Mary’s accession were to urge upon the new Queen the acceptance, at all events at first, of the status quo: not to be in a hurry to change anything, to bow to the decisions of Parliament, to practise her own religion only in private, if necessary. “And above all things she should be a good Englishwoman, and let people understand that she has no intention of acting alone and without the advice and co-operation of her nobles and the Parliament.” An assurance might now be given to her of the Emperor’s desire and intention of supporting her—as had always indeed been his intention, he said—and upon her, as formerly upon her brother, was to be urged the first and principal points of all—distrust of the French and the conviction that the real, trustworthy friend of England was the Sovereign of Spain and Flanders.

Mary was perfectly well aware that she owed her Crown to her own right and to the boldness of the action she had taken, and she was not inclined to accept to their full the moderating counsels of the Emperor, who had done so little for her in her need. But she also understood that her position was, as yet, far from stable; and with French intrigue against her and in favour of the régime she had supplanted, she turned naturally to her powerful Spanish kinsman for such support as she might need, as well as for counsel. So anxious was Charles to consolidate her position as Queen, that the advice he gave her might rather have come from a Protestant constitutional monarch than from the absolute champion of Catholicism. She was urged to moderate her religious zeal, to abandon her intention of celebrating the obsequies of Edward with Catholic rites, and whilst using severity with the few leaders of the revolt against her, to be clement to the great majority, and not to begin her reign by any vengeful action either of her own or of the friends who had suffered under the rule of her brother. Above all, she was recommended to summon Parliament in the old form and banish most of the foreigners, especially Frenchmen, of course, from her realm. With these sage counsels the Emperor sent Mary a promise that if the French attempted anything against her, she might depend upon the aid of Imperial troops under the Prince of Savoy.

The very first letter written by the Emperor after he had news of Mary’s proclamation instructed Renard to tell the new Queen that it would be advisable for her to take a husband at once, and to say that the Emperor would support her in any choice she might make. There were really very few princes whom Mary could have chosen. If she married an Englishman, there was none of fitting rank and faith to be her husband but Courtenay, whom she had just released from his long durance in the Tower, and the elderly Churchman, Cardinal Pole, both of these being of the blood royal of England. Mary, in violet velvet, rode in triumph from New Hall in Essex to the Tower of London on the 3rd August. A thousand velvet-clad courtiers followed in her train and ten thousand armed men formed her bodyguard. As she passed through the leafy lanes and into the smiling villages, and so to the eastern gate of her capital, no discordant voice reached her. Close behind her in a litter rode her younger sister, Elizabeth, with her fair skin and yellow hair, composed and self-possessed; but, as Mary well knew, ready to make common cause with her enemies if it would serve her own ends. Before Mary had left New Hall the clever, courtly French ambassador, Antoine de Noailles, had ridden out from London to greet her. Noailles’s task was a difficult one. He had done his best, almost openly, to aid Northumberland and exclude half-Spanish Mary from the throne; indeed, the Londoners, who hated him and his country, were loudly proclaiming that six thousand armed Frenchmen had been ready to invade England in the interests of Queen Jane.⁠[10] But Noailles was supple and insinuating, and the first speech he made to Mary when he greeted her was an assurance of the devotion of his master to her and an offer of armed assistance if she needed it. Mary was polite but cool, for she knew, notwithstanding Noailles’s charming, that she had nothing to hope for from France. As she entered London there rode also in her train the Imperial ambassadors, jealous and distrustful of the Frenchman, who they knew was trying to checkmate them. Beyond formal greetings in the presence of many watchful eyes Renard had not been able to obtain private conference of the Queen, who remained in the Tower of London awaiting her journey to Richmond. Mary herself, knowing who her friends were, was naturally anxious to have speech with the representatives of her Imperial cousin, to whom she looked for guidance, and she suggested that Renard should seek entrance to the Tower in disguise to see her.⁠[11] The ambassador, however, appears to have thought it safer and more dignified to have patience for a few days until, in the comparative freedom of Richmond, he could see the Queen without attracting so much attention as in the Tower. In the meanwhile he had been able in private conversation with Paget, of the Council, to broach the subject of the Queen’s marriage. From him he had learnt positively that the current rumour of the intention of Mary to make Courtenay her Consort was untrue. “She was against such a match, because she distrusted the English nation, knowing it to be treacherous and fickle, because Courtenay is too young and lowly, her heart being high and magnanimous. Besides which, if she married an Englishman, the children—if she had any—would not be so much thought of as if her husband were a foreign prince.”

The Emperor’s son Philip, a young widower of twenty-seven, after several years of widowhood, was betrothed to his cousin, the Princess of Portugal, whose rich dowry was sorely needed by the Emperor for the war; but Renard well understood without instructions that if Mary of England could be won for the House of Spain, the gain would be infinitely greater than any Portuguese money dowry could bring. So he gently hinted to Paget in his talk that the Prince was not married yet, though the Spanish merchants in England had falsely reported that he was. Paget was doubtful. Yes, he said, no doubt the Queen’s marriage would be the richest one in the world, but it was not yet time to discuss it. Nevertheless, Renard decided when first he saw the Queen in private to mention Philip’s name as if by chance, “so as to put the idea of such a marriage into her head; for if she takes to it, she will be better able to convert her councillors to it than anybody else in the world.”

The idea once started was eagerly taken up by the Emperor—if, in fact, it did not originate with him—and no time was lost by him in preparing the ground on his side. He wrote to Philip as soon as Renard’s information reached him that Mary would probably favour a foreign marriage, recommending him to send from Spain a formal embassy to congratulate Mary upon her accession. But to this recommendation he added the hint that if Philip would break off the Portuguese match and consent to his marriage with the new Queen of England it would be a masterstroke of policy. Charles had not seen his son for two years, and although he knew well that Philip was dutiful, yet he did not venture to press him too urgently. The Prince was, as Granvelle wrote to Renard, a man of full age, with children,⁠[12] and the Emperor would do nothing decisive with regard to the English marriage unless Philip’s own inclinations led him to it. There was some fear on the part of the Emperor that Mary might think of himself for a husband. To this he had no inclination.⁠[13] He was, as we have seen, in declining health, and had in secret already made up his mind to embrace a monastic life as soon as he could cripple France and leave his son at peace. Pending Philip’s reply, Renard was instructed to keep the affair open with the Queen, always mentioning Philip as being the preferable parti, but without pledging him, “in case the Portuguese affair has gone too far, ... or if the Prince’s fancy alights elsewhere.” Even Courtenay, who was known to be intriguing with the French ambassador, was not to be banned entirely, though that idea was to be gently discouraged; “for if her fancy tends that way she will not fail, if she be like other women, to go on with it, and would never forgive you if you had said anything against it.”⁠[14]⁠

When, after all, Renard was received privately by the Queen in the Tower on the 6th August, he slily introduced the idea of marriage, after all the more prosaic points of his instructions had been disposed of. At the suggestion of a foreign match, but with no mention of Philip, Renard says: “She laughed, not once only but several times, whilst she regarded me in a way that proved the idea to be very agreeable to her. She clearly made me understand that she would not attempt or accept an English marriage, but preferred a foreign one, ... by which I recognised that she had her usual pride and inclination to speak of her rank and grandeur. From what I can understand, her idea is that the Emperor should propose some one to her, ... and I am in good hope that if his Majesty inclines to our Prince [Philip], it would be the most welcome piece of news that could be taken to her.”⁠[15] But whilst this was the case, the observant ambassador also recognised that the English Council would not be so easily pleased as the middle-aged Princess, who for her thirty-nine years of life had been starved of love—she, a Tudor, true daughter of her father, whose passions and affections were strong; she, a Queen, who had been outraged and insulted for years and now hungered for the vengeance upon her foes that was only possible with the possession of power such as the Imperial connection could give her. The French, said Renard with perfect truth, were leaving no stone unturned, by intrigues, bribes, and promises, to make the idea of a Spanish alliance hateful to the English people; and if Mary’s councillors were to be gained to the Spanish side, it could only be done by lavish expenditure both in ready money and in future pledges. Gardiner, the most powerful of Mary’s Ministers, was strongly in favour of his late pupil Courtenay as a Consort for the Queen, and even Paget and Petre, both pro-Spaniards and former pensioners of the Emperor, looked askance at a match which it was seen would be hateful to the great majority of the English people.

As week followed week—for the road between Spain and Flanders was a long one—it is plain to see that Mary became somewhat restive at the delay. Renard saw her privately at Richmond early in September, and, in order to start the conversation on the subject, mentioned the common talk in London of her intended marriage with Courtenay. Mary coldly replied that she had never spoken to the man except when she pardoned him. She knew nobody in England whom she would care to marry. Had the Emperor, she asked, made up his mind about recommending any suitor to her? Renard had much to say about the difficulty of selecting a fitting person, though he was sure that the Emperor would do his best. Renard dared not go too far, for no reply had yet been received from Philip; and rumours were current in London that his marriage with his Portuguese cousin was now irrevocably settled. But Renard began by mentioning the various unmarried Catholic Princes—the Archduke of Austria, the Prince of Savoy, the Princes of Ferrara and Florence, and even the Dauphin; to all of which Mary listened crossly, for she knew this was only fencing. “Of course, your Majesty,” continued Renard, “if you think twenty-seven or twenty-eight too young for a husband, I do not know any other Princes who are not too old.” Mary took the hint, for she knew that the age of Philip was twenty-seven, and she replied: “But your Prince is already married, I hear, to the Princess of Portugal.” Renard said that he did not think that the marriage was concluded yet, though he knew that it had been mentioned before the war;⁠[16] whereupon Mary, apparently losing patience at so much beating about the bush, determined to speak more plainly. She was sorry, she said, that Philip should marry his Portuguese cousin, as they were such near relatives. All the Princes that Renard had mentioned to her were very young—she might be the mother of any of them. She was even twelve years older than Prince Philip; besides which, the Prince would want to remain in Spain and his other dominions, and she knew how much English people objected to any reigning foreign Prince marrying an English Princess.⁠[17] When her father was alive, she continued, several proposed matches for her had fallen through for this reason alone; and when the late Duke of Orleans was proposed to her, the affair was prevented by the antagonism which always existed between England and France. She hoped the Emperor would bear this point in mind, and not recommend her to marry a man she had not seen and spoken to in England. Renard then began praising Philip’s good sense, judgment, and seriousness. He had already a son six or seven years old, he said, and was wise and experienced beyond his years. Mary, apparently thinking she had gone far enough, broke into Renard’s panegyrics and declared most emphatically that she had never felt the smart of what was called love, nor had she ever had a voluptuous thought. She had never had an idea of marriage until God called her to the throne, and now the step would be taken against her own inclination and on public grounds alone.

There need have been no misgivings as to Philip’s attitude in the matter. Throughout his life he made of himself a martyr to his duty. Overshadowed always by the immensity of the task confided to him and his House, awed by the greatness and majesty of his father, he looked upon himself from youth to age as an instrument in the hands of the Most High to compass the victory of righteousness upon the earth as he understood it, and incidentally to exalt Spain to the highest place among the nations. That human suffering had to be endured to arrive at the end was only an incident: that he himself, in his degree, should forego his own inclinations, his ease, his comfort, and his pleasures in favour of the great objects for which he lived, was to him quite natural and inevitable, and he accepted the fate without repining. The marriage with Mary—a woman whom he had never seen, who was twelve years his senior and no beauty at best—could not have been attractive to him. His domestic life with Doña Isabel de Osorio had apparently been harmonious; and the absence from Spain which the English marriage would entail was both inconvenient and unpleasant, whilst the necessary concessions in manner and demeanour to his wife’s English subjects would, perhaps, be more distasteful to him than any other of the sacrifices imposed upon him by the match. But, as his Spanish contemporary biographer says, like another Isaac he readily submitted himself to his father’s will and wrote without a day’s delay that the Portuguese match might still be avoided, and he had already taken steps in that direction, “cheerfully and unreservedly placing himself in the Emperor’s hands to do with him as he thought best in the interests of their great cause.”⁠[18] Two days after the Emperor had received the welcome letter from his son, a swift courier was speeding to England with instructions to Renard to propose Philip, Prince of Spain, as a husband for Queen Mary.

The occasion was one of supreme international importance. Ever since Ferdinand the Catholic sixty years before had betrothed Mary’s mother to the heir of Henry VII., the sovereign of Spain had been trying to win for his country the control of English policy, in order that France might be beaten in the struggle for the hegemony of Europe. The tremendous cataclysm of the Reformation, personal ambitions, the weakness and sensuality of Henry VIII., and unexpected deaths, had again and again frustrated the design. England had more than once fought by the side of France in the great Continental duel, and the English friendship upon which the House of Spain was forced to depend as one of the main elements of success, had been for all those sixty years an unstable quantity, though generally on the side of its traditional ally. But what was necessary for Charles and his son was a friendship that could be counted upon in all circumstances—an alliance that no bribes nor blandishments of Frenchmen and Lutherans could shake; and for the first time this seemed possible of attainment if by the marriage of Philip and Mary the crowns of England, Spain, and Flanders could rest upon the same brows.

To Mary of England, too, the match with her Spanish second cousin had more than a sentimental interest, strong as that was with her. The English people had rallied to her cause under the influence of their recognition of her legal right to the throne, and their detestation of Northumberland and his French friends; but Protestantism was undoubtedly strong, especially in London and the Eastern Counties, which had first acclaimed the new Queen; and it was evident to Mary that if she was to impose her faith upon the country, as she was determined to do, even against the advice of the Emperor, she must be able to depend upon some force independent of her own people to aid or support her at a pinch. France, of course, being out of the question for her, she could only look to a Spanish match to serve her turn. Mary shut her eyes obstinately to the vast change that had come over her country in the last thirty years. She believed, as did the Churchmen throughout Europe, that she only had to decree a return to the state of affairs prior to her father’s apostasy for the country to accept the change without demur. Pole was for extreme measures at once, and so, of course, was the Pope, Julius II.; but the Emperor, who in the supposed cause of religion was always ready to postpone religious considerations for politics, continued to advise Mary through Renard to go slowly and to avoid incensing her people until at least she was strong enough to coerce them. The marriage of Philip with the Queen therefore seemed to hold out to both contracting parties the ideal opportunity of attaining their great desire—in the one case the control of English policy to the detriment of France, and in the other the increment of strength necessary to force England once more into the fold of the Church.

Thenceforward for forty-five years Philip of Spain strove, often in almost impossible circumstances, to attain this end. There was no instrumentality left untried by him to secure it. Marriage, and proposals of marriage, wars, and threats of wars, arrogance, humility, diplomacy, bribery, subornation of treason and murder, were some of the means to which Philip in his long struggle appealed; for to him and his cause and country it was a matter of life and death; and it is my object to set forth in the following chapters from contemporary sources the story of this long series of efforts on the part of the Spanish King to win the support of England by fair means or foul. To regard Philip as a fiend, or even as a bad man, because in the cause of this life-struggle of his he assailed England with weapons that would now be rejected by any right-thinking statesman, would be unjust. The ethics of the time were widely different from those prevalent to-day; the supposed interest of the State was infinitely greater in proportion to the lives of individuals that is at present the case, whilst the assumed interests of religion—or, rather, of the orthodox Church—were considered by Philip to be so overwhelming as to condone any action necessary to serve them, no matter how criminal it would be if employed for other ends. No doubt, in the view of the present day, Philip blinded himself to a sense of right and wrong in his zeal to serve the cause for which he lived, namely, the dominance of Catholicism for the temporal benefit of Spain. But to him there was no wrong if it was done by his orders in the cause which he believed to be that of righteousness. Sacrifice and suffering seemed to him, as to most Spaniards of his day, a natural and necessary preparation for spiritual exaltation and triumph; and whilst he never flinched from inflicting suffering upon others, though naturally he was a tender-hearted man, he never spared himself in the same cause. Throughout his long life he made himself a martyr to what he conceived to be his duty; a slow, laborious, unimaginative, morbidly conscientious man, a good son, a good husband, and, according to his lights, a good father; kind and indulgent to his servants, patient under adversity and humble in success: indeed, a man endowed with most of the elements of righteousness; and yet with a sense of right so blunted by his zeal as to think that he might do God’s work with the weapons of the devil, and turn enemies into friends by fear. How these principles as applied to England ended in failure, it is the purpose of the present book to tell.

CHAPTER II 1553-1554

All London was ringing with preparations for the coming pageant of the Queen’s coronation. Fenchurch, Gracechurch, and Leadenhall, Cornhill, Chepe, and Saint Paul’s were erecting the scaffoldings for their triumphs, repainting and gilding gable ends and pinnacles, and trimming forth their fine stuffs and liveries in honour of the great day when the Queen was to ride in state from the Tower to Westminster.⁠[19] Away across the fields in the little sylvan palace of Saint James’s, Mary sat under her canopy in her audience chamber one day in late September, surrounded by courtiers, all, like the Queen herself, in a blaze of magnificence; for the prim Puritanism of the late reign had been banished as savouring of Reform, and the splendour of King Henry was being copied by his daughter. To one man alone had Mary somewhat sourly prescribed modesty in attire, and that was to Courtenay. The dissoluteness of this young man of twenty-six, who had never before been free since his childhood, had already shocked the austerely virtuous Mary, and had made his chances of winning her hand more impossible than ever. But neither she nor those around her could fail to see that the cunning Frenchman Noailles was still ostentatiously feasting and honouring him, and already the talk of the French party at Court was coupling the names of Courtenay and the Princess Elizabeth in a way that boded ill to Mary’s peace of mind. Courtenay had ordered a gorgeous suit of blue velvet covered with gold for the coming ceremony; but blue was the colour the Queen had chosen for her own outer garb, and she had no intention of allowing so much bravery to the man she knew was being made the tool of her enemies to injure her, and Courtenay was ordered to put his finery aside and wear more modest raiment. At the public audience Renard brought forward to present to the Queen two great Spanish nobles—Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza and Don Diego de Geneda—who were on their way from Flanders to Spain, the latter a member of Philip’s household. As the two gentlemen in their distinctive Spanish garb and with national gravity were led forward for presentation to the Queen, many scowling brows were bent upon them; for although the matter was supposed to be so secret, the talk of the Spanish marriage was already common at Court; and Noailles, in the deepest chagrin at the way things were tending, noticed that Don Diego de Geneda on this occasion had whispered conference with the Queen, unheard even by his colleague or by the Imperial ambassador.⁠[20]⁠

Whatever French gold or interest could effect to alarm people at the idea of the coming of a Spanish Consort was done. Stories of the terrible rule of the Inquisition in Spain, and of the pride and cruelty of Spaniards generally, were spread industriously by the agents of Noailles, and by the day fixed for the Queen’s state procession to Westminster, the 30th of September, 1553, London was almost in a panic of fear. The Queen had come in with promises of toleration, and already the zeal of the Churchmen and her own had belied her people’s hope for religious peace. Parliament had been summoned for the 5th October, specially for the purpose of restoring England to the orthodox Church; Cardinal Pole was known to be coming to the land of his fathers as the Legate of the Pope to receive the submission of England to the Power which King Henry had flouted so contemptuously; and already the dungeons in the Tower were being filled by the prelates of the newer ritual.

All the dazzling magnificence that accompanied the passage of the Queen through London from the Tower to Westminster, on the last day of September—all the official greetings, the frequent pageants at the street corners, and the wonder of the multitude at the rare show of sumptuous garb—could not banish the dread thought amidst the crowd that, perhaps, all this bravery was only a prelude to a Spanish domination over England. The nobles who rode in Mary’s train and filled the great Court offices in her household had most of them been enriched by the plunder of the monastic lands, and had their own reasons for dreading a return of the old order in its extreme form; though they did not know as yet that the Spanish Consort, whose advent they feared so much, would be the great modifying influence in their favour. Frenchmen and Venetians joined the alarmed Englishmen in their apprehensions of the coming change, but the few Spaniards in London were jubilant. One Spanish resident,⁠[21] who described the splendid show for the benefit of a noble patron in Spain, thus writes with reference to the match: “If the Lord vouchsafed us to behold this glorious day, what great advantage would befall our Spain in holding the Frenchmen in check, by the union of these kingdoms with his Majesty’s dominions. And were it only to preserve the States of Flanders, surely the Emperor and son must greatly desire it, for, as your Lordship knows well, the day that the Emperor dies the Low Countries will be in peril of attack from the French or of a German invasion under French auspices, help from Spain being so remote, and Flanders itself not being free from suspicion of revolt on the ground of religion or from the disaffection of the people towards Spaniards. It would be most advantageous, too, to Spain, for should aught happen to the Prince’s son (Don Carlos), the son born here would be King of both countries, which would be a good thing for the English too.... All the Catholics here would lift up their hands to God, for they love their country and the Queen, and especially Spain, for the sake of the good Queen Katharine; and the goodly here are so many that there are a hundred Catholics for every four heretics.”

With these mixed hopes and fears amidst the multitude, there went a general trust in, and affection for, the Queen personally. She had been ill-treated so long, as the people knew; she had grown faded and middle-aged under unjust oppression, and she was a true Royal Princess descended on both sides from kings of highest lineage. So when at the Abbey next day, 1st October, during the interminable ceremony of the coronation, Gardiner led the Queen, in her crimson velvet and ermine, to the four corners of the daïs and called in a loud voice, “Is this the true heir to this realm?” there was no hesitation, and all the lieges shouted as if with one voice, “Yea! yea! God save the Queen!”⁠[22]⁠

Parliament met on the 5th October. The Catholics in the country were unquestionably in a majority, though not so great, probably, as in the ratio of twenty-five to one, as the Spaniards asserted; and Mary had no difficulty in obtaining the repeal of all the anti-Papal laws which severed England from Rome. Gardiner was willing enough to aid the Queen in this; but, prompted by Noailles, he managed dexterously to get the House of Commons to vote an Address to the Queen, praying her not to marry a foreigner. This, it is true, voiced a very general feeling in the country, but the Queen had now (November) quite made up her mind; for she had seen a portrait of Philip by Titian, and had fairly fallen in love with the young, fresh-coloured man with the curly, yellow beard who was asking for her hand. So in a rage, and after much delay, Mary received the deputation of the Commons led by the Speaker. “This is one of the Chancellor’s tricks,” she muttered, “and I will be equal with him for it.” Then haughtily addressing the deputation, she rebuked their presumption in attempting to dictate to her on such a matter, and said that if private persons were allowed to choose mates for themselves, surely sovereigns were not to be less privileged. This was the true Tudor attitude towards the representatives of the people; and the Queen, having legalised her religious changes, promptly dissolved Parliament.

Watchful eyes followed Renard everywhere. The Queen’s Council, with the exception of Paget, Arundel, and Petre, looked askance at him; French and Venetian spies at Court reported his every movement; and his own colleagues were bitterly jealous of him, as the marriage negotiation had been kept exclusively in his hands. For many days he could obtain no private access to Mary for the purpose of giving her the Emperor’s message; but at last, by Paget’s management, on the 10th October, he was introduced secretly into the Queen’s presence at Westminster. The Emperor deplored, said Renard, that his age and infirmities prevented him from offering his own hand in marriage to his cousin, as he would have wished; but that being impossible, he begged her to accept his only and beloved son as her husband. To the chagrin of Renard, Mary was now full of hesitation. What would her people say, and how could her Council be persuaded? She feared that when Philip succeeded his father, his many other realms would occupy the whole of his time, and that he would never be able to stay in England. Was Renard, moreover, quite sure of his character? He could not be so wise as the Emperor, and he was very young for her. Of course she would obey her husband, but he must not think for a moment that she would allow him to rule her State, nor could she give any offices to foreigners; and she threw out a strong hint that perhaps Philip’s Austrian cousin, Maximilian, would be a better husband for her, as she was absolutely free, and she had heard the Archduke was considered wise. Besides, if Philip was voluptuous in his ideas, she had no desire for anything of the sort at her age.

All these objections were, no doubt, only a display of becoming maiden modesty, but they somewhat disturbed Renard. He painted to her in lurid colours the enmities by which she was surrounded, and the dangers that threatened her—the intrigues of the French with Courtenay and Elizabeth, the menacing attitude of the Protestant party in the provinces—and Mary answered as best she might, asking Renard at last to put in writing the arguments he urged in favour of her marriage with Philip. Four days later he saw her again, and this time her hesitation took a more personal form. With tears in her eyes she seized the ambassador’s hands and conjured him to tell her truly whether Philip was so moderate, settled, and well-behaved as he said. On his life and honour the ambassador protested that he was, but still the perplexed Queen was unconvinced. If she could only have seen the Prince first, she said, she would be better able to judge. That, the ambassador gently told her, was not possible; but a good portrait of him could be sent to her, and with this she was obliged to be content.⁠[23]⁠

It was only after long hesitation and prayerful searching of heart that Mary finally decided to carry through her marriage, in the face of the almost universal opposition of her people. She undoubtedly yearned for the support of a husband in her difficult position, and naturally hoped for a son who should carry on her tradition of a Catholic England. She was of affectionate disposition, and for all her modest assurance to Renard that she had never felt the promptings of the flesh, there is nothing unbecoming in believing that the sight of her cousin’s portrait had lit up the feeling of love in her heart where natural affection had been suppressed for so long. But, withal, her principal desire for the match and her determination to effect it were mainly prompted by public considerations. The intrigues of the French with the Protestant elements in the country, and the almost open way in which Noailles was playing off Courtenay and Elizabeth against her, had convinced Mary that France was her enemy. The only force in Europe strong enough to resist France was the Emperor; and unless the Queen could depend absolutely upon his support, it was evident that sooner or later the Protestant element in England with French aid would oust her from the throne—probably in favour of the young Queen of Scots, her cousin, already betrothed to the heir of France.

Motives personal, religious, and political, therefore all dictated to Mary the absolute necessity of her prompt marriage with Philip; and, as we have already seen, the motives of the Emperor and his son for the marriage were equally strong. Some of Mary’s Council—especially Arundel, Paget, and Petre—were first won over, for they were in the Emperor’s pay before; and when Gardiner saw that the tide was too strong for him to resist, he also accepted the inevitable with the best grace he could. But when he had to be consulted on the terms of the marriage treaty, he drove as hard a bargain as possible; for he, and, it is just to say, most of his colleagues also, were determined that the marriage should not mean the political subjugation of England by Spain. On the 31st October, Sunday evening, Mary summoned Renard to her oratory, where she received him, attended only by her devoted nurse, Mrs. Clarencius. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she told the ambassador that for days she had been sleepless, praying for guidance as to the choice of a husband. “My last resource in all my difficulties,” she said, “is the Holy Sacrament, and as it is even now displayed upon this altar, I will appeal to it for counsel.” Then kneeling, as did Renard and Mrs. Clarencius by her side, she recited with whispered fervour the Veni Creator Spiritus. After a short period of silent meditation she rose, calm and self-possessed, and told the ambassador that her mind was now made up: he, Renard, should be her father confessor. She had consulted some of her Councillors, and herself had pondered deeply upon the subject; and now, bearing in mind what she had been told of Philip’s good qualities, she prayed the Emperor to accept her as a daughter, to be indulgent with her, and to consent to the conditions which her Councillors declared would be necessary for the welfare of her realm. She hoped that henceforward the Emperor would be doubly a father to her, and Philip a good husband. Then with all solemnity she approached the altar and, with her hand upon the gospel before the Sacred Presence, swore to marry Philip of Spain and make him a good wife. God had now sent her light, she said, after she had wavered long. No man but Philip should be her husband.⁠[24]⁠

Whilst Renard and the Council were fighting hard over every point of the marriage treaty, Noailles and the Venetian ambassadors were busy intriguing against it, entertaining Courtenay constantly, and doing their best to draw cautious Elizabeth into their plots. The muttering of coming trouble sounded on all sides—Mary, jealous and distrustful of Elizabeth, whose illegitimacy she was determined to assert; the Protestant elements in the Court and country already in a ferment, thanks largely to French incitement, and disaffection showing itself by partial disturbances in various parts of the country. Religious persecution, too, began to raise its head. Cranmer and Ridley were condemned to death, as were Lady Jane Grey and the three sons of Northumberland; whilst the Emperor, determined for his part to avoid exacerbating the evil, had, to the great indignation of the Pope and the Churchmen, almost violently forbidden Pole to go to England with his extreme Papal mission, at least until the ultimate control of it had passed into the Emperor’s own politic hands.

At length, by the end of the year, the hard terms of the treaty were drafted. Renard had done his best, and so had the Imperial ministers in Flanders; but Gardiner had been firm, and the conditions were a bitter dose for Spanish pride to swallow; for, as they stood, they bade fair to deprive the bridegroom’s country of the only benefit to be derived from the marriage—namely, control of the policy and resources of England. The Consort was to have no rule in the country, and none of his countrymen were to hold office of any sort; the Queen was to receive a jointure of 30,000 ducats a year from Flanders; and the issue of the marriage, if any, should, failing Philip’s only son Carlos, succeed to all his Crowns, as well as to England; whilst in the case of Mary’s death, the Consort was to have no hold whatever upon her country, nor was he to take the Queen or her children out of England without the consent of the Council. These and many similar provisions fenced round the authority of the Consort so completely as to deprive him of any direct political power in England; but Charles, confident in Mary’s secret promises to Renard that, notwithstanding the conditions, the will of the Emperor should prevail in England after the marriage,⁠[25] determined to make the best of it, and to gain the stubborn islanders by his son’s charming, if they were not to be won by a diplomatic document.

Noailles grew daily more bitter, and almost came to blows with Paget on the subject of the marriage, but it became clear even to him now that he had been beaten, and that in future England and the Emperor would make common cause against France. A pompous Flemish embassy, headed by the splendid young Count of Egmont, was known to be on its way across to ratify the marriage treaty in the name of the Emperor; and Noailles took care that all London should be in a fever of apprehension at their coming. On the 1st January a great retinue of servants with the baggage of the ambassadors rode through London to Durham House in the Strand, where Egmont and his suite were to be lodged. Thick snow lay upon the ground, and as the foreigners, with their long line of pack-horses, passed through the narrow lanes of the old city, the very street-boys pelted them with snowballs, “so hatfull was the sight of ther coming in to theym.”⁠[26]⁠

The next day, at the Tower Stairs, a gallant company of courtiers, headed by Sir Anthony Browne, in the gorgeous garb he loved so well, awaited the coming of the Emperor’s representatives, whilst the guns on the Tower overhead boomed out their salutation. Egmont, the first of the Flemish nobles, was accompanied by Montmorenci, Sieur de Courrières, who had formerly come with Renard to England, as well as by several other high Imperial functionaries; and they were escorted by Lord William Howard, from Calais, and by Lord Cobham, from Dover, as Lieutenant of Kent. As the gallant embassy of eighty finely clad gentlemen pranced out of the Tower Gate, they were affectionately greeted by Courtenay, Hastings, and Strange on Tower Hill, and led through the City in state, though “the people,” we are told, “nothing rejoysing, helde downe their heddes sorrowfully.”⁠[27] Nothing was left undone by Mary and her Court to show honour to the guests; and banquet followed banquet, whilst Egmont unsuccessfully strove to modify the terms of the treaty. Renard tells in a letter to the Emperor of a banquet given to the ambassadors by the Queen on the 6th January,⁠[28] after which a little scene took place which well illustrates the free manners of the time. “And towards the end of the dinner the Lord Admiral [Howard], who had dined in an adjoining chamber, came in and stood before her [the Queen], who seemed pensive. He said something to her in English, and then turning to us, asked us whether we would like to know what he had said. Although her Majesty did her best to prevent him from translating it to us, he went on and said that he had wished that his Highness [Philip] had been seated there by her side, pointing to her right, in order to banish her melancholy. She blushed at this and asked why he said it, to which he replied that he was sure she was not cross and liked to hear it; whereupon the Queen and every one else laughed, and it all went off in good part.”

The day after this entertainment (7th January, 1554), Egmont wrote an urgent letter to Prince Philip, praying him to hasten his coming to claim his bride. The treaty, he says, has now been agreed to with only a word or two changed, and will be signed in two days. It is clear from this letter that Egmont foresaw the trouble that was looming. The nobility, he said, had received them better than he had expected. “But as for the people, they are uncertain. We will advise the Queen to raise forces to prevent any hostile movement, which would not be extraordinary, for these people are very unstable.... It is of the utmost importance that your Highness should come without delay. I hear that the French are arming strongly in Normandy and Brittany.... I beseech you humbly to consider how urgent it is that you come hither at once, for many reasons which I hope to lay before you verbally soon. Besides this, I should like your Highness to know that the Emperor has not provided us with a sou to spend on necessary presents. More can be done here with money than anywhere else in the world.”⁠[29]⁠

The hollow affectation of keeping the Queen’s marriage secret could not be continued after the treaty was signed, and on the 13th January Gardiner, with the best countenance he could command, made an oration in the Presence Chamber of the Palace of Westminster before the assembled lords and courtiers, declaring the Queen’s intention to marry the Prince of Spain “in most godly, lawful matrimonye: and further that she should have for her joynter xxxᵐⁱˡ duckets by the yere, with all the Lowe Countries of Flanders; and that the issue betweene them two lawfully begotten shoulde yf there be any, be heir as well to the Kingdom of Spayne as also to the sayde Lowe Country.” He declared, farther, that “we were much bounden to thancke God that so noble, worthye and famouse a prince would vouchsaff so to humble himself in this maryadge to take upon him rather as a subject than otherwise: and that the Quene should rule all things as nowe: and that there should be of the Council no Spanyard, nether should have rule or office in the quenes house or elsewhere in England nor have custody of any fortes or castells.”⁠[30] Gardiner made the best of it; but the bare fact of the announcement being officially made set light to the tinder which Noailles and his allies had so carefully prepared. When, on the following day, Gardiner made a similar announcement to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, Noailles had seen enough to justify him in sending off a special courier post-haste to his master in France. “The nobles and commonalty declare,” he wrote, “that they will never tolerate the Prince of Spain for their King. They would rather die fighting against him than obey him, and will defend their liberties by force before they will submit to such servitude. They are making ready to rise in arms any day and expel this Queen, who they now see is unworthy of the Crown and as she had twice broken her promise to them after they had raised her to the position she occupies. First, in changing the religion after she had promised them toleration; and, secondly, in taking a foreign husband although she had promised that she would not.”⁠[31] In a few days the result of all this excitement was seen. Carew and his friends and kin in the west, depending upon poor feeble Courtenay’s open co-operation, rose in revolt. Rumours ran that French troops were on the way across to aid him. But Courtenay was a reed easily broken, and allowed Gardiner to frighten him into alarmed submission, whilst Elizabeth, closely watched at Ashridge, was too cunning to be drawn into open complicity by Noailles’s intrigues; though the Emperor and Renard were urging Mary to put her sister well out of harm’s way in prison.

And then came the most perilous movement of all—that of the men of Kent under Wyatt. From the 26th January to the 3rd February Mary’s crown was not worth a day’s purchase; for, though the cry of the rebels was only against the Spanish marriage, the Queen knew full well that she must now stand or fall by that. And she stood manfully when many of her courtiers were distraught by fear and ready to desert her at a moment’s notice. Whilst Wyatt and his growing host swept triumphantly onward from Rochester Bridge to Blackheath, and so to Southwark, the Council were wrangling. Should the Queen retire to the Tower or should she fly to the country; should she believe what the friends of the French faction urged, that the only safe place for her was Calais, where she could claim the Emperor’s protection? Mary, almost alone, was undismayed. She sent word privately to Renard that for their own safety’s sake the other Imperial ambassadors should return home, but that she had no intention of backing out of the marriage or of leaving London, although she might temporise with Wyatt whilst she mustered her forces.⁠[32] Riding to Guildhall, stern and sorrowful but unafraid, she made a stirring oration to the citizens; and although many were in favour of Wyatt, London Bridge was held firmly by the Queen’s friends, until the rebel force began to melt away discouraged at the delay.

If Wyatt had struck promptly, he would probably have won; but loath to shed blood and to use arms openly against the Crown, he lingered in Bermondsey, hoping for the declaration of the citizens of London in his favour, until it was too late. Then came the ignominious march through the mire to Kingston Bridge, and the footsore, famished, and rain-soaked crew tramping through the night into London, to be beaten almost without effort by those who, if they had shown a fine front, would have joined them. Vengeance promptly fell upon the offenders. The scaffolds at the street corners with their dangling corpses taught the common people that treason was a dangerous game to play; the block in the Tower was soaked with the blood of Greys and Dudleys and many of their noble friends, and Elizabeth was no longer bidden courteously to join her sister at Court, but was sternly, if ceremoniously, brought to London, dangerously ill though she seemed to be (22nd February). And, as the young Princess passed through the silent, sorrowful crowd that greeted her, making, as she did, an appeal to their sympathies by her proud, pale face and her snow-white garments, the Londoners in their hearts felt that Elizabeth was their champion against the Spaniard, whose coming they feared so much. On the same day (Ash Wednesday, 7th February) that poor Wyatt’s draggled host toiled up to Ludgate, there to meet final failure and the gallows, Renard urged the Queen to make an end of Elizabeth and Courtenay; and the Count of Egmont was already hurrying to England with advice from the Emperor to the same effect; but Mary, who allowed herself to be drawn into extreme severity against those who had openly conspired against her crown, asserted her own will in the matter of her sister, whose countenance of the French ambassador’s intrigues was amply proved by Wyatt’s avowals and the seizure of Noailles’s letters at Gravesend. Thus whilst Courtenay once more found himself in the Tower a prisoner, Elizabeth was at first only secluded in her sister’s palace at Whitehall.

A perusal of the letters of Renard and Noailles, and the evidence given by Wyatt himself, leaves no shadow of doubt that Elizabeth and Courtenay were accomplices in the series of risings that, with French support, were intended to frustrate the Spanish match; and, although Froude and other English historians have done their best to exonerate them, Mary’s clemency to her sister on this occasion is at least entitled to a word of praise, considering the great provocation she had suffered at her hands. When at last Elizabeth was sent to the Tower, in March, it was only because Mary was about to absent herself from the capital for a time; and it was, of course, impossible to leave the disaffected Princess, beloved as she was by the Londoners, practically at liberty in their midst. Thus the open enemies of the marriage were silenced; Wyatt and his accomplices, as well as the Greys and Dudleys, were dead or doomed, Noailles was found out and raging impotently, Courtenay and Elizabeth behind the bars, and the Carews and their West-country friends refugees in France.

When, therefore, on the 2nd March, 1554, Egmont again arrived in London, with the Bulls, powers, and other formal documents necessary for the solemn betrothal, it seemed as if all would now run smoothly. Renard, it is true, always anxious to augment the importance of Philip, gravely raised the question before the Queen and Council whether it would be safe to bring the Prince to England in the circumstances; because, he said, if there was to be any risk to either the Queen or her betrothed, it might be better to abandon the match. But whilst Mary declared that for the world she would have no harm happen to Philip, “neither she nor her Council saw any means or danger that should cause the postponement of a marriage so beneficial and honourable. Thank God, the heretics and rebels were imprisoned, their conspiracy discovered and proved, and in a short time exemplary punishment would be inflicted upon them! For the future the Queen would see to it that the strong hand would be hers, and that she retained full authority over her subjects; so that they had no doubt whatever that his Highness might safely pass over to England, provided that he guarded himself against the French naval force which was being prepared to intercept him.”⁠[33]⁠

A more private matter still had to be settled by Renard with the Queen. Which of her ministers and household should be pensioned and bribed by the Emperor, and to what extent, “as in order to gain them for his Highness [Philip] his Majesty had ordered us to be liberal to those she thought best”? and this question was gravely submitted to the Council for consideration. Charles, as usual, was dreadfully driven for money, but an extra turn of the screw could always be applied to long-suffering Castile; and when it was a question of gaining England, money had to be procured in plenty at any cost. As may be supposed, the list sent by the Council to Renard for presents to themselves and others did not err on the side of modesty; and four thousand crowns’ worth of gold shoulder-chains and as much ready money was promptly handed over to the itching palms of the English courtiers; whereupon “the Councillors gave us such a good response, that if the result corresponds with their words, we have no doubt that safety will attend the coming of his Highness to this country.”⁠[34]⁠

The further to secure Philip from the attacks of the French, a fleet of twenty English ships was commissioned for his escort in the Channel; and when all this was arranged, a deputation of the Council on the 7th March came to lead Renard and Egmont to a chamber in Whitehall, where the Queen and her household awaited them. Upon an altar in the room the Blessed Host was exposed, and before it Mary and Egmont respectively swore that the conditions of the marriage treaty should be held binding. Mary was fervid and excited. Before taking the oath she spontaneously “fell upon her knees and cried to God to witness that the marriage she had agreed to had not been prompted by any carnal affection, by cupidity, or any other reason than the honour, welfare, and profit of her realm, the repose and tranquillity of her subjects; and that she had no other intention than to keep true to the marriage and oath that she had already made to her Crown; saying all this with such grace that the spectators were moved to tears.”⁠[35] The ceremony ended with more devout prayer by the Queen on her knees; and then Egmont, handing to her the magnificent ring that had been sent by Philip as a token of his troth, bade her farewell and hurried off to Spain.⁠[36]⁠

In the meanwhile Philip himself was busy with his great preparations. All Spain was impressed with the grandeur of the occasion. The marriage meant for Philip’s faithful lieges the final conquest over France and the bringing back into the Catholic fold of the rich realm of England; it meant, they believed, a cessation of the ruinous wars which had beggared the realms of Castile and reduced whole provinces to misery. But, though the Spaniards rejoiced at the great stroke of policy that in their view was to fasten another crown upon the brows of their beloved Prince, they were doubly enthusiastic at the noble self-sacrifice that he was making for their sake, and filled with regret at his leaving them. Endless preparations had to be made for the tremendous transport that would be necessary for the crowds of nobles, courtiers and servants who were to accompany the Prince to England. The absence was looked upon as being for an indefinite time, and only such persons as were able-bodied and fairly unencumbered were allowed to go. Indeed, a great assembly of members of the household was held in order that the Duke of Alba might announce that any of those who had good reason for not accompanying his Highness were free to stay behind. Those who elected to go—the great majority—were granted considerable sums of money for their outfit; and the nobles, too, were given leave to go to their own towns to prepare the gorgeous dresses and appointments they and their households were expected to take with them. It is curious to note that many of the servitors who were to undertake the journey sold all their property in Spain, in the belief that they were at once to settle and take possession of the land of England. We are told that the wife of one officer, expecting to obtain the approval of Philip, asked for his leave to sell all they had in order to follow him unencumbered. Philip’s answer was significant and characteristic. “I do not order you either to sell or not to sell your property, for know ye that I am not going to a marriage feast, but to a fight.”⁠[37] This was the spirit in which all regarded the sacrifice he was making. He was going on a holy crusade, amidst many heretics, whom he was to win for the Church; the French were lying in wait to thwart or capture him; and all Spaniards felt that the Prince went to conquer and not to woo, though none doubted, nor did he, that victory would finally be his. Old servitors unable to make the journey were pensioned; the girl children of those who went were, at Philip’s expense, boarded and educated in their parents’ absence, the boys being similarly provided for at Alcalá de Henares.

Whilst all Spain was thus busy providing the splendid stuffs and adornments by which the savage Englishmen were to be dazzled, news came to Philip at Valladolid that the English special ambassadors, the Earl of Bedford and Lord Fitzwalter, who were coming with greetings from his betrothed, might be expected any day at Laredo, on the Biscay coast, and his Steward, Gutierre Lopez de Padilla, hurried off to do them honour at the end of February, whilst Valladolid was hastily decked from end to end with bravery and lists erected for sports, bullfights, tourneys, and the like. But the news was premature, for it was the 13th March before Bedford and his colleagues left London on their embassy; and before they arrived in Spain the rejoicings prepared for their reception were turned into mourning by the news of the death of Philip’s brother-in-law and cousin, the Prince of Portugal.

As soon as the tidings of Mary’s ratification of the treaty reached Philip, he, like the gallant suitor he intended to appear, despatched the Marquis de las Navas to England with a present to his bride truly magnificent in its richness. “A table diamond set as a rose, beautifully wrought and worth 50,000 ducats; a necklace of brilliant diamonds consisting of eighteen stones worth 30,000 ducats. A great diamond with a large pendant pearl, one of the most beautiful pieces ever seen in the world, worth 25,000 ducats; besides many jewels, necklaces, pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies of inestimable value.” This list is given by one of Philip’s lackeys, attached to the service of Don Carlos. The sartorial splendour of velvets, silks, satins, and bullion, which the same authority sets forth for our admiration, as being in preparation for Philip and his Court, and the extravagant richness of the appointments, dresses, armour, saddlery, plate, and furniture, for the Prince’s service sent forward to Corunna, where he was to embark, reads like a fairy tale. Every noble’s dress and livery is described with the minuteness of a tailor’s bill, and the appearance of these proud hidalgos must have been sumptuous in the extreme.⁠[38] Philip himself always preferred serious gravity in his dress; but he had been told that the English loved splendour, and he was determined on this occasion that they should have it to their hearts’ content. Some of his beautiful garments we shall have an opportunity of describing later, but here is one suit which must have been exceedingly gorgeous. A crimson velvet cape, covered with little chains made of silk twist, enclosing lozenges, and a sort of sprig with large leaves running between them, made of silver lace and filled in with silver fringe. The lining of this cape was smooth cloth of silver embroidered with the same sort of work; the trunks, doublet, and tunic were of smooth crimson velvet embroidered in the same way.

All these elaborate preparations being completed, Philip, with the Dukes of Alba and Medini Celi, Egmont, Feria, Pescara, Ruy Gomez, and a score of the highest grandees of Spain and nearly a thousand horsemen glittering and flashing in the Castilian sun, rode out of Valladolid on the 14th May, 1554. The Prince’s Spanish and Teuton guards and his three hundred servants were all dressed in the gaudy red-and-yellow livery of Aragon, and each of the nobles was followed by a retinue which vied with that of the Prince in brilliance. The cavalcade had to make a long detour down to the Portuguese frontier to receive the grief-stricken young widow, Philip’s sister, who was to govern Spain in his absence, and again to Tordesillas for the Prince to take a last farewell of his mad grandmother, Jane the Crazy. At each town, too, especially at Benavente and Astorga, there were bullfights and tourneys, banquets and religious ceremonials, so that it was the 22nd June, the day before the Vigil of St. John, when the kneeling aldermen of Santiago de Compostela tendered to Philip the golden keys at the gates of their sainted city.

As the Prince and his suite rode through the decorated streets to worship at the shrine of the Spanish patron Saint James, and thank him for his protection so far, a party of gentlemen at the upper window of a house looked on with faces shrouded in their cloaks. These were the English ambassadors—the Earl of Bedford, Lord Fitzwalter, and others—sent by Mary to pledge her troth to her new husband; and on the following morning they were brought by a crowd of Spanish hidalgos into the presence of the future King Consort of England. Philip received them smilingly, cap in hand, for even thus early he had taken to heart the injunctions of his father and of Renard that he would conciliate the English by changing his habitual grave aloofness for the gay amiability which he afterwards assumed in England. Bedford, Fitzwalter, Sidney, and the rest of them, bowed low and half bent the knee before him one by one;⁠[39] and when the presentations were over, Bedford took from a secretary a copy of the capitulations and handed them to the Prince, who confirmed them by word of mouth without opening the paper. Bedford appears to have impressed the Spaniards favourably as “a great gentleman and a good Christian,” and both he and his colleagues did their errand in courtly fashion. When Philip had confirmed the capitulations, we are told, “they showed the greatest delight, from the highest to the lowest, kissing his Highness’s hands with great demonstration; and as they went out they said to each other in their own tongue, ‘Blessed be to God who has given us as good a king as this!’ This was said so quietly amongst themselves that it would not have been noticed, but that a Spanish gentleman who understood their tongue heard and repeated it.”⁠[40] The next day the Englishmen attended pontifical Mass at the Cathedral with Philip, greatly, we are told, to their edification and devotion, “which God grant may continue, for they need it badly enough.” Before starting on his thirty-miles’ ride from Santiago to Corunna, Philip distributed costly presents to the English embassy, Bedford’s gift being “one of the finest pieces of gold plate ever seen, more than three feet in height, exquisitely and elaborately chased with classical and grotesque figures, the intrinsic value of the gold contained being six thousand ducats.”

A brave show of ships awaited the arrival of Philip in Corunna, for many soldiers were to pass over with the Prince to defend him from the French on the way and reinforce the Emperor’s army in Flanders; and as the glittering cavalcade came in sight of the harbour, he was met “by six hundred seaman—lancers from the province of Guipuzcoa, smart men and prettily accoutred, who performed many evolutions, waving their lances joyously, with much playing of drums and fifes. Then the fleet and the fortress shot such a salute that in very truth it seemed as if town and fortress together were coming down, the people being in great fear and wonder to see the houses tremble thus as if by earthquake. All said that the human race had never witnessed such a discharge as this. The smoke was so great during the hour and a half that the firing lasted that neither earth nor heaven could be seen. After this there entered the harbour nine ships of the fleet, well supplied with everything and very smart, with a vast number of painted standards and 3,500 soldiers on board. These ships then took up the salute with their big guns, after which the infantry shot with their muskets for half an hour.”⁠[41]⁠

On Philip’s return to his lodging, forty fishing sloops cast at his feet their fresh-caught harvest of the sea, and the next day he inspected the ship, The Holy Ghost, of Martin de Bertondona, in which it had just been arranged that he was to make the voyage to England. From end to end the ship was alive with scarlet silk streamers, and many-hued heraldic pennons waved aloft: the bulwarks and castles were hung with crimson damask, and the cabin destined for the Prince was a marvel of chased and chiselled gold and exotic woods. The great standard of crimson damask, painted with the Imperial arms and golden flames, was thirty yards long, and dozens of other standards rivalling it in size fluttered from every mast and spar. Three hundred sailors, garbed in scarlet liveries, manned this gallant craft. But all this splendour seems to have aroused some jealousy amongst the English, and when Philip went on board the ship that had brought the ambassadors to Spain to be bounteously entertained at dinner, Bedford urged him to trust himself to an English ship and English sailors. The Prince hesitated a while, but his councillors, and particularly the Duke of Alba, would not hear of it, for none knew as yet how far they might trust to the islanders so recently heretic. To please the English sailors, however, Philip allowed them to choose for him the Spanish ship they considered the safest; and at their recommendation he sailed in Bertondona’s vessel, instead of, as intended, in the galleon of the great sailor Alvaro de Bazan.

To muster and ship six thousand soldiers as well as the great train of courtiers and servants that followed Philip took many days, whilst the Prince was being feasted and entertained by neighbouring nobles. During this time there entered Corunna the Spanish ship that had carried the Marquis of Las Navas to England with the presents for Mary, and marvellous stories had the mariners to tell of the eager preparations being made by the Queen and her people to receive the new King. How she was at Winchester with a thousand gentlemen, and how, amongst other fine things to welcome her bridegroom, she had collected two thousand fine horses for the Spaniards, believing that they would bring none by sea with them.⁠[42] At length the fleet of nearly a hundred sail was ready. The gilding upon the towering stern and forecastles, with lines of shining lanterns, flashed back the summer sun, and the crowds of gaily clad soldiers and sailors played strange pranks in the rigging and amongst the gaudy flags to amuse grave Philip, whilst for two days the ships lay idle in Corunna harbour awaiting the fair wind that was to carry the Prince of Spain upon his mission of conquest.

On Friday, 13th July, a soft breeze from the south enabled the fleet to sail, whilst a dense crowd upon the shore sent up fervent prayers for the safety of the Prince, who in a pure spirit of martyrdom was thus going to “our new realm of England for the exaltation of our holy faith and the good of Christendom.” Others there were on the shore who shouted insults, taunts, and challenges to all the Frenchmen alive; for with England at the bidding of the Emperor, the poorest beggar in Spain knew that France was powerless against him. The slight swell that at first somewhat upset unaccustomed stomachs, was succeeded on the morning of Saturday by a dead calm and a motionless sea, which, whilst it comforted the landsmen, made the seamen look blank; for, as they said, it might delay the fleet for a month. But the next day, Sunday, a delightful fair wind sprang up, and the long trail of vessels stretched across the tranquil Bay until Ushant, the land of the enemy, loomed up to starboard on Monday afternoon. On Wednesday morning in the Channel a fleet of galleons was sighted, which it was feared might be Frenchmen, but which turned out to be the Flemish escort sent by the Emperor, with several ships of the English navy. Thus accompanied, the Spaniards sailed up to Southampton Water on Thursday, 19th July, and at four o’clock in the afternoon anchored amidst the royal salute from the thirty English and Flemish ships assembled to receive the Queen’s new Consort.⁠[43]⁠

Things had not been going very smoothly in England in the meanwhile. Mary’s Council was profoundly disunited, Paget and the Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner of Winchester, being at bitter feud with each other; and Mary herself was angry and distrustful with Gardiner and his adherents, who, she feared, quite without reason, were secretly favouring Elizabeth and the Wyatt prisoners. On one occasion, late in March, a number of members of the Council, even Paget being amongst them out of enmity to Gardiner, took the bold course of entering the Queen’s oratory after vespers, and told her that it was now time for clemency, and that if any more noble blood was shed it would no longer be justice but cruelty. The bloody-minded advice, they said, of others should not be followed—meaning by this Gardiner, who was absent, and Renard, who was never tired of urging severity upon Mary. The Queen, taken by surprise, at once pardoned six of the gentlemen of Kent implicated in Wyatt’s rising who had been condemned to death. Poor Mary was beset on every side by warring counsels, with Renard telling her that for her own and her husband’s safety she must strike hard, and her Council in revolt at what they considered the cruelty inculcated by Gardiner, and at one time she consented to Renard’s plan for a coup d’état which should practically make her supreme. The Lord Admiral (Howard), Pembroke, Derby, Shrewsbury, and Sussex were to be employed in distant parts of the realm; a reconciliation was to be effected between Gardiner and Paget, and the whole business of State was to be managed by them, with the assistance of Petre, the Earl of Arundel, and two others. Renard thought that this solution was the only one which offered any security for Philip’s safety, and when the Queen was induced by some of her Councillors to pardon on Good Friday the Marquis of Northampton and eight more prisoners implicated in the Wyatt rising, the Imperial ambassador roundly scolded her for her ill-timed clemency. It was not by any means certain, he said, that Philip would consent to come to England at all. The dissensions of her Councillors were very dangerous, and it behoved her to consider very carefully, since the security must be furnished by her, and the Prince could not come armed, what a scandal and calamity it would be if anything happened to him.⁠[44] Mary wept at this, and said that “she would rather never have been born than that any outrage should be committed on his Highness, but she trusted to God that no such thing would occur. All her Councillors would do their duty in receiving the Prince, and are in great hopes of him. She would reform her Council and reduce it to six members; she would do her best to incline her subjects to his Highness’s favour; and she would take good care that the cases of Courtenay and Elizabeth were finished before the Prince arrived.”⁠[45]⁠

Noailles and the French sympathisers, too, were still at work stirring up alarm at the coming of the Spaniards. Here was a bridegroom, they sneered, who was coming to win a wife, with a great army intended to land on English soil and proclaim himself King in his own right, with all his swarm of priests, friars, and inquisitors to oppress the English people. Even the English sailors on Howard’s ships were so distrustful of the Spaniards that when the Flemish crews of the Emperor’s fleet set foot on shore during the time they awaited Philip’s arrival the visitors were hustled and insulted everywhere, whilst the Lord Admiral himself had openly mocked at their ships as mussel-shells.⁠[46] Whether it be true, as was asserted, that Howard committed the grave discourtesy of throwing a shot across the bows of the Prince’s fleet to compel a salute to the English flag is doubtful, but it is certain that the feeling in the country amongst high and low as the time went on was as strongly against the Spanish bridegroom as ever.

During the months that passed between the formal betrothal in March and the coming of Philip, Mary grew more and more impatient, railing at her quarrelling Councillors, worried almost daily by Renard to hasten the execution of Elizabeth and Courtenay, and a prey to frequent hysterical attacks of wounded pride at what she considered the ungallant lack of eagerness on the part of her new husband to join her. She grew more faded and older with her anxiety, and this increased her distress,⁠[47] for Elizabeth was young and beautiful, and the Queen knew that the love of the people for her was growing with the dread of Spanish Catholic intolerance. And yet the majority of the Council, not to mention the Parliament that was sitting, would never sanction the sacrifice of the Princess at the instance of the Imperial ambassador; and even the Lord Admiral and his fleet were suspected of a design to declare against the Queen unless his cousin, Princess Elizabeth, was well treated. Renard’s letters of the time reflect the distracted condition of affairs from day to day, no man knowing in which direction future safety or ruin to him might be encountered. “The Queen is reduced to such a state of perplexity that she is at a loss whose advice to adopt, knowing well that all is being done in favour of Lady Elizabeth.” Scurrilous ballads were flung about in public places, even in the Queen’s palace, bitterly lampooning the unhappy Mary and her lagging Spanish bridegroom. To make matters worse, when the French ambassador, Noailles, who was known to be the principal fomenter of all this trouble, went to take leave of Mary at Whitehall the day before she set out on her gradual approach to the coast to meet Philip at the end of May, an open wrangle took place between them, and the ambassador in a rage threatened to leave England immediately—a threat not at all distasteful to the Imperialists, because it brought nearer what they aimed at before all things—the breaking out of hostilities between England and France.

By slow stages Mary travelled through the latter half of June and early July from Richmond by Oatlands and Farnham to Winchester, where she arrived two days after Philip had landed at Southampton. As Philip had truly said, this was no romantic love voyage that he was making, but a deliberate sacrifice of all his personal tastes and wishes for the sake of overwhelming political expediency. No effort was to be spared to gain England to the side of Spain against France, and Philip deliberately laid himself out to please. On his famous voyage to stay with his father in Flanders some years before, his cold hauteur and lack of expansiveness had quite alienated the Germans and Flemings from him. His grave young face, his prim demeanour, his sober garments, his rigid abstemiousness in eating and drinking, and his distaste for the martial amusements of the time, were all foreign to the rough vitality of the Teutons; and Renard and the Emperor had warned the Prince that he must not repeat his mistake, but conform to English customs and learn at least some English words. The Spaniards of his train were enjoined also “to behave themselves according to English fashion, and to be modest in their bearing, trusting that your Highness, with your accustomed kindness, will make much of them.”⁠[48] And the Emperor, desirous of avoiding all occasion for dissension, writes to his son (1st April, 1554): “They tell me that some married women are going with their husbands in your company. I think they will be more difficult to govern and keep friends with the English women than even soldiers would be. You had better see whether it would not be wiser to send them here [to Flanders] until affairs in England are more settled.”⁠[49]⁠

Even Philip’s enemies, the Venetians, testified to the change of his demeanour during his stay in England; and Soriano, the outgoing ambassador, said that from that time forward, even in Spain, his gentle courtesy and kindness were continued habitually, whilst Michaeli, the new Venetian ambassador, who was the staunch ally of Noailles, was emphatic in his testimony of Philip’s affability in England, and says that his conduct towards his wife was such as to make any woman love him: “for in truth no one in the world could have been a better or more affectionate husband.” Yet another Venetian envoy, Damula, accredited to the Emperor, wrote that on disembarking in England the Prince was “remarked by everybody for his graciousness, without any stiffness or assumption of royal ceremony, mixing with the courtiers rather as a comrade than as a king.” Certain it is, with public opinion in England strongly unfavourable and in a perfect panic of apprehension, Philip’s tact and graciousness to a great extent overcame the prejudice against him, and he became in a few months personally quite popular, whilst he contrived almost immediately to gain his wife’s devoted affection. The over-coloured picture of Philip as a trembling, seasick creature,⁠[50] in daily fear of poison, which Froude drew from the letters of Noailles and the account of the Venetian, Baoardo, needs much modification to be near the impartial truth; for though, as we have seen, Philip looked upon the marriage as a sacrifice to reasons of State, as undoubtedly it was, he bore his cross gaily and like a well-bred gentleman. If he had done otherwise, indeed, as he was quite clever enough to recognise, the sacrifice itself would have been useless.

From the hour of his arrival in Southampton Water, two o’clock in the afternoon of Thursday, 19th July, until after breakfast the next day, Philip remained on board the Espiritu Santo at anchor, whilst the salutes of the ships and forts thundered out their welcome; state barges brought the English and Flemish Lord Admirals to visit the Prince, and the Marquis of las Navas, Figueroa, the Emperor’s special ambassador, and several high English nobles, came to pay their respects to the new king. After breakfast on the 20th July, Howard’s state galley came alongside the Espiritu Santo, and from it climbed to the deck the Lord Admiral and a little group of English nobles—Arundel, Derby, and Shrewsbury—with Sir John Williams, to whom Philip at once handed the white wand of Chamberlain. The Prince stood upon the high deck, cap in hand and with smiling face, to receive them, and after they had been presented to the principal grandees the English nobles led the Prince to the barge, followed by the Duke of Alba, with his lean, dark face and long, grizzled beard; Count de Feria, with his raven hair and flashing eyes; Ruy Gomez, Philip’s dearest friend, suave and imperturbable; Pescara, Egmont, Horn, and a dozen other high courtiers, Spaniards and Flemings. No permission was given to the other courtiers to land until the Prince’s barge touched the shore, whilst no soldier or man-at-arms was allowed to land at all on pain of death, for Philip dared not offend English feeling in this matter, and he had learnt from his father that the fortune of war had been against him, and he needed every man-at-arms at once in Flanders.⁠[51]⁠

As the gaily dressed oarsmen rapidly forced the great gilded galley through the smooth water to the shore, a little ceremony was performed under the stern canopy. The Earl of Arundel and Sir John Williams as a commission from the Queen besought permission to invest the Prince with the Order of the Garter; and Williams fastened the gilt ligature around his leg, whilst Arundel placed upon his breast a glittering pendant rose and George. As Philip stepped upon English soil for the first time, thirty nobles and gentlemen of the Queen’s Court did him reverence, and Sir Anthony Browne, leading a beautiful white hackney caparisoned in crimson velvet and gold, announced himself in a Latin speech as the new Consort’s master of the horse. The Prince thanked the new grand equerry, but replied that, as the distance was short, he would walk on foot to the house prepared for him. But this he was told was not in accordance with English etiquette, and without more ado Browne, lifting him up in his arms, placed him in the saddle, and then, humbly kissing the golden stirrups, walked bare-headed by his master’s side. With crowds of gaily clad English and Spanish courtiers preceding him, Philip passed thus through the curious townsfolk to the Church of Holy Rood. He must have looked an impressive figure, with his dapper, erect bearing, his yellow, curly beard and close-cropped fair head, dressed, as he was, in black velvet and silver, hung all about with massive gold chains and with glittering precious stones in his velvet cap, upon breast, neck, and wrists. Browne himself was no unworthy company for his Prince, for he too was garbed in a rich suit of black velvet entirely covered with fine gold embroidery, with a surcoat of the same, of which the long, hanging false sleeves were lined with cloth of silver.

After a brief service of thanksgiving, Philip was taken to the house destined for his reception. The English guards and archers on duty and a crowd of English household servitors had been dressed by Mary’s directions in the red-and-yellow livery of Spain; and when Philip entered the rooms prepared for him, he found that here, too, his wife’s thoughtful prevision had been exercised; for the appointments and furniture were sumptuous, and upon the walls there hung royal draperies of gold-embroidered damask.⁠[52] To the assembled English nobles Philip then delivered a dignified speech in Latin, saying that he had left his own land not to augment his possessions or his power, of which he had sufficient, but because God had called him to marry their Queen, with whom he intended to live here in harmony; and he promised his hearers that if they were faithful to her and to him, “he would be to them a right good and loving prince.” He was from the first all smiles and graciousness to the English, who were, indeed, agreeably surprised at his amiability when after his private supper he came out into the presence chamber and chatted unaffectedly and gaily with the gentlemen there. To bluff Lord Admiral Howard he said that he had come to England for his wedding unprovided with garb sufficiently sumptuous to do honour to their Queen, but he hoped that the velvet horse-cloth of the hackney the Queen had sent him might serve him to make a splendid vestment withal.

The pledging of the company after supper in a draught of English beer, which the partial view of Froude presented as a repellant and unwilling concession, was a perfectly natural part of the whole of Philip’s behaviour. He had come to win the English by affability, and he was determined as much as possible to conform to English prejudices and to impress upon his Spanish followers the need for their doing likewise. Even the enemy, who records the action, does not hint at any demonstration of dislike or reluctance on the part of Philip to the politic course he took. So thoroughly, indeed, did he act up to his policy, that before he left Southampton his Spanish attendants were all scowling and grumbling in spite and jealousy that their Prince was preferring Englishmen to them, and that his service and safety were placed in the hands of foreigners to the exclusion of his own people. Though Philip had great ends to serve in drinking beer and sitting out gargantuan English feasts, at which his proud frugal countrymen scoffed, to the courtiers who accompanied him from Spain, it was as gall and wormwood to see the greatest Prince in Christendom thus curry favour with these rough islanders, whom they regarded as inferiors; and when, on Saturday, the Spaniards were all ordered to leave the church at Southampton before the service was over, in order that the Prince might come out attended only by Englishmen, they broke out into almost open protest, particularly when, as the rain was coming down in torrents and the Prince was without cape or hat, he borrowed the garments from an Englishman near him rather than from a Spaniard, to go the few yards from the church to his lodging.

The three hundred houses of which Southampton consisted were already crammed to overflowing with Philip’s great train of courtiers and four hundred servants, but every hour the crowd in the little port grew as the neighbouring gentry, with their followers, rode in to honour their new King in accordance with Queen Mary’s orders. Nor was this all, for early on Saturday morning the Earl of Pembroke came with an escort for the Prince of two hundred English gentlemen in black velvet and gold chains, and three hundred more in scarlet, all splendidly mounted. In return for this, Philip sent Egmont to the Queen with thanks and loving messages. Half way to Winchester Egmont met a great train coming towards him, escorting the Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner, bearing from his Sovereign a valuable ring to her spouse. Gardiner had done his best to prevent the match, and when that had proved impossible, he had cleverly minimised its disadvantages from an English point of view, so that he was far from being persona grata to Renard and the Spaniards. But for weeks past he had been in hourly danger of ruin from the cabals against him and the distrust of the Queen; and he now sought safety in an apparent cordiality towards the Spanish marriage, an attitude which Philip repaid by treating him with almost excessive deference. The next day (Sunday), in the torrential rain, the favourite Ruy Gomez rode to Winchester with another beautiful ring for Mary, and the Lords of the Council and a host of other nobles came in to salute Philip, who, after rising late, dined and supped in public for the first time in England. To the rage of the Spaniards, his English household served him; though the proudest of his grandees, the Duke of Alba, was allowed unofficially to hand him the napkin.⁠[53] “We are of no more use here, and are simply vagabonds. We should be better employed in serving in the war, for they make us pay here twenty times what a thing is worth,” grumbled one of Philip’s gentlemen-in-waiting, who fairly represented the general feeling amongst them, even on the first days of their arrival in England.

Before Philip started on Monday afternoon for Winchester, better news came from the Emperor. The French had not followed up their victory at Marienburg, and the six hundred Spanish jennets which had come in the fleet, with Philip’s own horses, might now be landed.⁠[54] The anxious Queen, nevertheless, continued to send fresh supplies of splendidly caparisoned horses for Philip’s use; and when, in a perfect deluge of rain, at two o’clock in the afternoon the Prince started out to join his bride in the ancient city seven miles away, a train of three thousand magnificently accoutred horsemen clattered in his train. With the exception of some fifteen of the highest Spanish nobles, who rode close around the Prince—Alba, Medina-Celi, Feria, and their like—Philip’s strong bodyguard was formed of English men-at-arms dressed in Spanish colours, much to the jealousy of the Spanish guard still cooped up in the pestilential ships. On the road six hundred more English gentlemen in black velvet and gold met the cavalcade and joined it. Then, nearer Winchester, six of the Queen’s pages, dressed in crimson brocade and cloth of gold, were encountered with a herald bringing for the Prince six more beautiful steeds as a present from their mistress. The malicious Venetian tells a story embellished by Froude of a breathless, galloping messenger from the Queen, whose haste threw Philip and his Spanish friends into a panic of fear; but everything that Baoardo wrote on the subject of the marriage is suspect and cannot be accepted without confirmation, of which in this case there is none.

When the Prince started from Southampton, he wore a surcoat of black velvet adorned with diamonds, and doublet and trunks of white satin embroidered with gold. But this delicate finery, though covered by a thick red felt cloak, was wet through before he arrived at Winchester; and a halt was made at the beautiful hospital of Saint Cross to enable a change of garments to be donned, the fresh suit consisting of a black velvet surcoat trimmed with gold bugles, and under-garments of white velvet and gold. Thus bedizened he entered the ancient gateway, past kneeling mayor and aldermen, and through silent, gaping crowds of townsfolk, direct to the splendid cathedral, the shrine of England’s ancient Kings. A little group of mitred bishops stood before the great west door, crosses raised and censers swinging; and in solemn procession to the high altar they led beneath a velvet canopy this slim, erect, little man with fair face and yellow hair, whom they and their like regarded as God’s chosen instrument to undo the impious work of Henry and of Somerset.

CHAPTER III 1554-1555

Dusk was falling upon the gloomy day when Philip, having duly performed his devotions and admired the splendid fane of Winchester, found himself at ease in the Dean’s house, which had been prepared for his reception. The Queen’s maiden scruples had been respected, for it was not in accordance with etiquette that they should both sleep under the same roof before they became man and wife; so that whilst the Deanery sheltered the bridegroom, the bride was lodged in Bishop Gardiner’s castle adjoining. Philip supped, and when he was thinking of going to bed, it being ten o’clock at night, some English courtiers and the Mistress of the Robes came and said that the Queen wished him to visit her secretly in her closet, where she awaited him, but that he was to bring only a very few followers. Another beautiful dress had perforce to be assumed, consisting of a French surcoat embroidered in silver and gold, with doublet and trunks of white kid covered with gold embroidery; and then, accompanied by Alba, Medina-Celi, Feria, Aguilar, Egmont, Horn, and a half-dozen more grandees, the Prince was led by his English guides across the lane and still-existing little green to a garden gate, through which only the nobles chosen by Philip were allowed to enter. They found themselves in a delicious garden, and in the mysterious darkness threaded the leafy alleys, until they arrived at the great moated house, which they entered by a little back door, from which a private stair led direct to the Queen’s private apartment.

When the English guide threw open the door at the head of the stair, Philip for the first time looked upon the woman who was to be his second wife. Mary was slowly pacing the long passage or gallery lined with tapestry, which constituted the room. Two gentlemen bore torches before her, and with her were Gardiner and three or four other aged men and some ladies-in-waiting. Philip hung back a few seconds whilst Egmont entered the room. He, being known to the Queen, was greeted by her graciously; and then, as she caught sight of the smart figure of her bridegroom, she walked rapidly towards him, and kissed her hand before she grasped his. Philip did the same, and, in the English fashion of the time, gallantly kissed his elderly bride upon her lips. Mary was, as usual, splendidly dressed, and her trim little figure must have looked stately enough in her black velvet gown, cut high at the neck, her petticoat of frosted silver, her coif of black velvet and gold, and wonderful girdle, collar, and pendants of flashing gems. Her complexion was of that peculiar transparency which usually accompanies red hair; her eyes, which were also of ruddy brown, were almost without eyebrows, as her father’s had been; and her somewhat austere face was wreathed now with smiles of welcome to the man for whose coming she had yearned.

Leading him by the hand to a chair beside her own beneath the canopy, she replied in French to his Spanish compliments. Whilst they were thus seated in happy converse, the irrepressible Lord Admiral Howard broke in with some of his usual suggestive jokes, not in the best taste according to the ideas of to-day, but apparently accepted at that time as quite permissible. Then, one by one, the Spanish nobles were brought forward to kiss the Queen’s hand; and Philip, apparently finding the interview somewhat tedious, as his knowledge of French was not extensive, proposed that he should go into the adjoining apartment to greet the Queen’s ladies. Mary insisted upon accompanying him. The ladies, in pairs, were led forward to courtesy before the Prince, who, cap in hand, “in order not to violate the custom of the country, kissed each of them on the lips as they passed him.” The ceremony, probably, was not over-pleasant to Mary, for when, the kissing being at an end, Philip suggested that it was getting late and he had better retire, the Queen insisted upon leading him to the canopy again for another chat.

Already the Spaniards began to nod and wink to each other to signify that the Queen had fallen in love with her husband thus soon at first sight, and it is quite probable that such was the case. Mary’s heart had been starved for love all her life. There was none of her kin now with whom she could unbend, and, with her crushing responsibility, it must have been for her like a glimpse of heaven to feel that this good-looking, wise, young man, fully her equal in rank, and her superior in power, was in future to be kinsman, husband, and upholder in one. At last the time came for parting, and in jesting mood grave Philip learnt of his bride how to say “Good-night” in English. But alas! before he could reach the ladies in the other room to say the newly learnt words to them, the outlandish sounds had slipped out of his mind, and with much laughter and smiles he had to go back and learn them again from the Queen.⁠[55] In conversation with Philip, the Queen’s governess (Mrs. Clarencius?) expressed her joy at the coming union and thanks to God for letting her live to see the day, though she regretted that she had not reared a more beautiful bride for him;⁠[56] and according to another eyewitness’s account the Queen herself modestly thanked Philip for accepting so old and ugly a wife. Generally speaking, however, Mary does not appear to have produced an unfavourable impression upon the Spaniards. They speak of her manner at this time as being gay and gracious, and her clear complexion was much admired. Certainly Philip played his part to perfection, whatever his private feelings may have been; and if Mary had been a budding beauty of twenty instead of a faded old maid of nearly forty, he could not have been a more gallant bridegroom in appearance than he was: although to his bosom friend, Ruy Gomez, he confided a few days after the wedding that he was prepared with resignation to drain the chalice to the end which his marriage presented to him, since, as his friend knew, he had not married for love, but to restore England to the Church; and such an object made him lose sight of the Queen’s lack of personal attractions.

Philip slept late the morning after his arrival at Winchester, and as soon as he was out of bed the Queen’s tailor brought him two superb sets of garments—one made of very rich white brocade profusely embroidered with gold bugles and seed pearls, with diamonds for buttons, and the other a similar suit in crimson. Philip went that day, Tuesday, to Mass at the Cathedral, dressed in a purple velvet surcoat with silver fringe and white satin doublet and trunks; and then after his private dinner, went in great state to visit the Queen publicly. This time she received him in the great hall of the Bishop’s palace, surrounded by the whole of her Court and attended by fifty ladies—“none of them pretty”—dressed in purple velvet. Mary received the Prince at the foot of her daïs, amidst the fanfare of trumpets, and after kissing him affectionately led him to the seat at her side. She must have looked as magnificent as fine clothes could make her as she sat “in sweet converse” with him under her canopy; for we are told that her purple velvet robe and cloth-of-gold petticoat were all aglow with precious stones, and that coif, neck, breast, and wrists, were stiff with pearls and diamonds. There were special ambassadors, too, to receive and welcome: Figueroa, viceroy of Naples, from the Emperor, others from the King of the Romans and his son, from Venice, Florence, Poland, and Ferrara. But one was missing; for Noailles, the Frenchman, for whom this marriage was a dire defeat, had not been bidden to the feast; and in the intervals of his plotting to raise trouble was writing to his baffled master ill-natured and distorted reports, at second hand, of the proceedings.

The next day, Wednesday, 25th July, was the Feast of St. James, the patron of Spain, and the noble cathedral of Winchester was aflame with glowing colour. The ancient nave can never have seen so gorgeous a company as was there assembled in the forenoon. All that pomp, skill, and lavish expenditure could produce was there to do honour to an event which all spectators felt was one of moving interest for the future of the world; because it meant, so far as men might see, the secure fastening upon the neck of England again of the yoke of the Papacy, which Henry VIII. had shaken off, the stifling of the Reformation in Europe, and the reduction of France to a secondary place amongst the nations. Philip, in the white satin suit the Queen had sent him and with a regal mantle of cloth of gold, led his dazzlingly clad bride up the lofty nave to an elevated platform in the centre; and there Gardiner, with three attendant Bishops, made them man and wife. To equalise their rank, it was announced that the Viceroy Figueroa had brought formal instruments from the Emperor, resigning to his son the Kingdoms of Naples and Jerusalem; and this proclamation having been made, the King and Queen, with swords of state borne before them by the Earls of Derby and Pembroke, descended to the high altar, followed by fifty ladies in cloth of gold, to hear Mass, during which, we are told, the Queen never removed her devout eyes from the crucifix.

Rarely can a marriage have taken place prompted on both sides by such elevation of spirit as this. The objects in view may be condemned now, as they were condemned by many at the time, but there is no gainsaying that, so far as Philip and Mary were concerned, they both believed they were making private sacrifice for the public welfare. This feeling was evident through the whole of the marriage negotiations and afterwards, especially in Philip’s case, until it was seen that the plan had failed. It is true that the famished heart of Mary grew to love her husband for his own sake as time went on; but she loved him first and best because he personified the force that was to make England Catholic, whilst she to him meant the influence that was to enable him and his House to wield the power of England against their enemy.

After the ceremony, the King and Queen walked in procession through an immense crowd to the Bishop’s palace, where in the great hall was laid the wedding banquet. All the courtly ceremony of saluting the royal dishes as they were brought in, the genuflexions to the throne, the trumpeting of minstrels, and the symbolic functions of the great officers of State, aroused the admiration of the form-loving Spaniards; but their hearts were raging with jealousy during the progress of the feast, for their wounded pride did not fail to notice that Mary took precedence of her husband everywhere, that she had a more stately seat, and that while she ate off gold plate he was served on silver. They comforted themselves with the idea that all this would be changed when the King had been crowned; but that their Prince, the Emperor’s son and heir, should take a second place to any one on earth filled them with anger, for they had already begun to realise that they were not to enter into possession of England as they had hoped. The richness and abundance they saw around them made their disappointment the more bitter. Such a show of plate on tables and sideboards as this they had never seen before.⁠[57] All the platters and dishes were of silver, and great buffets loaded with plate stood at both ends of the great hall. The sideboard behind the high table, at which Philip and Mary sat, with Gardiner far off at the end, had upon it a hundred great pieces, “with a great gilt clock half as high as a man, and a marble fountain with a rim of gold.” Before the King and Queen stood Lords Pembroke and Strange with sword and mace; the four services of thirty dishes each, far too much for the 158 noble guests, were borne in to the sound of minstrelsy; and after the feast the Earl of Arundel presented the ewer of water for the King’s hands, whilst the Marquis of Winchester bore the napkin. The only Spaniard allowed to serve the King was the Duke of Infantado’s son, Don Iñigo de Mendoza, as cupbearer: “as for any of the Prince’s own stewards doing anything, such a thing was never thought of, and not one of us took a wand in our own hands, nor does it seem likely we ever shall, not even the controller. They had far better turn us all out as vagabonds.”⁠[58]⁠

After the Queen had pledged her guests in a cup of wine, and a herald had proclaimed Philip’s new style as King of England, France, Naples, and Jerusalem, Prince of Spain, and Count of Flanders, the royal pair retired to another chamber, accompanied by the English and Spanish nobles, where the afternoon was passed in gallant conversation, though apparently with some difficulty to the Spaniards, who were desirous of showing their gallantry to the English ladies. “We had great trouble in making out their meaning, except those who spoke Latin; so we have all resolved not to give them any presents of gloves until we can understand them. The gentlemen who speak the language are mostly very glad to find that we Spaniards cannot do so.”

At the ball that wound up the entertainments, the same difficulty arising from diverse customs stood in the way of intercourse, for the Spanish and English dances were different, and the courtiers of the two nations could not hit upon a common formula until Philip led his wife out to tread a measure in the German fashion, which was known to both.

With every day that passed the discontent and jealousy grew. Philip himself was charming, treating his wife in lover-like fashion, and full of tactful affability to the English people. But the more conciliatory Philip showed himself, the more his Spanish courtiers chafed. They had found their position in England entirely different from what they had expected; and their hopes of easily dominating the country were fading rapidly. The men-at-arms and the bodyguard were still confined to their ships at Portsmouth and Southampton, forbidden to land under pain of death, and were becoming restive; the courtiers themselves and their servants were ridiculed in the streets of Winchester, and even waylaid and robbed if they ventured into the country; and yet they dared not complain. “After this weary voyage these people wish to subject us to some extent to their laws; for it is a new thing for them to have Spaniards in the country, and they wish to feel secure.”⁠[59] “We Spaniards are miserable here, much worse than in Castile; and some say that they would rather be in the barest stubble field of Toledo than here in the groves of Amadis.” Another courtier writing from Winchester says, “Great rogues infest the roads, and have robbed some of us, amongst others, the chamberlain of Don Juan Pacheco, from whom they took 400 crowns and all his jewelry and plate. No trace can be found of the property, nor of the four or five boxes missing from the King’s lodging; though the Council is scouring the country for it. As for the friars, they have had to be lodged in the college for their safety, and they bitterly repent having come.”

It was difficult to please proud, disappointed people who were ready to disapprove of everything; and when the Duchess of Alba came, three days after the marriage, to join her husband, though Mary treated her with almost royal honours, the haughty dame and her kin were in a chronic state of indignation at the position she was obliged to occupy. An amusing account of her first visit to Mary on the third day after the wedding⁠[60] does not suggest any lack of ceremony, though the lodgings assigned to her may not have been so sumptuous as she thought fit. The Duchess was conducted to the Bishop’s palace by the Countesses of Pembroke and Kildare and the Earl of Bedford, and the Queen advanced almost to the door of the presence chamber to meet her. The Duchess knelt, and the Queen, failing in her efforts to raise her, courtesied almost as low, and kissed her upon the mouth, which she usually did only to those of the blood royal. She then led the Duchess to the daïs, and seated herself upon the floor, inviting her guest to do likewise. But the latter refused to sit on the floor until the Queen sat upon a chair. This the Queen would not do, but sent for two stools as a compromise, upon one of which she sat and invited the Duchess to take the other, instead of which the Duchess then sat upon the floor, whereupon the Queen left her stool and also sat upon the floor; and after an almost interminable friendly wrangle, both ladies settled down on the stools, their conversation being interpreted by the Marquis de las Navas, as Mary, although she understood Spanish, did not speak it. When the Earl of Derby was presented to the Duchess, she was horrified at his offering to salute her in the usual English fashion by kissing her lips, and she drew back from him in hot indignation, though hardly in time to avoid contact. But as the lady haughtily expatiated to her own people afterwards upon the uncouth fashion, she declared that the Earl had only just managed to reach her cheek.

By the last day of July most of the English gentry had gone home for the present, the Spaniards being distributed about Winchester and Southampton, whilst the troops were only awaiting a fair wind to carry them to Flanders. With a comparatively small suite the Queen and King set forth on the 31st July for Basing House, fifteen miles away, the seat of Lord Winchester, the Lord Treasurer, and so by short stages to Reading, Windsor, and Richmond, where they remained until the 17th August. In the meanwhile the impatience of the Spaniards at their position in England grew intolerable, and the Duke of Medina-Celi, the premier noble, and of royal descent, was the first to insist upon immediate release with permission to join the Emperor in Flanders. Within a few days eighty other hidalgos had demanded similar licence, and by the time Richmond was reached the only Spanish nobles in attendance upon Philip were Alba, Feria, Olivares, Pedro de Cordova, and three gentlemen, amongst whom was the indefatigable letter-writer, Pedro Enriquez, whose narrative of the events is so expressive of the lack of community between the two peoples. Not only were the manners of the English ladies and their dresses unbecoming in Spanish eyes, and the English food coarsely excessive, but the political institutions of the country appeared to them, used as they were to the absolute monarchy of Castile, to be almost Republican in their hard limitation of the power of the Sovereign.

“Their Majesties” (writes Pedro Enriquez from Richmond) “are the happiest married couple in the world, and are more in love with each other than I can write here. The King never leaves her, and on the road he rides by her side, helping her to mount and dismount. They sometimes dine together in public, and on Feast days he accompanies her to Mass. Although the Queen is not at all beautiful, for she is little, and thin rather than stout, she is very red and white. She has no eyebrows, she is a perfect saint, but she dresses very badly. The ladies here all wear farthingales of coloured cloth, without silk, their outer garments being of coloured damask, satin, or velvet, but very badly made. Some of them wear velvet shoes, but most of them kid. They wear black stockings, and even show their legs, some of them up to the knees, at least whilst they are riding, for their skirts are not long enough. They look quite indelicate when they are travelling thus, and even when they are seated. They are not at all beautiful, nor are they graceful in dancing, which with them consists simply of prancing and trotting.⁠[61] None of the Spanish gentlemen are in love with them or think anything of them, nor they of the Spaniards. They are not worth troubling about, or feasting much, or spending money upon, which is a good thing for the Spaniards. All the rejoicing here consists of eating and drinking. The Queen spends in food 300,000 ducats a year. The whole of the Lords of the Council—thirteen of them—feed in the palace, as do the Officers of State, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse, and the King’s English household with all their wives. The ladies and their servants and the households of all the courtiers and two hundred guards all live in the palace as well. Each officer has a cook to look after his food in the Queen’s kitchens. There are eighteen kitchens, and there is such a hurly-burly in them that each one is a veritable hell. So that, notwithstanding the greatness of these palaces, ... and the smallest of the four we have seen has more rooms and better ones than the Alcazar of Madrid, the crowds in them are so great as to be hardly contained.... The ordinary consumption in the palace every day is from eighty to a hundred sheep, with a dozen fat oxen and dozen and a half of calves, besides vast quantities of game, poultry, venison, wild boar, and rabbits; whilst, as for the beer, they drink more in the summer than the river would hold in Valladolid. The ladies and some of the gentlemen put sugar into their wine. The noise and bustle in the palace are dreadful. And notwithstanding the vast number of rooms, they have never given to the Duchess of Alba a chamber in the palace. They are the most ungrateful people ever seen. Not even in the villages where we stay—and each one has a village—do they give to the Duke and Duchess a house to themselves, or the best one. They have fine trouble over their lodgings, as if it were not enough to prevent them from serving in their offices without housing them badly.”

Already the courtiers saw that the chance of Philip being allowed to dominate England in consequence of his marriage was a slender one, but the King himself, in his patient, prudent way, persevered. His personal influence over his wife grew stronger every day, and when later she gave him hopes of the birth of an heir, a new prospect for the future seemed to open to him. The Londoners were as yet still almost in a panic at the coming of the Spanish King, and the most exaggerated ideas with regard to the number of armed men he would bring with him prevailed, artfully fostered by Noailles and the Protestant party. On the eve of the state entry of the royal pair into London the appearance of affairs was unpromising enough, as may be seen by Pedro Enriquez’s letter dated on the 17th August.

“The English cannot bear the sight of the Spaniards: they would rather see the devil. They rob us, even in the towns, and on the road none of us dare to stray for a couple of miles for fear of being robbed. A body of Englishmen on one occasion plundered and beat no less than fifty Spaniards. The Councillors know all about it, but they shut their eyes. The number of thieves in the country is quite incredible. They go about sometimes twenty together. There is neither justice nor fear of God.... For us there is no justice at all. The King commands us to raise no questions, but whilst we are here to put up with everything and suffer all their spite without a word. So, of course, they treat us badly and despise us. When we have complained to Bribiesca (the magistrate) and to the ambassadors, they tell us that it is to his Majesty’s interest that we should overlook everything. This marriage will have been of small use if this Queen does not have a child, of which I am not at all sure. When we were in Castile they said that as soon as his Highness was King of England we should be masters of France. The opposite is the case, for the French are now stronger and more aggressive than ever in Flanders.... Kings in this country do not command more than if they were subjects. The real rulers are the Councillors, who are not only masters of the country but masters of the King as well. They are all lords, some enriched by the plunder of the monasteries, some by inheritance, but they are much more feared and reverenced than the Sovereign. They say now that they will not let his Highness go unless the Queen and they please, as this realm is quite big enough for a King without any others. Seeing what they are, I should not wonder if they do it, ... for they know how hard pressed we are in Flanders and are glad of it; ... they would not care a farthing if Flanders were lost, and his Majesty with it. The King and Queen enter London to-morrow, and I am sure we ought not to do so, seeing the way they are treating the Spaniards already there. Not only do they not provide lodgings for them, insulting them as if they were savages, but they rob them in the inns. As for the friars who came with his Majesty, they had better have stayed at home, for these English are so wicked and godless that they even maltreat friars, and these dare not leave their lodgings. Don Pedro de Cordova and his nephew, Don Antonio, are knights, and the people wanted to strip them of their habits the other day, making fun of them and asking them why they wore those crosses on their coats.”

On the day that this was written Philip and Mary and their Court in state barges rowed from Richmond to Southwark, where they landed at the Bishop of Winchester’s house, and after killing a fat buck in Southwark Park, slept at the palace which stood upon the site of the present London Bridge Station, in order to start betimes in the morning of the next day across London Bridge, and so through the capital to Whitehall. All the fifty gibbets in the streets upon which Wyatt’s men had hanged were cleared away; the heads of the noble malefactors on the spikes at the Bridge-foot were no longer to be seen. All that paint and gilt and pageantry and pleasant looks could do to make the dour Londoners think well of the Queen’s Consort was done. Gog and Magog in new suits stood at the drawbridge that spanned the space from London Bridge end to the Southwark shore. Triumphs stood at the street corners, one of the first, that in Gracechurch Street, containing the maladroit statue of Henry VIII. with the Bible labelled Verbum Dei in his hand, that so much moved Bishop Gardiner’s wrath.⁠[62] Past kneeling aldermen and velvet-clad guildsmen, and with a great train of splendid courtiers, Philip and his English wife rode through the silent crowds, whilst the guns of the White Tower thundered what was at the same time a salute to the King and a warning to the people. The official greetings were, as usual, extravagantly fulsome. That borne by Gog and Magog is thus translated—

and from Gracechurch to Whitehall tributes in Latin verse even more eulogistic than this greeted the man whose very presence the great mass of the people had been taught to dread. All the Philips that ever lived were dwarfed, he was told, by such a paragon of excellence as himself; Orpheus had not such power to move as by his eloquence could this reticent, mumbling Philip, who spoke but little of any language but his own.

Mary herself could see no evil in her husband, and we are told that she was highly gratified at all this dithyrambic praise of him. As they dismounted at Whitehall Gate, and she led him, all smiles, into the great presence chamber, Mary and Philip seemed to onlookers an ideally happy couple, notwithstanding the difference in their ages. Ruy Gomez, writing on the 24th August to Eraso in Spain, says: “The King entertains the Queen excellently, and well knows how to pass over what is not attractive in her for the sensibility of the flesh. He keeps her so pleased that verily when they were together the other day alone she almost made love to him and he answered in the same fashion. As for these gentlemen (i.e., the English nobles), his behaviour towards them is such that they themselves confess that they never yet had a King in England who so soon won the hearts of all men.”⁠[65]⁠

Philip, indeed, had by his tact and amiability already begun to break down the hatred and distrust that had heralded his approach. At the period of the state entry into London, a diarist writing in the Tower of London no doubt only reflected the general feeling of apprehension when he wrote: “At this time there were so many Spaniards in London; that a man should have met in the street for one Englishman about four Spaniards, to the great discomfort of the English nation. The Halls (i.e., of the City companies) taken up for the Spaniards.”⁠[66] In actual fact the number of Spanish servants and followers left to Philip at the time was very few—less than a dozen noblemen with their respective households, probably not more than two or three hundred people at most; and as time wore on, and it was seen that no attempt was made by Philip and his countrymen to interfere with the English, the influence of the King personally being recognised as invariably on the side of conciliation, a more equable frame of mind became general. News had come that the Emperor and his son had detained Cardinal Pole on the way to England, and had vetoed the extreme Papal policy with which he had at first been entrusted; and it was seen also that Mary herself, as well as her husband, assumed a desire to avoid drawing England into hostility with France, which was the great fear of the English people.

Noailles had not been bidden to the marriage, and had only been coldly and tardily invited to the state entry, which invitation he refused. But on the 21st August, whilst the Queen was at Whitehall, the French ambassador could hardly avoid offering some form of congratulation, for it was of the highest importance that England should not be driven to espouse the Emperor’s war. Noailles was as grudging as possible in his felicitations, dryly commenting upon the fact that he had not been asked to the wedding, but hoped that it would not interfere with the friendship between England and France. Mary was most emphatic in her assurance that the peace would never be broken on her side, and as the ambassador left the Queen’s presence, somewhat reassured, he turned to Bishop Gardiner, who was conducting him, and said that if there was no objection he would like to salute Philip also. The Bishop was delighted, and conducted Noailles at once to the King, to whom the ambassador expressed a hope that the peace which had existed so long between England and France would not be imperilled by the coming of a Spanish Consort to England. He, for his part, would do his best to prevent any rupture. Philip called Gardiner to him and, speaking in Latin, told him to reply to Noailles, that although he understood French he did not speak it. “He had sworn,” he said, “both before and after his arrival in England, to maintain all the friendships and alliances existing between this and other countries, and he would keep his word faithfully. For his part the peace should not be broken so long it served the interests of England.”⁠[67]⁠

Noailles partly suspected what to us now is clear, namely, that all this suavity and tolerance on the part of the Prince of the proudest nation on earth was only a part of the deep-laid plan of the Emperor to obtain for his son the full control of English policy that the marriage treaty had withheld from him. Mary probably suspected this as little as any one. Her position was extremely difficult. She was by this time really in love with her husband, and was deeply desirous of pleasing him; she was anxious for the aggrandisement of Spain, which would mean, she thought, the triumph of the Church over heresy in Europe, and the consolidation of her own throne. But she knew that her people dreaded above all things being dragged into a war with their nearest neighbour in a quarrel which did not concern them: she was an English Queen determined, so far as in her lay, to govern for the benefit of her country, and to her the only road to safety seemed to strive her hardest to bring about a peace between the two antagonists before England was involved in the war. Pole had also been entrusted by the Pope with the mission of pacifying the Emperor and Henry II., and was as earnest in his efforts to do so as was Mary herself. From Brussels, where he had been kept chafing impotently, he had gone to Paris on his mission of peace, but the French arms were on the whole in the ascendant at the time, and he returned to Flanders unsuccessful.⁠[68]⁠

These efforts of Mary, Pole, and Gardiner, to reconcile France and Spain, received no active help from Philip and his father. The object of the Emperor was to cripple France by the aid of England, not to patch up another temporary peace with her, and the whole tendency of the Imperial policy was to obtain complete control over England as the first step to this principal object. The Emperor had always used religion when necessary as an instrument for political ends, and it is not surprising that the English Catholic Churchmen should regard his present attitude towards the Catholic party as inconsistent. Gardiner, Pole, Bonner, and the rest of them, who had never yearned for the Spanish connection, thought, perhaps correctly, that they could have restored England to the Church more speedily and safely if they had been unencumbered by the unpopular marriage. Mary, for whom the question was complicated by considerations of her personal maintenance upon the throne, thought otherwise, and wisely the Churchmen had made the best of the position. But they had no intention, if they could help it, of slackening in their own purpose, or of allowing the restoration of their faith in England to be retarded or imperilled for the political interests of the Emperor; and the harsh action of Bonner particularly, supported as it was by Gardiner, caused bitter complaints amongst the English people, and something approaching dismay in the Spanish party of Mary’s Council.

Throughout the home and eastern countries, where Protestantism was strong, the action of the priests gave rise to constant brawls, the actors of which were unfortunately not proceeded against by the civil authorities but by ecclesiastics on the charge of heresy. Philip, by means of his friends on the Council, did his best to discourage these tactics, for which he saw he would unjustly have to suffer the unpopularity. Whilst Philip and his wife were living at Hampton Court, in September, there was a wild rumour in London that twelve thousand Spanish troops were on their way to land in England and seize the Crown,⁠[69] and almost simultaneously people indignantly whispered that the Archbishopric of Canterbury was to be given to a Spanish friar. The most extravagant false news, too, was current that many leading noblemen and Councillors had been proclaimed traitors, amongst them Pembroke, Shrewsbury, Westmorland; that Dr. Petre had been dismissed from the Council; that the Marquis of Winchester had been forced to give Basing House to the Queen; that the King and Queen, in violation of the ordinary English traditions, had become inaccessible to the lieges;⁠[70] and much else of the same sort, evidently designed to keep up the irritation against the Spanish Consort, who, for his part, was using every means to ingratiate himself with his poor faded wife⁠[71] and her suspicious subjects.

It is obvious that, so far as religion alone was concerned, the great majority of English people would have been ready without demur to accept Catholicism again if it had come without the foreign mark upon it, and the moderative policy of the Emperor was dictated solely by the political aim of conciliating the minority, who it was thought would be most strongly opposed to Spanish influence. For this the Churchmen cared nothing, whilst the Protestants and French party, instead of being conciliated by the King’s attitude, naturally seized upon the ecclesiastical prosecutions, which he deprecated, still further to discredit him. Pole in the meanwhile was growing restive. He was a man of high and unselfish aims, a true Catholic as well as a true Englishman, and he resented his exclusion from his own country at the bidding of a foreign potentate after his long exile for the cause of his faith. His letters of exhortation to Mary and to Philip are throughout inspired by the Churchman’s zeal, and not infrequently by scorn of the opportunist policy which was, in his view, hampering the prompt and complete return of his country to the Church.⁠[72]⁠

Almost from Mary’s accession Cardinal Pole had been held back from his mission by the action of the Emperor, thanks mainly to the complaisancy of the new Pope Julius III. The great difficulty was the question of the restitution of the Church property which had been confiscated in the previous reigns. There were few noble courtly families in England which had not indeed been enriched from this source; and the Emperor expressed his opinion to Pole that the English people cared neither for one form of faith or the other, so long as they could keep their property.⁠[73] “Pole,” said the Venetian ambassador at Brussels, “might beg for permission to go to England for ten thousand years without avail, unless he went with the briefs confirming the alienation of the Church properties: for if the Church insists upon reclaiming them disorder will prevail throughout the country.”

At last the Cardinal had to accept the inevitable, not without some bitterness of heart,⁠[74] and steps were taken in the Parliament, which met at Westminster early in November, to reverse the act of attainder against him. His coming was regarded in some sense by the country as that of a restraining force upon the dreaded Spanish influence in the English Councils. He was known to be single-minded in his attachment both to the Church and to England. He was not ambitious, and had nothing to gain by serving as a tool for anti-English forces, whilst his rank, his ability, and his good repute promised that his authority would be great, even if necessary, against the foreign King-Consort. On the 5th November, 1554, a deputation was despatched by Mary, consisting of Lords Paget and Hastings and Sir William Cecil, to invite Pole to England, not ostensibly as Legate, but as Cardinal and ambassador, on condition that the Pope would consent to the present owners of the ecclesiastical lands being left unmolested. Renard had already been sent over to Flanders to persuade Pole of the need for this proviso, and had returned successful. The Cardinal was ready, and rejoiced greatly when Sir John Mason, the English ambassador, told him the news; though, “Marry, quoth he, you know I am at this present, as it were, in another’s ward [keeping].—I must depart when it please the Emperor, who is not at all times to be spoken withal. I have already one sent to M. d’Arras (i.e., Granvelle) to be my mean to have access to his Majesty to take my leave.... Marry, the truth is that they have had as yet no news out of England of the Queen’s determination.”⁠[75] Mason assured the Cardinal that it was all settled and that the embassy named had been despatched to fetch him.

This news Mason also carried to the Emperor, who was better and brighter than he had been for years, for he knew that Pole would now go only to carry out his policy, so far as regarded restitution, and he was already full of hope that a child was to be born to Philip and Mary. That, indeed, would be to fix the hand of Spain upon England for at least long enough for his great purpose to be effected. In answer to an inquiry as to the Queen’s state, somewhat too coarsely worded to be quoted verbatim here, Mason was able on this occasion to inform the Emperor that: “I understand to my great joy and comfort that her garments wax very strait.” “I never doubted, quoth the Emperor, of the matter; but that God, who had for her wrought so many miracles, could make the same perfect by assisting nature to His good and most desired work. And I warrant it shall be, quoth he, a man child. Be it man or woman, quoth I, welcome shall it be: for by that shall we come to some certainty, to whom God shall appoint by succession the government of our State.... Doubt not, quoth he, God will provide both with fruit and otherwise: so as I trust to see yet that realm to return to a great piece of that surety and estimation that I have seen it in my time.”⁠[76] Here, indeed, the wish was father to the thought. For some weeks past it had been whispered at Hampton Court that the Queen was with child, though Mary herself refused to confirm it or otherwise; but to the Spanish party such a fact was all-important, and the Emperor’s jubilation was heart-felt. Noailles, on the other hand, scoffed incredulously at what he asserted was only a conspiracy to cheat the English people into giving Philip greater power and importance in the country, and he quotes as an instance of the way in which the hope was regarded by English people, a scurrilous placard on the subject which, he says, was nailed to the door of Whitehall Palace.

Cardinal Pole, already ailing and elderly, was carried in his litter with great ecclesiastical state from Brussels to Calais, and crossed the Channel as soon as news reached him that the Parliament at Westminster had reversed his attainder. Travelling by road, as usual, from Dover to Gravesend, he found awaiting him at the latter port King Philip’s own state barge to convey him to Westminster. On his way to London, on Saturday, 24th November, he was met by all the English Catholic Bishops and the Lords of the Council in their barges, and then, leading the imposing procession with uplifted crosier before him, the English Cardinal, in his rochet, tippet, and scarlet hat, passed up the London river to the palace of his royal ancestors.

King Philip was at dinner at Whitehall when news came to him that the Cardinal’s barge had shot the dangerous rapids formed by the narrow arches of London Bridge. Rising from the table at once the King descended to the landing-stage of the Palace as the state barge was approaching it. With uncovered head and respectful mien Philip greeted the great English Churchman with more honour than he might have shown to any sovereign prince, leading him on his right hand through the alleys and galleries to the entrance to the hall, where at the head of the stairs stood Queen Mary. Making a profound obeisance to the huge uplifted cross which preceded her husband and Pole, she advanced to meet them, Pole kneeling at her approach. Curtseying low and kissing her kinsman the Queen assisted him to rise, and then between him and her husband she led the way to the canopy, where for half an hour in polyglot converse, for Pole had lost some of his English, and Philip knew little Italian, Mary must have been for once in her life happy.⁠[77]⁠

Nothing could exceed the honour shown by the Sovereigns to Pole, for it was Philip’s policy to win him over entirely to his side, and Mary was overjoyed at the prospect of the full reconciliation of her country with the Papacy on conditions that seemed to promise general harmony. The people, too, who knew Pole’s history, welcomed him warmly. He, like Mary herself, had been unjustly used, and his family judicially murdered; he was virtuous, upright, and honest,⁠[78] and above all, in the eyes of the populace, he represented an English force strong enough to champion the cause of his countrymen, if needs be, against the Spanish faction. Pole was lodged at Lambeth Palace, from which the unhappy Cranmer had been sent to the Tower, and on the day of the Cardinal’s arrival in London, Mary offered him the primacy, an offer which Pole for the moment put aside until, as he said, he had done his errand as papal ambassador. For the next three days Pole and the Sovereigns were closeted for hours together settling the preliminaries for the formal return of England to the papal fold, and Philip himself on one occasion, breaking through all the traditions of his house, crossed alone to Lambeth and remained with Pole for the entire afternoon.

At length, on Wednesday, 28th November, all was ready, and in the great hall of the Palace the assembled Lords and Commons were gathered in the presence of the Queen and King to receive the Pope’s representative. Outside the people were still saying—to the horror of the Spanish listeners—that the Pope was only a man, after all, and could do no more than other men⁠[79]⁠; but here, in Mary’s Parliament, no inharmonious note was sounded, as the Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner, rose and introduced the Cardinal as the messenger from the Apostolic Pontiff. Pole, speaking from the second stage of the daïs just beyond the canopy, begged in Latin permission of the Queen to address the assembly in English; which granted, he spoke first feelingly of his long unjust exile and the persecution of his House, his attachment to the land of his birth through all his trouble, and then he launched into an eloquent appeal for the reunion of England to the Church. He praised the Emperor for his sturdy defence of orthodoxy; but said that for some inscrutable reason God had not allowed him to achieve his end. “But,” continued Pole, “I can well compare him [i.e., the Emperor] to David, whiche thoughe he were a manne elected of God, yet for that he was contaminate with bloode and war could not builde the temple of Jerusalem, but left the finishing thereof to his son Solomon, which was Rex pacificus. So may it be thoughte that the appeasing of controversies of religion in Christendom is not appointed to this Emperor but rather to his son who shal perfourme the building that his father hath begun.”⁠[80]⁠

When the long and moving extempore speech was finished, the Queen desired Gardiner to express her thanks and congratulations to the Cardinal, and to desire Parliament to consider deeply his weighty words. On that very day, as Noailles insisted for the purpose of forwarding Pole’s mission, official letters were despatched in the Queen’s name ordering that thanksgiving and rogations should be offered in all the churches for her pregnancy, now openly acknowledged. Whatever the malicious Frenchman may have said, it is quite incredible that Mary herself did not believe the assertion of her condition, nor is it likely that Philip thought otherwise, seeing the assurances which, even in private letters, he gave to his father on the subject.⁠[81] The Queen’s subjects, too, rejoiced exceedingly at the news, for a disputed succession seemed to portend if Mary died childless. But, in any case, the announcement was most opportune both for the success of Pole’s mission, and for another mission to be mentioned presently, which was nearer the Emperor’s heart, and he had entrusted secretly to Paget when he had gone to Flanders to escort Pole to England.

On Thursday, 29th November, 1554, during the discussion of the ecclesiastical question in the House of Lords, the lay peers roundly blamed the Bishops for all the schism and trouble that had occurred. If they had not been poltroons, and had refused to humour King Henry in his repudiation of his wife⁠[82] and his defiance of the Holy See all would have been well, said the laymen; but recriminations apart, both Lords and Commons promptly adopted, almost unanimously, a resolution repealing the acts that separated England from the Papacy, and authorising a commission of twenty-four members of both Houses to beg the Queen’s approval of the resolution, and to present to the papal ambassador the submission of the nation to the head of the universal Church, begging for absolution and readmittance to the fold. The next day, St. Andrew’s Day, 30th November, the formal ceremony was held in the Palace of Whitehall. That morning Philip had gone to Mass at Westminster Abbey in state with 100 German, 100 Spanish, and English guards, all in new uniforms, 50 Flemish archers, and 150 smartly-clad pages, as if to mark the occasion as one of special significance, and at five o’clock in the afternoon the Cardinal in his pontifical vestments rowed across from Lambeth, the King receiving him at the foot of the Palace stairs. In the presence chamber the Commissioners of Parliament presented their petition to the Sovereigns through Lord Chancellor Gardiner. Then the King and Queen rose, and crossing to the Cardinal’s chair, in attitude of supplication asked him as the Pope’s ambassador to receive the submission of England; after which the Sovereigns, having returned to their thrones, Pole’s powers from the Pope were read, and the Cardinal in an English discourse heartily welcomed the strayed sheep into the fold again.⁠[83] Kneeling, the whole assembly received absolution and the apostolic blessing, and England was recognised as a Catholic country again.

To spectators of the scene, and especially to Spaniards, this seemed to be an occurrence which for importance surpassed all others of the time. Spain burst out into uncontrollable rejoicing, and Philip, the man who his countrymen thought had performed this miracle by God’s mercy, was more revered than ever. Now indeed, with the almost certainty of a son to be born and to succeed as King of a Catholic England in close union with Spain, the Frenchmen must rest content with a secondary place and the House of Burgundy-Habsburg must lead. This view, to some extent, was one that it suited Philip himself to promote in England, and he left no stone unturned to impress upon his wife’s subjects the profound significance of the formal reconciliation of the country to the Papacy; a power which, when it had suited his father and himself, they had flouted again and again, and which, within a year under the new Pope, Paul IV., was to denounce them both with invective more bitter than was applied to the worst of heretics.

On the 2nd December, in great state, Philip rode along Fleet Street and up Ludgate Hill to St. Paul’s, accompanied by the whole Court. From Lambeth Pole had gone by water to Paul’s Wharf, and thence in procession with crosses, banners, and censers to the Cathedral, where he awaited the King’s coming with the Lord Mayor and Corporation of London. Side by side the King and Cardinal, with a glittering train, passed up the nave and out at the east end to St. Paul’s Cross, where, we are told, “with all the Lords of the Council and with such an audience of people as was never seen in that place before,”⁠[84] fiery Gardiner preached a sermon upon the words of St. Paul, “Brethren, know ye, that it is time we arose from slumber”; in which he exhorted his hearers to shake off the evil dream of the past and salute the new dawn. But not exhortation alone occupied Gardiner’s oration, for he hinted that all the ruin and misery that England had suffered, “all the abominable heresies, synistrate and erroneous opinions, tumults and insurrections,” were owing to the “lack of restraint” that had permitted such evils without due punishment. For, once more into the hands of the priests, the rod had been delivered, and Gardiner had no mind that it should lie idle. The famous sermon was a threat to England, and the people who had spoken lightly of the Pope for the last twenty years looked askance not only at the Churchman who threatened, but at King Philip, whose furthest thought it was for the moment to light the fires of religious persecution in the country, the enmity and suspicion of which he was striving to lull to rest.

We are told by Philip’s watchful gentleman-in-waiting that he enjoyed his dinner well after Gardiner’s sermon, but the gentleman-in-waiting saw the surface only. Philip was glad to have England back again within the fold, though that was not the end, but the means for him. Two days afterwards the long-delayed Spanish cane tourney, perhaps the only one ever held in England, was celebrated with great pomp in the tiltyard at Whitehall. For many weeks the bands of Spanish horsemen had been rehearsing the mimic battle, in which opposing forces dressed in splendid uniforms prance and caracol to within a few yards of each other at full speed, and then, launching cane javelins at their antagonists, wheel suddenly away. The Queen and her ladies were dressed in cloth of gold with solid sheet-gold coifs, all at the King’s expense, and the Queen must have been a blaze of magnificence in her rich brocade, her overgarment of crimson velvet lined with fur, and her dress covered entirely with precious stones and sheet gold spangles. Twelve thousand people, we are told, looked on, as band after band of Spaniards pranced into the arena, some in white velvet and gold, some in blue and silver, some in black and gold; and a great ball and supper wound up the entertainment.

Three weeks later, the visit of Philip’s heroic young cousin, Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy, was an occasion for further festivities of the same sort, although the occasion of his coming was in itself far from a festive one. The Prince was in command of the Emperor’s army, but in the clash of great empires he feared that his own smaller interests were going to the wall, as indeed they were. The war had prevented him from accepting the invitation to Philip’s wedding; but in September, 1554, he had sent an embassy headed by Count Langosco to London to pray Philip to intercede with the Emperor for him. Much of his paternal territory was occupied by the French; he had no money even to pay the garrisons of Nice and the other fortresses that remained to him, and he foresaw the possibility that when France and the Emperor made peace Savoy might be left in the hands of the former. Philip was amiable but indefinite in his reception of Savoy’s embassy in London. A commission was sent to invest the Duke with the Order of the Garter, and kind assurances of regard were exchanged, but Savoy wanted more than that, and when his troops were in winter quarters he managed with difficulty to raise enough money to run over personally, in the last days of the year 1554, to see his cousin Philip and his English wife for the purpose of urging his own suit. It is usually assumed that the primary object of his visit was to offer his hand to Princess Elizabeth, but such was not the case.⁠[85] His handsome presence and the fame of his military exploits made him an attractive guest at Mary’s Court, and both the King and Queen were very favourably impressed by him, Philip, indeed, to a great extent acceding to the demands that brought him to London.

The idea of his marriage with Elizabeth appears first to have come from some of his Piedmontese subjects, naturally anxious that the succession to his ancient throne should be secured. Writing from London in September, 1554, one of his ambassadors says that if he were authorised to do so, he would propose the match to King Philip. In any case, some communication seemed to have passed between Philip and the Savoy ambassadors on the subject, and when Emmanuel Philibert arrived in London early in January, the question was further discussed. It was a match that would have suited Philip admirably, and he was prompt to adopt the idea. Emmanuel Philibert himself was in no mood for wooing, for the French had just captured another of his fortresses, Ivrea, and it seemed to him politic to keep himself free to marry a French princess, if necessary, as the price of his restoration to his domains. Nor were the obstacles in England to his marriage with Elizabeth slight. To begin with, the Queen was opposed to her sister’s marriage at all without the consent of Parliament, which would certainly refuse to authorise a foreign match for the Princess, and especially to a dispossessed Prince under the influence of the Emperor. Nor did the Queen wish to give to Elizabeth the additional importance and power which would accrue to her from her marriage with a sovereign. Philip, if we are to believe Michaeli, was somewhat afraid of his wife, and did not dare to press her too far in the matter “as she had a terrible and obstinate temper.” To the King’s Confessor, therefore, was entrusted the task of winning over Mary. After much trouble he persuaded her so far as to get her to promise to speak to the King about it the next evening. This she did not do, and it was believed that Pole had in the interval dissuaded her. The opposition from Elizabeth was even more decided. She was quite resolved, she said, neither to marry nor to leave England. On the part of Savoy also the terms proposed by Philip were held to be quite out of the question, including as they did the cession to Spain of the fortresses of Nice and Villafranca, in case any children were born to Emmanuel Philibert and Elizabeth. It will be seen, therefore, that at this time the match was never probable, and though Savoy was lodged in Elizabeth’s palace, Somerset House in the Strand, the Princess herself was not even brought from her seclusion at Woodstock to see him.⁠[86] Emmanuel Philibert, impatient to be gone, left England, though not empty-handed, to resume his turbulent career after a three weeks’ stay.

Philip had to a great extent overcome the personal unpopularity which at his first coming he had to face; but the fear of the people that, sooner or later, England would be dragged by the Imperialists into war with France was stronger than ever, and the Spanish followers of the King got on no better than before with the English. One of the gentlemen-in-waiting writes at this time, “We are in a pleasant land, but amongst the worst people in the world, at least of Christian nations, for these English people are terrible enemies of Spain. It is easy to see that by the many serious quarrels that take place between us and them. Hardly a day passes without a slashing match in the Palace between Englishmen and Spaniards, and many have been killed on both sides. Only last week, in consequence of a fight, they hanged three Englishmen and a Spaniard, and every day something of the sort happens.... We Spaniards go about amongst these English people like fools, for they are such barbarians that they do not understand what we say, nor we them. They will not crown our Prince, although he is a King now, nor will they acknowledge him as their superior. They say that he only came to help to rule the country and to beget a child, and that as soon as the Queen has children he can go back to Spain. God send that it may be soon, for he would be glad enough, and we infinitely more so, to get away from such barbarous folk.”⁠[87] To add to the tribulation of these disappointed courtiers, they found prices in England ten times higher than those they were used to, and they were almost ruined by their necessary expenses, besides being robbed, even of their cloaks, if they ventured out after dark in London.

To their chagrin, too, they saw great sums of Spanish money, sorely needed, they knew, for the Emperor’s wars, being squandered upon English purposes. Gresham had been allowed by the Emperor to borrow for Mary and export from Spain £100,000, an enormous sum in those days, and one which, Gresham wrote, was terribly wanted in the country itself. “I am not abell,” he wrote, “with my pen to set forthe unto you the greate scarsity that is now through all Spayne....” And he adds later, “I fere that I shall be the occasione they shuld all play bankrupt,” since one great bank had already suspended payment in consequence of his operations.⁠[88] Apart from this, Philip’s own guard carried through London to the Tower 97 chests of silver, estimated to contain £50,000 for his own expenditure,⁠[89] whilst Eraso brought 250,000 crowns to England in January, 1555, and the gentleman-in-waiting says that not only had the King guaranteed a debt of the Queen’s of 250,000 ducats, but he had distributed in bribes and pensions to the Councillors and courtiers 30,000 ducats a year.

At length, with all these blandishments and preparations, the Emperor and Philip thought after the submission of Parliament to the Pope, that the time had come when they might endeavour to reap the harvest. Paget, in his interview with the Emperor in Brussels, had been urged to represent to his colleagues on the English Council that the co-operation of their country in his war against the French would be of immense benefit to Christendom, and in a long memorandum sent by Renard to Philip during the session of Parliament, he discussed the various pretexts upon which a war between England and France might be precipitated. But Bonner’s harsh and violent persecution disturbed men’s minds. A great conspiracy was discovered in the Eastern Counties in which some of the Councillors were suspected of being implicated, the main object being the marriage and elevation to the throne of Courtenay and Elizabeth; and although Parliament passed an Act recognising Philip as guardian of his expected heir in case of the Queen’s death, his own wish to be appointed Regent in the event of her death without children, and his present recognition and coronation as King, were seen to be unrealisable in the state of public feeling, and Parliament was dissolved on the 16th January Still less was it possible to urge seriously that England should declare war against France, and, thanks to the efforts of Mary and Pole, another attempt was made to bring about peace by means of a Congress meeting at Calais.

So far from going to war for the Spaniards, the people, indeed, were increasingly inclined to war against them. King Philip’s countrymen, moreover, were far from sharing or even understanding his tolerant affability in the face of the unjust suspicion and insults to which they were daily subjected. Affrays between them and the Londoners were more frequent than ever, and although the hanging and mutilation of offenders against the peace, English and Spanish, was frequent, and Philip himself threatened dire punishment to any of his suite who drew a knife or shared in a brawl, the national hatred was so strong that no penalties could stop the disorders. In February, 1555, Renard wrote to the Emperor in an alarming strain. He prayed most earnestly to be allowed to return home when King Philip went to Flanders, which he then intended to do in a few weeks. He was certain, he said, that he (Renard) would be murdered the moment the King’s back was turned. The heretics were cursing him for having been the cause of bringing the Papists back to England, the French party were vowing vengeance against him for introducing the hated Spaniards to domineer over free Englishmen, the Earl of Arundel had sworn to be avenged upon him for frustrating his plan to marry his son to Princess Elizabeth, and the Duke of Northumberland’s sons had already hired four assassins to kill him.⁠[90]⁠

In vain Philip urged moderation in the prosecution of heresy, and one of his chaplains, Alfonso de Castro, publicly in an outspoken sermon denounced the burning of heretics as opposed to the true spirit of Christ. But Bonner and Gardiner pursued their stern way, and most of the odium of their proceedings fell upon the King and his countrymen. The Queen, herself in a fool’s paradise of hope and joy, thought of nothing but the coming glory of maternity. The country itself was awaiting the event as one that was to decide, so far as could be seen, its future fate. Ominous mutterings of the fell bonfires that had already begun in Smithfield were common enough, and the factions in the Eastern Counties were as active as ever beneath the surface, notwithstanding their ruthless suppression. The English exiles in France were being made much of in the Court of Henry II., and loaded with favours, whilst Noailles in London kept in close touch with the elements of discontent at home. In the circumstances Philip’s intention to obey his father’s summons to Flanders soon after the dissolution of Parliament had to be postponed, at least until the expected confinement of the Queen in April had cleared the air and settled men’s minds.

In the meanwhile Philip continued to do his best to maintain his popularity, counselling prudence to the zealous bishops, lavishing money on courtiers, interceding gently for Elizabeth and Courtenay, and taking active part in the showy military exercises which the English loved, but which for him had no attraction.⁠[91] In March, Courtenay from his prison at Fotheringham wrote to Philip, saying that, as by the King’s intercession with the Queen so many persons had been released, he prayed for his mediation in his favour, very submissively beseeching his protection and that he would deign to accept his service. This happened at the very time that the new conspiracy was discovered, but Courtenay was almost as dangerous in an English prison as free, and, thanks to Pole’s support of Philip’s efforts, and on the understanding that he would accompany the English embassy to Flanders and Rome, Courtenay was summoned to Court and graciously received by the Queen and her husband.

Much more important, and doubtless intended to be so by Philip, was his successful intercession for Elizabeth. The Princess, as we have seen, was not brought to London to receive the visit of her would-be suitor, the Duke of Savoy, in January; for her own resistance to the match, and Mary’s reluctance to restore her fully in blood, which would have been necessary if her marriage with Savoy was to serve Spanish ends, had nipped that plan in the bud. But now, in April, to the great delight and surprise of the people, the Queen’s sister was summoned with graciousness from her seclusion at Woodstock to the Palace of Whitehall. Michaeli, who was a keen observer, attributes her release and presence at Court before the expected confinement of the Queen to the fear of the Spanish party that in case of Mary’s death “the King’s safety would depend more upon her than upon any other person; not only from his hope of being able, with the help of the nobles here whom he has gained by rewards, to succeed to the Kingdom by marrying her, it being not improbable that she herself will incline that way, as she knows his behaviour and character; but even should she and the country refuse this, yet by her presence, she being in his power, he would be able to secure himself against any rising against him and his followers, and they might by her means get away safely.”⁠[92]⁠

Elizabeth came very quietly to Hampton Court late in April, and was lodged in the apartment which the Duke of Alba had recently vacated. It is evident that her presence was desired by Philip more for his own security than for the sake of the Princess, as she only saw her sister and Philip in strict privacy on two or three occasions. Whilst in this close seclusion Elizabeth had at least one long private interview with Philip alone at the Queen’s request, his object evidently being to induce the Princess to confess her fault and throw herself upon her sister’s clemency. But Elizabeth was wary and would not commit herself. When a few weeks afterwards Gardiner on his knees urged the same advice upon her, she replied that she had not offended and asked no mercy of any one. A week later the Queen herself tried her hand upon her recalcitrant sister. She had not seen her since she sent her to the Tower two years before, and when the unexpected summons to the presence came to Elizabeth late at night the young Princess gave herself up for lost. “Pray for me,” she said to her attendants as she left the apartment, “for I know not whether you will ever see me more.” Across the dark garden Elizabeth was led between Sir Henry Bedingfield and Mistress Clarencius to the foot of a small back staircase to the Queen’s rooms. Leaving her attendant outside, the Princess was conducted by Clarencius alone to the Queen’s presence in the bedchamber. Kneeling, Elizabeth besought her sister to believe in her loyalty in spite of calumnies. “You will not confess your offence, but stand stoutly in your truth?” asked Mary sternly. “I pray God it may so fall out.” “If it doth not,” replied the Princess, “I request neither favour nor pardon at your Majesty’s hand.” The Queen drily suggested that her sister would probably say that she had been unjustly punished, but Elizabeth deftly turned the point by a fervent reiteration of her dutifulness and loyalty, and Mary, apparently somewhat mollified, dismissed her sister not unamiably.

Foxe, who describes the scene,⁠[93] says that it was believed that Philip listened behind the arras to what passed at the interview, and “that he showed himself a very friend in that matter.” Certain it is that on several occasions after Elizabeth had succeeded to the throne he claimed her gratitude or consideration for having on one occasion rescued her from grave peril, and it is probable that this may have been the occasion referred to. There were many reasons beyond the temporary one already mentioned that explain Philip’s solicitude for Elizabeth’s life. Failing Elizabeth, and any possible issue of the Queen, the next heir to the English throne by natural law was the young Queen of Scots, practically a French princess married to the heir of France. Better a thousand times for Philip and his House that England should be ruled even by a heretic friendly to him than by the staunchest Catholic under the control of the hereditary enemy of the House of Habsburg. It must have been clear to him, moreover, by this time that the Reformation in England had not been crushed by Mary’s advent, and that a large proportion of the people regarded France as a more desirable friend than Spain. Nor could he shut his eyes to Elizabeth’s popularity, and to the fact that the enemies of his faith and his House looked to the young Princess as their head. So sagacious a politician would naturally endeavour to gain the goodwill, even the disposal in marriage, of a person so potentially powerful as his young sister-in-law, who, in any case, was likely to outlive his wife, and might if well handled perpetuate the hold of Spain upon England, now depending upon so tenuous a thread.

On the 30th April there came flying to London from Hampton Court the news that the nation’s prayers had been heard, and that at midnight of the 29th a male child had been born to the Queen, happily and well. Proclamation was made, joy bells rang, all business was suspended, and processions from every church perambulated the parishes with psalms of thanksgiving for so signal a mercy. Public tables were spread that all might freely eat and drink their fill, whilst bonfires blazed in broad daylight, and the people forgot for a moment the grim spectre of persecution that might be perpetuated if the news was true. But it was not true, and the sad disillusionment came whilst yet the rejoicings were in full swing. It was, said the Catholics, an invention of the enemy in order to cause trouble; but though this was possible, for Noailles had never ceased to sneer at the assurance of the Queen’s condition, the open and ostentatious preparations for the event that had been made at Court were of themselves sufficient reason for the rumour of the birth. The occurrence naturally distressed Mary, who kept her room thereafter for a time, and at once a flood of scurrilous literature was surreptitiously circulated in London, calumniating the Queen, her husband, and all their friends.⁠[94]⁠

All through May the country stood on tiptoe of expectation for the birth of the prince whose coming meant so much apparently for the future of Christendom. Mary, still deceiving herself, was comforted by the sight of new-born babies brought to her whose mothers were, it was said, as old and as thin as she. Philip’s solicitude, too, knew no bounds. Every demonstration of affection was lavished upon his wife, and nothing was allowed to stand in the way of his anticipated joy. Although in deep mourning for his grandmother, Jane the Crazy, he ordered that the moment his expected son was born all signs of mourning were to be abandoned. His father was summoning him incessantly, and he was yearning furiously to get away, but he could not leave his wife whilst this event was still pending. At last, at the end of May, he gave permission for most of his Spanish suite and his guards to cross the Channel in advance of him. It was indeed time; for only a week before a regular pitched battle between five hundred armed Englishmen and a body of Spaniards took place at Hampton Court, many being killed and wounded on both sides;⁠[95] and the fires of Smithfield were blazing freely now, to the almost open anger of the people, who unjustly cast all the blame upon the Spanish influence at Court.

There were other things, too, which made it expedient for Philip to hurry to his father’s side. The Venetian ambassador went to see him at Richmond at the beginning of June, and on their way to chapel together Philip told Michaeli that he had that moment received news from Brussels that Cardinal Caraffa had been elected Pope. The ambassador noticed that the King was disturbed and unquiet at the news, as well he might be, for the Neapolitan, Caraffa, was the bitterest foe of Spain alive; and this meant that the peace which was being so painfully negotiated at Calais would be frustrated, or in any case be of short duration; for in future the Spanish champion of orthodoxy would have not only to contend against the “eldest son of the Church,” but against the head of the Church himself,⁠[96] making common cause, “not only with France, but with the Turk, and if need be with the devil himself,” to dwarf the Spanish power in Italy and the Mediterranean. But, urgent though Philip’s presence elsewhere might be, it was more urgent still in England until safety came with the birth of his hoped for child. Writing in June to the Emperor, Renard says that everything hangs upon the happy issue of that event. He continues: “The doctors and ladies were two months out of their reckoning, and there is now no appearance of the affair happening for another ten days. If, by God’s mercy, she does well, matters here will take a better turn; but if not, I foresee trouble, and a great disturbance, so great, indeed, that the pen cannot express it. For it is certain that they have managed so ill with regard to the succession, that if anything untoward happens Lady Elizabeth will have the preference, heresy will take a new life and religion be overturned. She being French in her leanings, the nation will decline, the ecclesiastics will be persecuted, and revenge will be more rife than ever. I am not at all sure that the King and Court will be safe from the people, and the final tragedy will be calamitous. It is incredible to what extent this delay in the birth affords to the partisans of Elizabeth ground for the spread of false rumours. Some say the Queen is not pregnant at all, and that if a fitting child had been found there would not have been so much delay.”⁠[97]⁠

In this critical condition affairs remained for many weeks longer, the Queen obstinately refusing to give up her hope, which her women and physicians had already pronounced delusive. Hampton Court was overcrowded by gossiping courtiers; but none were allowed to see the Queen except a few of her favourite ladies, and the whole of the routine work of the Sovereign was done by Philip. All this was, of course, known by the expectant people in London, who saw daily church processions for the Queen’s safe delivery month after month, until anxiety began to give place to ridicule. Sometimes rumours ran that the Queen was dead, and that the fact was being kept secret by Philip in order that he might work his will in England. Religious feeling grew more bitter than ever, with Bonner’s ruthless persecution on the one hand and fanatic sacrilege on the other. To make matters worse, the summer was the most inclement and the harvest the scantiest that had been seen in England for years, and discontent was everywhere. At length, after another disappointment in July, even poor, forlorn Mary herself was convinced that she had been mistaken, and early in August she dismissed the crowds of hangers-on from their attendance at Court and moved with a smaller following to Oatlands, where she gradually resumed her ordinary routine again.⁠[98]⁠

Orders were given for the processions and rogations of the Church to be discontinued, and Philip was now faced with the fact that the splendid plot of his father to capture the control of England by marriage had practically failed, for Mary’s health was evidently bad, and her life promised to be a short one. With it would end the hold of Philip over England unless the Queen’s successor could be lured into the Spanish net. Little knew the Spaniards yet what a wily bird it was that they hoped to snare. But in the meanwhile it behoved Philip to make the most of his opportunities whilst his wife lived. He could delay his departure no longer, for his father was peremptory now, and the urgent need for his presence in England had passed. He was as imperturbable as ever, still an attentive and apparently an affectionate husband to the Queen, though his gallantries to other ladies began to be talked about somewhat openly. If the Queen were of a jealous disposition, wrote the Venetian ambassador, she would indeed be unhappy; to which the reply may be made that she was jealous and she was unhappy. Even now, on the very eve of Philip’s departure, she strove ardently to keep him by her side, or at least to extract a pledge from him that he would return to her within a month, a promise which at last he gave, though to his own Spanish confidants he said that if once he set foot in Spain again, he would never leave it on so poor an occasion.⁠[99]⁠

By the 20th August it became impossible to hide any longer Philip’s approximate departure. Every day fresh parties of Spanish courtiers and attendants were starting on the road from Gravesend to Dover, and the rumour spread in London that, in order to get away quietly, and so escape the notice of the French, the King intended to go down the river in Lord Arundel’s barge and embark at Dover secretly. The news was untrue, for Philip and Mary went openly through London to Greenwich to make preparations for the voyage; though it was jealously noted by the people that, although Elizabeth was now at Court and on good terms with the Queen, she was sent to Greenwich by water, it was said in order that the people might not see and cheer her.⁠[100] Mary was full of grief and inconsolable at losing her husband even for a month, and Philip, ostensibly full of solicitude, specially confided the care of her to Pole. Orders were given that the minutes of all the Privy Council meetings, translated into Latin, were to be sent to the King during his absence, and that no important resolution was to be adopted without his approval. Gardiner was already dying of jaundice and dropsy, and in no case would have been trusted by Philip; but Pole was wise and amiable, and it was hoped would prove a pliable instrument for Spanish ends, advocated as they would be by the Councillors already bribed in the Emperor’s interest.

On the 26th August Philip and his wife left Hampton Court by water for Westminster, where they dined; and in the afternoon, with great and unaccustomed state, rode through London to Greenwich Palace. It had been generally believed at one time, and the fear still lingered, that Mary was really dead, and it was thought necessary on this occasion that all London should have an opportunity of seeing her. At the head of the cavalcade rode Philip with the Cardinal on his left hand, followed closely by the Queen in an open litter. But the French ambassador, who saw the procession, sneered at the distrust shown by Philip of the Londoners, for around him there were a hundred of his archers of the guard, armed to the teeth, with their morrions on their heads and their lances raised.⁠[101] The joy of the people at seeing the Queen again was great, for she was still popular personally, though murmurs there were for the absence of Elizabeth. Three days afterwards, on the 29th August, 1555, Philip tore himself away from his reluctant spouse. Mastering her grief in public by a great effort, but with tear-reddened eyes and drawn, pallid face, the Queen led her husband composedly through the long suites of rooms of the Palace of Greenwich; though when the members of Philip’s Spanish household who remained behind came one by one, and, kneeling, kissed his hand, Mary for a time failed to control her agitation: and she sobbed convulsively when the English ladies of the Court, copiously weeping, were kissed farewell in English fashion by the gallant young king. With a last embrace Mary’s husband left her to enter the barge, whilst she retired to her own apartment, where, leaning upon the sill of an open window, and thinking herself unobserved, she gave way to her sorrow unconstrained, whilst she watched the boat speed down the river, bearing away all she loved on earth.

Philip played his part admirably to the last. Standing on the most conspicuous spot of the barge, he continued to raise his hat and waft affectionate salutations to the royal watcher at the window, until a bend in the river shut from his sight the Palace of Greenwich and its mistress. The bitterest disappointment must have been his. France was as far from being subdued as ever, the Emperor was weary of the struggle, old and sick at heart, and yearning to cast his burden upon his son. Peace was absolutely necessary at almost any terms that the French would grant, for it was now clear that England would not, even if she were able, throw her resources into another’s war at the bidding of the King Consort. But Philip showed no sign of defeat. Like a courteous high-bred gentleman, smiling and debonair, he bade a fond farewell for a month to his faded wife, whom, if he could have his way, he wished never more to see.⁠[102]⁠

CHAPTER IV 1555-1558

Renard had been right in his prediction. The moment that the restraining presence of Philip was removed from England the ecclesiastics carried things with a higher hand than ever.⁠[103] Not only did the fires to burn heretics increase in number, but proposals were made in the Council to resume possession for the Church of the alienated first-fruits and tithes, as well as the benefices in lay hands. The minutes of the discussion were sent to Philip in Flanders with the report of the publication of the Bull confirming the possession by private people of the confiscated monastery and Church lands. To the latter Philip gives his readiest acquiescence; but for the proposal to restore the dues to the possession of the Church he has nothing but doubt and evasion. The question, he says, should be maturely discussed by eight selected Councillors, who should report to him before anything decisive is done, and he warns them that in the forthcoming Parliament nothing must be proposed without his prior consent. So, also, in the matter of the English Navy. The Council reported to him that the ships were mostly unseaworthy and should be brought into the Thames for repair, whilst the few good vessels should be reinforced and stationed between Dover and Calais. There was nothing that Philip needed more than that the French should be held in check in the Channel, and he is emphatic in his endorsement of the Council’s suggestion. “England’s chief defence depends upon its Navy being always ready to defend the realm against invasion, so that it is right that the ships should not only be fit for sea but instantly available.... The vessels ought to be stationed at Portsmouth, where they can much more easily be brought into service.” That Philip had his own interests in mind quite as much as those of England in the matter is seen by what follows. “The King is the more inclined to this course, as the Emperor has decided to sail for Spain about the end of October ... and has expressed a wish that twelve or fourteen English ships should escort him beyond Ushant. This makes the King more anxious that these ships should be ready and in excellent order; so that, besides other necessary uses, they may go upon this service, which will be especially grateful to his Highness.”⁠[104]⁠

Mary, it will be seen, counted for nothing. The sole object in view was Philip’s interests, and, although decently cloaked with his usual bland professions of his desire to serve England, everything he did at this time was directed to using the country for his ends whilst his wife lived. After that he would have to deal with a new state of affairs. Another instance of the postponement of English interests for his benefit is seen in the delay in summoning Parliament until after he had left England. The sole object of the session was to raise money. Mary’s Government was in the deepest penury. Extravagance, corruption, and demoralisation existed everywhere in the administration; but pressing as was the need for funds, Philip could not face the certain unpopularity that would have fallen upon him if the demand for large taxation before his departure had given a pretext to the suspicious English for the belief that the money was being raised for him.

In great state Mary, with Pole by her side, proceeded from St. James’s Palace in a sort of throne-litter on the 21st October, 1555, to open Parliament at Westminster, and Gardiner as Lord Chancellor, now a dying man, appealed in the Queen’s name for liberal supplies to conduct the business of the nation. It was his last effort, and though Parliament voted a million crowns, to be paid in two years, the Chancellor took no further share in public business, dying three weeks after at Whitehall, whither he was carried from the Parliament Chamber. The death of Gardiner was an irreparable loss to Mary. The man had many faults; he was arrogant, unscrupulous, and violent, but he was a bold and experienced statesman, who kept his shifty, greedy colleagues in something approaching subjection; and he was determined to prevent, if he could, either of the great Continental rivals from obtaining control of English policy for their ends. He had opposed the Spanish match as long as opposition might have prevented it; but when it was effected he minimised its disadvantages and never allowed either the Queen or Philip to subordinate English interests to those of others. He was as unpopular with the French faction as he was with the Spanish, and his death left the greedy cliques of Councillors, of whom Paget was the most active and corrupt, most of them bribed by one or both rivals, to wrangle uncontrolled in the interests of their paymasters or their own, with little thought for England. Pole had lost touch of English politics, for he was, to all intents and purposes, an Italian ecclesiastic, with a first thought for his papal mission. He lived in the Palace during Philip’s absence, and every day solemnly prayed with Mary for the King’s safe return; but he had refused to act as leading political Councillor, and was only consulted, as the Queen was, on subjects of high importance or upon which the Councillors differed. He, like the Queen, undoubtedly meant well by England; but, like her also, his views were exalted and unpractical, and thenceforward there was little restraining power upon the Council, except such as could be exerted by Philip, far away in Flanders and overwhelmed with his own affairs.

Philip had found his father in the last stage of mental and physical depression, and soon after the son arrived from England, on the 25th October, 1555, Charles V., in one of the most dramatic scenes in history, surrendered to him the sovereignty of the land of his birth, his beloved Flanders. This was soon followed by the abandonment of the rest of his crowns; and Philip, in January, 1556, found himself monarch of all the vast inheritance of Burgundy and Spain, whilst his uncle Ferdinand took the exalted but powerless crown of the Empire. Almost simultaneously with Philip’s accession to the Spanish Crown the Emperor, desirous above all things of leaving his son at peace, brought the long-drawn peace negotiations to an end by signing a five years’ truce at Vaucelles with his rival, France. England was thus for a short time relieved from the dread of being drawn into the war to please the King Consort.

In the meanwhile, Mary had been fretting and pining for her absent husband. He had promised her faithfully to return in a month, but that, of course, was out of the question. Stories came to her, also, that he was enjoying himself there with ladies younger than herself, not wisely but too well for the faithful spouse of so saintly a wife. “This has so much upset her that in conversation with one of her most intimate friends she said that if it should so happen that the King never came back, notwithstanding all her efforts to recall him, she must put up with living the rest of her life without the company of a man, as she had done before her marriage, and with such patience as she could. This gives food for the reflection that in order to persuade him to return the sooner she will make incredible efforts in this Parliament in his favour.”⁠[105] Philip’s revenge for his enforced good behaviour in England, indeed, almost alarmed the Emperor. For the only time in his life the King Consort now became dissipated, carrying on vulgar intrigues and scouring the streets of Brussels in disguise in search of adventure. News came to Mary that he had fallen ill, though there was nothing the matter with him but the effects of too much gaiety, and a special English courier sent by the anxious Queen to learn the truth with regard to his health was received by Philip in Brussels in December, 1555. The King sent reassuring news to his wife with affectionate greetings, and a faithful promise to go over to England at once, and the English messenger, overjoyed at the good tidings he bore, promised the Spanish courtiers that he would not damp the Queen’s delight by telling her of her husband’s high jinks, “as she was so easily upset, and was so anxious about him that it would afflict her too much.” For a few days after she got Philip’s message Mary lived in a heaven of anticipation, but, alas! orders came anon that the King’s Spanish household in England was to make ready to depart, and this cast her into despair, for she believed it portended Philip’s own return to Spain. The English people, unlike their Queen, were rejoiced at the departure of the Spaniards, and as they went on their way to Dover followed them with reviling and insults, for Philip’s new dignity had in no way increased the popularity of himself and his countrymen in Spain, because it was feared that when the war broke out again with France, as it evidently soon would, his position as King Consort of England and Sovereign of Flanders would make it impossible for the English to keep out of the conflict.

One of Mary’s baits to draw Philip back to her was to persuade her Council to consent to his coronation in England. From the first both Philip and his father had laid great stress upon this, but the successive English Parliaments, and even the English Council, had vetoed it. Now that the strongest man who opposed it was dead, Philip urged his wife to press the proposal again, certain that she would do so, if possible, in order to bring him to London, if for no other reason; but Mary had to face for the first time a Parliament of some spirit and independence, consisting largely of gentry, and she wrote to her husband saying that she did not dare to propose his coronation yet, as so many disaffected members had been returned. Noailles was busy inciting opposition in Parliament, and he noted with glee that now that the King had gone people spoke more freely about him than ever. Another demand was repeated by Philip to his wife, namely, that she should join him in the war with France.⁠[106] Mary, through an envoy of Cardinal Pole, was obliged to tell her husband that she was surrounded by people whom she could not trust, that the nation was already unquiet, if not disaffected, and that any attempt to draw England into the war at present might cost her her crown. But she ended with another earnest prayer that he would return to her, and all might then be well. Once more Philip promised to come immediately, and the English fleet was made ready to receive him at Calais; but the truce of Vaucelles, already mentioned, for the next few months made Philip’s need less pressing, and he came not.

Gradually the centre of interest in English politics was changing from Mary to her sister Elizabeth. Notwithstanding the Queen’s continued assertion of hope that she yet might become a mother if Philip would return to England again, every one but the deluded lady herself had now abandoned such a hope. By the will of Henry VIII., which Mary did not dare to alter, Elizabeth was the next heir. The Princess was idolised by the people, and although she was to all appearance a devout Catholic, the Reform party and the friends of France looked towards her as their leader. Paget was more than suspected of intriguing in her favour, for he was now receiving French pay; her kinsman, Lord William Howard, treated her, to Mary’s anger, almost as a queen already; and other Councillors, uncertain of the future, were unblushingly hedging in her favour. When Philip left England he specially commended the Princess to the kindness of the Queen; and according to Noailles, his chamberlain in England, Don Diego de Geneda, with the other Spanish courtiers, paid marked attention to her, visiting her in her apartments at Greenwich during her stay there every day. Geneda appears, indeed, to have secretly offered to Elizabeth Philip’s ten-year-old son as a husband, but the Princess again took refuge behind her impenetrable reserve. She was determined, she said, neither to marry nor to leave the country.⁠[107]⁠

The Spanish attempts to win Elizabeth were watched closely by Noailles, as were the suspected intentions of the Queen in her disfavour whilst Parliament was sitting. Mary, as we have seen, however, found the newly elected Commons so stout and outspoken that she was afraid to advance any of her dearly cherished designs to them, and hastened to dissolve them in December, clapping some of the bolder members into prison for speaking too freely. The group of English exiles still in France were continuing to demand fresh help to aid their disaffected brothers in England, and in the circumstances it is not surprising that Noailles and his master should consider the juncture a favourable one for making a clean sweep of Mary and the Spanish interest in England. Courtenay, in Italy, was secretly warned to hold himself in readiness, but this was only a matter of precaution, for poor Courtenay was in the hands of the enemy and already a dead force. The principal card by which Noailles hoped to win the game for France was Elizabeth, now living quietly and devoutly at Hatfield, surrounded by servants upon whom she could depend. Through a French agent named Bertheville Noailles approached a number of disaffected gentlemen, several of them members of the late Parliament, from Devonshire; and Sir Henry Dudley, Sir Anthony Kingston, Sir William Peckham, Ashton, Daniel, the two Tremaynes, and others, agreed to proclaim Elizabeth, expel or otherwise dispose of Mary, marry the new Queen to Courtenay, and free the country finally from the Spanish nightmare. The aid of France was, of course, a necessary condition of success; but when the moment for action came Henry II. had just signed the truce of Vaucelles, and he counselled prudence and a waiting policy, knowing that the blow might be more effectually dealt when the inevitable war recommenced. That Elizabeth was at least cognisant that something was afoot is evident from Montmorenci’s letter to Noailles of 7th February, 1556 (Ambassades, vol. v.), in which he says: “And, above all, prevent Madam Elizabeth from moving in the slightest degree to undertake what you say; for if she do it will spoil everything and prevent the fruition of their designs, which must be deferred until a good opportunity offers.”

The French Embassy in London became the rallying-point for treason against Mary; crowds of disaffected Englishmen begged for means of joining Dudley, who had gone to France, and there with French aid to organise a descent upon England simultaneous with a rising at Court. Noailles himself was an eager conspirator, but the French Government advised delay, and the ambassador was obliged to temporise. The conspirators were in no mood now for half-measures, for the country was growing indignant at the religious persecutions and the unfounded belief that Mary was impoverishing her country by sending out money to her Spanish husband, and it was determined by the conspirators to act at once. Sir Anthony Kingston, with the Devonshire men, was to march to London, raising the country on the way; the Captain of the Isle of Wight, Uvedale, was to place the island at the disposal of the English refugees from France, whilst Heneage and other courtiers undertook to raise London, pillage the treasury, and proclaim Elizabeth Queen. Pole always distrusted Elizabeth, even in her most submissive and Catholic moods; and, thanks to a spy, he had already been informed of the whole plan of the conspirators; whilst Wotton, the English ambassador in France, had kept the English Council well informed of the movements and gossip of the English refugees. Just before the time fixed for the rising, therefore, the hand of the Council came down heavily upon the conspirators, and by the end of March all the principals found themselves behind the bars, most of them on the way to the scaffold.

There was no direct evidence of Elizabeth’s guilt—she had taken good care of that; but Mary and Philip were well aware that she was the person to supplant them, and they determined, if possible, to remove her from future temptation. The idea at first was to send her to Flanders or Spain, with or without her consent; and this probably would have been done but for the efforts of Pole’s secretary, the Abbé of St. Salut, a Piedmontese, who had been gained over to the French side, and convinced the Cardinal of the danger to England of thus handing the heiress to the Crown to the keeping of Spaniards. As an alternative Mary determined to search Hatfield House, arrest her sister’s confidential servants, and place the Princess herself under arrest. Protestant books and seditious publications against the King and Queen were discovered in a hiding-place, and some of her household, when pressed in the Tower, gave evidence seriously implicating Elizabeth herself. Again her fate trembled in the balance. To carry her to the Tower or to deal with her as a rebel might precipitate a rising in London, where she was greatly beloved; to send her to Spain might be to perpetuate the hold of Philip upon the country, and not even Pole wished for that. So in her perplexity, whilst guarding Elizabeth straitly, Mary begged her absent husband’s direction.

Philip’s need for England’s co-operation was greater than ever, for he was faced with a new formidable coalition of France, the Pope, and the Turk against him, sworn to crush him finally; and he knew that his wife was failing. To drive Elizabeth into the hands of the French now would be impolitic, and for him policy was everything. So Mary was enjoined to treat her sister gently, to release her from arrest, and to assure her of future favour. Two members of the Council went to Hatfield with the Queen’s message. Her Majesty did not believe the allegations against her sister, they said, and so long as the latter was obedient and loyal she would find that, very far from being distrusted, she would be beloved and esteemed; and this kind message was sealed by the gift of a costly ring. But blandishments had no more influence over Elizabeth than threats. She had begun to realise her power and importance, and declined to play the game of Spain by going to Court and allowing herself to be cajoled into a marriage to suit her brother-in-law.

In the meanwhile the English refugees in France, led by Sir Henry Dudley, were more active than ever, and the reports of the spies with regard to the intention of Henry II. kept Mary in a state of constant alarm,⁠[108] for invasion was threatened at a dozen distinct points on the English coast, and her navy was in a deplorable condition. Some check was afforded to the intrigues by the premature death of Courtenay in September, but this rendered more necessary than ever assurance of Elizabeth to the Spanish party. In response to a peremptory command Elizabeth was fain at last, in November, 1556, to travel from Hatfield to London. Attended by two hundred horsemen in her livery, her ride through the capital to her Palace of Somerset House was like a triumphal progress. Cheers and blessings resounded on all sides, for she knew well how to draw the affectionate greeting of the common people: but what was more surprising was that the courtiers and Councillors, even Cardinal Pole, who had previously refused even to see her, hastened to salute her, and on her appearance at her sister’s Court no honour was considered sufficient for her.⁠[109] What could it mean, asked her French friends, this sudden favour? and perhaps the Princess herself was puzzled at first. She had not, however, many days to wait. Philip had written to Mary and the Council directing them to press urgently the suit of Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy for Elizabeth’s hand, and Mary left no effort untried to carry out her husband’s wishes.⁠[110] Letter after letter came from the King in Flanders expressing his profound interest in the result, for the new Pope had united the enemies of Spain, Henry II. had broken the truce of Vaucelles, and, beset on all hands, Philip saw that unless he could depend upon England even after his wife’s death, his cause could never prevail. But Elizabeth was as adamant. To all the arguments and desires of her sister she would only give one reply: she was determined not to marry.

In vain Mary, losing all patience, stormed and threatened. She would deprive her of the succession in favour of Mary of Scotland, she would have her proclaimed a bastard, she would send her to the Tower as a traitor, and much else of the same sort, said the angry Queen; and Elizabeth, alarmed at the violence, fell ill. She thought, too, of seeking safety by flight to France, though from this she was dissuaded by Noailles. But, ill and frightened though she was, she never wavered for a moment in her refusal to marry Emmanuel Philibert at the bidding of her brother-in-law; and after only five days’ stay in London she stolidly went in disgrace again under guard to Hatfield.⁠[111]⁠

The intemperate violence of the Neapolitan Pope Paul IV. (Caraffa) against Philip and the Spaniards, and the war which the Pontiff had precipitated, made it more difficult than ever for Philip to persuade the English to join him in the fight: for to war against the Papacy seemed to Mary impious, and Pole, now in the place of the martyred Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury as well as Papal Legate, strongly discountenanced any such an attitude on the part of a country only just reconciled to the Holy See. The Lord Chancellor, Heath, Archbishop of York, and a devout Catholic, was shocked at the idea of entering into a war, and above all a war without any provocation, against the apostolic power; and Philip found now that not only were the common people in England against his adventure, but the principal advisers of his wife, and, for the first time, even his wife herself. She was willing, even eager, to make war upon France; for she had her own grudge against a Power which harboured her rebels and subsidised all the plots against her; but to go to war with Henry was now also to oppose Rome, and the main bone of contention was the Spanish dominion over Italy, which concerned England not at all. She was, moreover, in the deepest poverty, for, against Philip’s wish, she had insisted upon restoring to the Church all the ecclesiastical property in the hands of the Government; and the country itself was seething with discontent; so that, whatever her own wishes were, she was perfectly powerless to help Philip as he wished with men, arms, and ships for his purpose.

Alba, whom Philip had sent from England to represent him in Italy, was no weakling, and, like his master, though a devout Catholic he looked upon the Papacy as a mere instrument for Spain’s exaltation, and he promptly answered Paul’s denunciations by marching in September, 1556, boldly upon Rome, submitting town after town in the Pope’s dominions. In vain Paul shrieked anathemas and flung defiance at the hated Spaniards, and threatened with instant death any one who dared to speak of peace with them. Guise with the French army hastened to relieve Rome from imminent capture; and in the hope of delaying matters until he could arrive, the Pope entered into negotiations with Alba for a forty days’ truce, leaving the Spaniards in possession of most of the papal fortresses. Guise and his army soon altered the aspect of affairs, and through the summer of 1557 Alba and Guise fought out the quarrel of Spain and France upon Italian papal soil, whilst on the frontiers of Flanders Emmanuel Philibert was at close grips with Henry II. himself.

Now, if ever, was the time when the English connection might help Philip, but it was obvious that unless he could exert his personal influence upon Mary and her Councillors he could not hope to obtain it. So, at length, in February, 1557, Philip, sorely pressed though he was, announced to Mary his intention of visiting her again. The Queen’s joy at the news was pathetic in its intensity, though Pole warned her not to build too much upon a promise that had been broken so often before. She had been ill and disconsolate with hope deferred, but the news of Philip’s coming gave her new life, and she hurried to London from Hampton Court, visiting Pole at Lambeth on the way, exerting all her influence to win him to her side. Thenceforward for some weeks, whilst the King’s voyage was pending, the English Council sat nearly night and day, and couriers hastened backwards and forwards between London, Brussels, and Paris. The English refugees in France had treacherously given to Henry II. much information about the weakness and disaffection in the English fortresses of Calais and Guisnes; and at the first news of Philip’s fresh visit to England the French forces around Calais were increased, for it was evident now that Mary would be dragged into the war, and her most vulnerable point of attack was Calais.

Philip landed at Dover on the 18th March, 1557, and took horse with all speed to Gravesend. At Canterbury he alighted to attend service at the cathedral; but so hurriedly that he did not wait to take off his spurs. This being against the rule, a young student was bold enough to claim the forfeit, or fine: and the King smilingly emptied his purse of gold in the youth’s cap before he rode on his way. Again his habitual haughty frigidity was changed for the genial bonhomie that he found suited his purpose best in England. At every stage messengers from the Queen met him, one of whom galloped back to her immediately with news of his progress, and on his arrival at Greenwich poor forlorn Mary hailed him with love unutterable. For two days he remained with her alone, draining, as he formerly said, the chalice of his sacrifice to the dregs; and then they passed through London together once more, she borne in a litter, he riding by her side. His reception was not unfriendly by the people, whom he tried to gain by his affability and moderation, though the fear that war might be the result of his visit made them uneasy. So far as the Councillors were concerned, they were now but feeble folk to stand against him and the Queen; though Pole, the Pope’s legate, did not even officially greet one who was in arms against the Papacy, and the Cardinal departed as quickly as might be to his diocese, so as to be out of the way whilst Philip was at Court.

But still, bribed though the Council was and however submissive the Queen, the state of feeling in England was such as to make a declaration of war against France a dangerous matter. A series of bad harvests, the depreciation of the coinage, and the enclosure of the commons and parks had reduced the country to a condition of the utmost misery. Money was extremely scarce, and the idea of squandering large sums upon a foreign war drove the distracted Council to despair, though Philip in the course of many conferences with them urged it incessantly. The Councillors admitted that, in accordance with the old treaty of 1543 between the Emperor and Henry VIII.,⁠[112] England might be called upon to provide an armed contingent if Flanders were attacked by France: but Philip wanted more than that, and to some extent he was successful, notwithstanding that Archbishop Heath tearfully protested that the country was quite unable to meet the necessary expenditure. It was at last arranged that eight thousand English infantry should be raised for service and one thousand cavalry, three thousand of the former to reinforce the English fortresses in France, and the rest to be at Philip’s service for four months, under the command of Lord Pembroke, Sir Thomas Cheyne, Lord Bedford, and Lord Grey de Wilton, one-half the cost only to be borne by England. But there was also a promise on the part of the Council to fit out and man with six thousand soldiers the English fleet to hold the Channel against the French. Upon one point the Council was firm: these forces were simple auxiliaries contributed in accordance with the old treaty, and must not entail a national war between England and France.

But this arrangement did not suit France better than it did her enemy. If England was to join Philip in the war, she must be open to counter attack and reprisals. But if England could strike indirectly so could France, and by such means a national rupture might be precipitated which would allow of a French invasion over the Scottish border and the siege of the English fortresses in France. So again the English Protestant exiles in France were feasted and made much of by Henry II. They were a turbulent lot of young gallants whose brawls and adventures had scandalised the French Court: but now they suddenly assumed a new importance. Thomas Stafford, the nephew of Cardinal Pole, a cadet of his family with no valid claims whatever, was the most hairbrained of the crew, and took it into his head to pose as the rightful pretender to the English Crown. Henry could not openly countenance such a pretension, but Stafford was allowed to recruit men for his attempt. Frenchmen, Scots, and discontented English, a motley rabble of lawless adventurers, flocked to his standard at Rouen, in ignorance of their exact destination. Sailing in two well-armed ships from Dieppe, he suddenly descended upon Scarborough. Affairs were in so critical a condition in England that anything might have happened, and Wotton, the English ambassador in France, believed that if Thomas Stafford once secured a footing in England he might draw to him all the discontented element, to Mary’s undoing. Stafford, however, was not of the stuff from which successful pretenders are made. He seized Scarborough Castle in April, whilst Philip was still in England, and at once announced that he came to claim the Crown and deliver the country from the yoke of the Spaniards, who intended to rule it by force. But in a day or two the Catholic Earl of Westmorland with his militia took him by surprise and Thomas Stafford’s bubble burst before it was well inflated, greatly to Noailles’ scorn and annoyance. The retribution for treason came swiftly, and before a month was out the heads of the principal rebels had fallen on the block on Tower Hill. But a gust of indignation passed over England at the attempt, prompted as it had been by the French, and suddenly the idea of war with France, the enemy of the Queen, became popular. Henry II. did his best to explain away his complicity;⁠[113] but Mary, transported with rage, dismissed Noailles, and Philip was delighted to find that England was now ready to join him nationally in a war against France.

On the 6th June heralds in London proclaimed hostilities, and Philip for the first time, even at this eleventh hour, saw some return for the sacrifice he had made in marrying the Queen of England. He hated war, and his methods were essentially peaceful and diplomatic; but he knew that his best chance of securing a durable peace was to exert his utmost power whilst his control of English resources lasted, which it was evident could not be very long, for the Queen’s declining health was plain now to every one but herself, though she clung still tenaciously to her pathetic dream of happy maternity. Satisfied with the results of his mission, Philip rode on the 1st July, 1557, from Gravesend through Canterbury to Dover. Mary would not leave him whilst he remained on English soil, and, weak and ailing but happy with her new fallacious hope, she was carried in a litter by her husband’s side to the coast. On the 3rd July she bade him a last farewell, as he stepped upon the barge that was to carry him to the waiting galleon, and then, with sorrow and satisfaction mingled, she turned her back upon the sea and was carried to her desolate palace at Greenwich.

The gentry of England, at all events, were ready to welcome the war with France that gave them the taste of warlike adventure which they loved, and the contingent to fight in Flanders was soon made ready, whilst the Lord Admiral with his fleet of twenty-three ships held the Channel. Philip’s General-in-Chief was his young cousin Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy, who had an army of fifty thousand men under him ready for the autumn campaign; whilst the French on the Flemish frontier, under Constable Montmorenci, numbered less than half that strength, for the flower of the French troops were under Guise in Italy, with difficulty defending the Pope from the great Duke of Alba, and Emmanuel Philibert opened his campaign as soon as the English arrived. By a series of rapid and unexpected movements, which entirely misled the French, he suddenly concentrated his attack upon the rich and important city of St. Quintin, weakly garrisoned and in poor condition of defence. Montmorenci hurried with his main army to relieve the fortress, and on the 10th August was cleverly outflanked by Emmanuel Philibert; caught in a trap between a stronger enemy and a morass, the French were utterly routed with a loss of half their numbers, Montmorenci himself being captured, and the whole force dispersed. Coligny with his tiny garrison in St. Quintin heroically held out for a fortnight longer; but from the day of Montmorenci’s defeat there was no force to prevent Philip from marching upon Paris and crushing his enemy for good.⁠[114] This was his chance, and he missed it, as he did every great opportunity in his long life by that “prudent” leaden foot of his which always lagged when it should have hastened. In vain Savoy begged his permission to march on, and was refused, to the indignant surprise of the old Emperor when he heard of it in his cloister at Yuste.

Philip had been at Cambrai on the day of the battle, but when he saw the awful sack and sacrilege after the surrender of St. Quintin he was horrified at the sight. Te Deums were chanted, votive offerings of unheard of richness were promised,⁠[115] joy bells were rung in Flanders, Spain, and England for the great victory; but Philip’s host moved no further onward towards Paris. The German Schwartzreiters, mercenary troops in Philip’s service, unpaid ruffians, held high revel in the ruined town, burning and ravaging unchecked. The Earl of Bedford, writing to Sir William Cecil from St. Quintin a few days after the surrender, says that these rascals, “being masters of the King’s whole army, used such force as well to the Spaniards, Italians, and other nations as unto us, that there were none could enjoy nothing but themselves. They have now shown such cruelty as the like hath not been seen for greediness. The town by them was set afire, and a great piece of it burnt. Divers were burnt in cellars, and were killed immediately; women and children gave such pitiful cries that it would grieve any Christian heart.” The Germans, discontented with their loot, quarrelled and deserted in thousands, for Philip’s fatal deliberation had left them idle; the English, sulky and unpaid, grumbled incessantly. Bedford reports that “they are pinched with scarcity and divers have fallen sick”; and, again, a month later: “Our General is sick of ague, our pay very slack, and people grudge for want. I trust we shall speedily be discharged.” The Spaniards asserted that the English had shown no stomach for the fight before St. Quintin, and certainly they did not shine in it. Their discontent at last became so pronounced that Philip, realising their uselessness, and being, as usual, short of money, acceded to their clamour to be allowed to return home at the end of the stipulated four months of their service. Much was made of the King’s victory in London. Mary and Pole congratulated him upon the signal mark of God’s favour. Bonfires, free feasts, and official rejoicings were provided; but London wanted to gain no victories for Spaniards, and refused to be glad.

Whilst Philip’s army was melting away in idleness Guise, realising where the danger lay, quietly abandoned the Pope to the mercy of Alba, and by forced marches hurried to the Flemish frontier. The intemperate Pontiff was then obliged to make terms with Alba, who entered Rome, as a pretended penitent instead of a conqueror, and once more the two great antagonists were left to fight out their quarrel without papal interference. Henry II. had long had his eye upon England’s important foothold on France, the citadel and town of Calais. The English refugees had exposed to him the weak points in its defence, it had been starved and neglected both by Edward VI. and Mary; and the younger Noailles on his way home when Mary had dismissed him, carefully scrutinised the fortress and reported to the King that it might easily be captured. Guise, on his hurried return from Italy, directed himself straight towards the place and beleaguered it, capturing the Rysbank, the island fort defending the harbour, on the first days of January, 1558. Philip had long known that Calais was weakly held, and in many of his letters to the Queen and Council he had urged that it should be effectively reinforced. On Guise’s approach the King sent his favourite, the Count de Feria, hurriedly to England to say how desperate the condition now was with the Rysbank in the hands of Guise; but the preparations for the voyage of so important a person as Feria took much time, and the Queen in London learnt of the disaster immediately by a letter from Lord Wentworth, the Governor of Calais.

Mary, still full of her renewed hope of maternity, which all but herself knew was piteously fallacious, received the news courageously and set to work to reinforce the town. Pembroke was ordered to raise five thousand men and cross at once to Philip’s harbour of Dunkirk, whence Calais might be reached by land. Unfortunately, the English town of Guisnes, near Calais, was in as perilous a condition as Calais itself, and Lord Grey de Wilton, the Commander, found himself, as he says, “clean cut off from all aid and relief. I have looked for both out of England and Calais, and know not how to have help by any means, either of men or victuals. There resteth now none other way for the succour of Calais, but a power of men out of England or from the King’s Majesty or both.”⁠[116] Alas! the King’s Majesty himself had now few fit troops to meet Guise’s veterans. His demoralised army, scattered wide in winter quarters through Flanders, were difficult to collect rapidly, and Lords Wentworth and Grey de Wilton in vain sent daily beseeching letters to Philip to come to their aid, as Guise pressed Calais and Guisnes more closely. Calais particularly was crowded with traitors and enemies of the Spaniard, anxious to deliver the place to the French; and, although the English troops repulsed one attempt to storm the town on the 6th January, it cheerfully surrendered to the besiegers two days later; and Guisnes fell with but little more resistance directly afterwards.⁠[117]⁠

The news fell like an aerolite upon the English Queen and nation. The possession of Calais had been regarded for centuries as the keystone to England’s commercial prosperity and political importance in Europe, and the surrender of the last foothold in France seemed a loss irreparable. That it should have been lost in a war undertaken on behalf of the Queen’s Spanish Consort, whilst he with a great though scattered force was in the immediate neighbourhood, added bitterness to the humiliation; and the Count de Feria, foreseeing the storm of anger that in England would greet the news, tarried a day or two in Dunkirk rather than cross the Channel with the sinister tidings. His first mission had been to induce the English Council to send forces to defend Calais and Guisnes, but he knew full well that behind this demand there was the need for English forces again to aid his master in the coming campaign; so, interpreting his instructions freely, he determined to proceed on his journey and turn his request into one for troops to recover the fortresses with the King’s help.

Feria arrived in London on the 26th January, 1558, and to his surprise he found the people and the Queen quite changed in temper since he had left them with the King six months before. There was no despondency anywhere now; for though the blow had been a shrewd one it had aroused the spirit of the nation. The Queen was like a lioness; for she was fighting now, as she thought, poor soul, for the inheritance of her unborn offspring; and she threatened to have the head of any Councillor of hers who dared to talk of peace with France until she had recovered the towns her ancestors had held for centuries. She would win them again, she said; her son would be born, and she and Philip, triumphant and at peace, would live happily. It was a dream, but it was shared, so far as concerned the recovery of the English territory in France, by the nation at large, which was now on its mettle; and clergy, gentry, and merchants opened their coffers, melted their gold chains, and mortgaged their belongings to provide funds for avenging English honour and protecting the English soil against the foreigner.

The moment the news of the peril of Calais had reached Mary she despatched the Earl of Sussex and her Controller, Sir R. Rochester, to assure Philip that she would send the forces to defend or recover Calais without loss of time. When both Calais and Guisnes had been surrendered, however, it seemed better to Philip to curb somewhat the Queen’s ardour in the matter. It was too early in the year for him to begin his regular campaign, and it was obvious that without his powerful co-operation the English troops alone would be unable to recapture the lost fortresses. So the first letter written by the King to Feria after the arrival of the latter in England was couched in the cool, prudent tone so characteristic of him. The ambassador was to thank the Queen heartily for her goodwill to send him the troops, even after Calais had been lost, but as his own territories were not in present danger, “I do not wish the Queen to begin yet to incur expense, especially as we shall have to spend a great deal later in attempting to recover the ancient English territory. You will therefore tell the Queen how highly I appreciate her affectionate regard for my interests; but as I have now sufficient forces to hold my own I hope she will countermand the sending of troops, and apply the money to defending the English coast, which is of the greatest importance.”⁠[118]⁠

Before receiving this letter Feria saw Mary in the Palace of Greenwich on the day he arrived, 26th January, 1558, and found her, as usual, eager to serve Philip’s interests. Feria said he only wished that her Councillors were as willing as she. She would, she said, summon the Council at once that Feria might discuss matters with them; but as Parliament was sitting it was Friday, 28th, before Feria and the resident ambassador, Figueroa, met the Councillors in Cardinal Pole’s room. Feria had agreed with the Queen as to the tone he should adopt with the Council. It was being murmured in London, and even in the Council itself, that this misfortune had fallen upon the nation because Philip had dragged it into the war; and Mary urged upon Feria that he should anticipate any such talk as that by saying at once that as Calais had been lost during a war which the English had undertaken on Philip’s behalf, he considered it his duty to help them to recover the fortress. The first need, however, he said, was to ensure the coasts of England from attack. What did the Council propose to do in the matter? Heath, who was the spokesman, was apologetic and despondent. The nation was in dire danger and its resources were very low: they agreed that defence of England must precede recovery of the fortresses on the other side of the Channel, and thought it best not to send across the hasty levies already collected at Dover. Feria, who had seen the mob of recruits as he passed through Dover, quite agreed with them. They had only been sent, said the Councillors apologetically, because the Queen had insisted. As for the broad question of national defence, they asked for time to consider what they proposed; and although Feria and Mary urged expedition, three days passed before the Council, headed by Heath, came in a body to Feria’s lodging and laid before him their plan of campaign.

In a harangue full of honied words for Philip the Chancellor set forth the poverty of the country, the need for a strong force on the Scottish border to defend the north from a French incursion, the undefended condition of Ireland, and, above all, the danger of the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth, now that eighty French ships were collected at Dieppe with, it was feared, hostile intent. What they proposed was to fit out a hundred English vessels with fifty victualling smacks for service in the Channel, carrying an army of some fifteen thousand soldiers, ready, if Philip needed it, to land upon any spot on the northern French coast as a diversion. They were in fear, too, of a league of Denmark and the Free Cities to attack the northern coast of England in the interests of France; and they knew of no other means of raising a force to defend that part of the country than to beg the King to choose for them some good German mercenary leader who would engage to come over in their service with some three thousand Germans, to embark in Amsterdam for Newcastle. When they had found the money for all this, they said, they did not see how they could do more even to recover Calais.

These proposals, which had indeed been suggested first by the Queen and Philip, were exactly those which suited the latter. Under the guise of defending the English south coast a large English fleet and army would be practically at his orders, to alarm and divert the French wherever he needed. Lord William Howard,⁠[119] the Lord Admiral, a great-uncle of Elizabeth’s, and little in Philip’s favour, was by Feria’s intrigues superseded by Clinton, who was his obedient servant. The great difficulty, of course, was money. Everyday Feria urged the need for raising large sums at once. Parliament was sitting, and it was believed would vote liberal supplies in view of the national danger; and Mary herself once complaisantly told Feria that she believed Parliament would vote her a larger amount than had ever been granted to her father. “That is not to the purpose,” replied Feria, “but to get all the money you want in the circumstances.” The Earl of Sussex when in Flanders had given the King an idea that the nobles in England might still be induced, as Spanish nobles were, to supply feudal contingents of mounted men on the Sovereign’s demand; but when Feria suggested this to the Queen she told him flatly that all the nobles of England together would not contribute a hundred horse.

The loss of Calais was unquestionably a serious blow to the prestige of Mary. Already people were grumbling that this was what she and her Spanish husband had brought the nation to. Here was this haughty Count of Feria, too: what had he come over for but to carry some more English money out of the country to feed Philip’s armies? This, of course, had no foundation whatever in truth, but the mere whispering of it made people stay away from the Catholic churches, and frown more sourly at the persecutions than they had done before. So far from carrying English money out, except to pay for the recruiting of the German mercenaries, whom Philip all along, however, meant to use for his own purposes, the Councillors to a man began dunning Feria for their unpaid Spanish pensions;⁠[120] for although the Spaniard scornfully complains of their unwillingness to serve Philip’s interests first, they were all anxious for his money. The fear of invasion, which was, in fact, very remote, was industriously promoted by Feria and the Spaniards in order to keep the English Council up to their determination in raising forces which might be, and were, subsequently used by Philip for his own purposes when his summer campaign opened. These forces, however, did not satisfy Philip, who was somewhat chagrined to find that the English Council was so ready to limit its efforts to the defence of the coasts, without insisting upon the recovery of Calais. He had counted upon using the national anger at the loss to bring when he most needed them a good English contingent across the Channel to join his army, though the hasty levies in January would have been worse than useless to him.

Both the King and Feria were impatient at the cumbrous English constitutional way of raising money, and pestered poor Mary daily by word and letter to obtain resources by other means. This she knew, and said, was impossible in England, and might cost her her crown. One day Paget came to Feria with a great plan to raise the vast sum of 800,000 crowns, in addition to the parliamentary vote, and the Spaniards were all eager to put it into practice; but when the time to discuss it seriously came, Paget’s proposal, to Feria’s anger, reduced itself to a loan of £100,000 to be raised by Gresham in Antwerp and £80,000 to be borrowed from the London bankers. All would have been well managed, grumbled Paget, if he had the direction of affairs; and the other Councillors thereupon fell to wrangling with him as to their responsibility. This was early in March, 1558, and Feria had quite lost patience with what he considered the ineptitude of Mary’s advisers, which really meant their disinclination to subordinate English interests entirely to the wishes of Philip and his minister. From the sitting of the Council just referred to, Feria and his colleague Figueroa went off in a rage to the Queen to: “complain of the reply [about the money], and to warn her again of the danger in which the country and she herself are, her Councillors being so inept that, although they say that the country is not rich, they cannot devise means even to raise sufficient money to defend themselves and recover the prestige that has been lost. We dwelt much upon this, as much indeed as we could; for the Queen was not fully aware of the poor service rendered by the English contingent which you had with your army last year. She was not even yet undeceived as to their not having been the first to enter St. Quintin until yesterday, we told her amongst other things. She was much grieved and promised that she would press them again about the money at Greenwich, where she will go to-day. Her one thought is that your Majesty should come to her again. She seems still to believe that she is pregnant, though she does not say so openly. She promises me to send Gresham to Antwerp at once to borrow the £100,000 they say have arranged. I think if that be the case, it would be easy to get them to borrow another £100,000, though I have not pressed it until he is there.”⁠[121]⁠

Gresham’s instructions are dated two days after this letter was written, 12th March. He had previously been dismissed from his former post as royal financial agent at Antwerp, and his reappointment was probably owing to the fact that in the narrow condition of the national finances he alone had sufficient authority on the Continental money market to raise the funds required. He was to bargain for the loan of £100,000 that had been offered through one Germayn Scholl for one year, and to ascertain what powder and other munitions of war could be obtained in Flanders for English use.⁠[122] Scholl was Gresham’s kinsman by marriage, but the bargain does not seem to have been fully concluded, only £10,000 being obtained from that source,⁠[123] Gresham remaining in Flanders until the summer, spending much of the money he could raise in munitions of war. He had been instructed to present letters of recommendation to King Philip, and to acquaint him with all he did. But Gresham, who was no admirer of the Spanish faction, appears to have been somewhat remiss in paying court to the King, for he failed to mention anything about him in his letters. Mary, who was always hankering for news of her husband, began to get restive at the omission, and her Secretary, Boxall, writes a private letter to Gresham in April hinting to him that he will make things easier all round if he will pay more court to the King, as the Queen asked about him. Gresham promptly took the hint and wrote a long letter to Mary, saying that he had just seen King Philip at a monastery outside Brussels, where he had passed Easter, “who is in right good health as your Majestie’s own harte can desyre.”⁠[124]⁠

Whilst Gresham in Flanders was thus borrowing and spending money, Feria was chafing at the lack of sympathetic activity in the Councillors in the direction he desired. Writing to Philip in March, he says: “Before God, I can do no more, Sire! I do not know what to make of these people. For, believe me, your Majesty, from morning to night and from night to morning they are changing their minds about everything, and do what I can it is impossible for me to make them understand what a state they are in—the worst, surely, that ever people were in before. If it were only for their own sakes, I should like to leave them to the mercy of those who would treat them as they deserve; but I am afraid that they will drag us after them, as your Majesty knows. The Queen does, and says, all she can, and she really has spirit and goodwill; but in all else there is nothing but trouble. As for the Cardinal, he is a dead man; and although he has plucked up a little with what they write to him every day from Italy since the loss of Calais, he is not so warm as I should have liked to see him. Of all the rest of them, I really do not know which is the worst disposed to your interest. But I know that those whom you have favoured most serve you the least.”⁠[125]⁠

Feria noticed that Mary grew ever thinner and more despondent. She slept badly and was devoured with anxiety and yearning for her husband, whose letters came to her so rarely. Both she and Pole, indeed, were now almost negligible forces; and Feria began to plot with a few of the Councillors upon whom he could depend to take into his own hands practically the direction of affairs. How it was managed is well set forth in a letter of his to the King of 1st May, 1558. He has, he says, been able to hold a private conference with Privy Seal (Bedford) and the Admiral (Clinton) “about that enterprise they had proposed to me, and also to press them about the land armaments.” They were of opinion that they could raise a land army, and that the recovery of Calais would not be so difficult as people imagined. “They say that they could get together 12,000 English and German infantry, 3,000 horse (2,000 Germans and 1,000 English), 2,000 English pioneers, and if your Majesty did not think well of the enterprise they might be used for other purposes. I did not dwell so much upon this point as upon getting the force together. They think, and quite rightly, that it is useless to deal with this matter with more than four or five persons who will be in favour of it; and they propose besides themselves Jerningham, the Master of the Rolls, who was the Solicitor-General (Cordell), and the Controller (Rochester), although the latter is a man who always raises difficulties to everything. I think that these three will suit best for the purpose, as they are favoured by the Queen.

“I know of no other way to remedy matters but this: that your Majesty should write to the Queen saying that on mature deliberation you have decided that the best course will be for her Majesty to raise these troops, beginning with the money voted by Parliament: for as soon as the people see your Majesties determined to avenge the loss of Calais you believe that they will favour the enterprise, since no prince ever begins a war with all the money in hand necessary to finish it. You might add that nothing should be said about spending the Parliament money, but that it should be entrusted to some person for the object in view. Paget thinks that Bacon would be a fit person for this, and the Queen would agree to him. Your Majesty should also write to her that the business should be discussed with nobody but the five persons mentioned. Paget, Clinton, myself, and Figueroa think that this is the last thing we can do. Paget thought lately that Rutland would be the best man to command this force, and we think that Clinton and the Vice-Admiral should conduct the fleet. The fleet is now ready and is costing money with no profit. Even if your Majesty does not think well to press the Queen about the foregoing business you might send her instructions at once as to what she is to do with this fleet.”⁠[126]⁠

It will be seen by this that the plan was to use every atom of the force raised in England and with English money, not for the defence of the country itself, which had been the first pretext for raising it, but to send across the sea, either to aid in the recovery of Calais or, at Philip’s option, for any other purpose he might choose, and that similarly the fleet was to be placed at his disposal.⁠[127] It is quite plain from the way in which Feria writes of her that Mary was simply to be told what to do by Philip, and that she was expected to do it without demur. How completely she hung upon Philip’s words, and subordinated everything to his wish, is seen in a paragraph in the same letter as that quoted above from Feria to the King. A Swedish envoy had arrived in England with an offer of marriage to Elizabeth from Prince Eric, the heir to the crown. He had been already several days in London and had not even asked audience of the Queen, though he had committed the gross breach of propriety of going down to Hatfield and delivering the Prince’s letter to Elizabeth before he saw Mary. The poor Queen was terribly upset at this; and hearing that Feria was despatching a courier to Antwerp, she feared that he was going to write to Philip about it. Sending for Feria she with tears and reproaches upbraided him for his supposed intention, and said that she herself was going to write to her husband telling him all about it. “When the ambassador from Sweden first came,” writes Feria, “she was in great trouble, fearing that your Majesty would blame her for not having carried through that affair last year [i.e., the marriage of Elizabeth with Savoy]. Since then, however, Madam Elizabeth has replied that she will not marry; and the Queen is more tranquil, but she is intensely impassioned in the matter; and one of the reasons for her grief at the pregnancy having turned out fallacious is the fear that it will cause you to press her in this other business [i.e., the marriage of Elizabeth]. Both Figueroa and I think that your Majesty ought to do so apropos of the coming of this Swedish ambassador and the failure of the pregnancy. But it is necessary that such pressure should not come at the same time as the matter of the land armament, or it will upset the business altogether. In short, Sire, I believe that the Queen will not stand in the way of her [i.e., Elizabeth] being Queen if God does not send you children.”⁠[128]⁠

Already Elizabeth’s sun was seen to be in the ascendant, and, regardless of the feelings of her sister the Queen, it suited Spanish policy to ensure her marriage, if possible, with a nominee dependent upon Philip. How anxious Philip personally was not to lose touch of Elizabeth at this juncture is seen in his reply at the end of May to a suggestion of Feria that the latter should go to Hatfield and pay his respects to her before he left England: “What you say about visiting Madam Elizabeth before you depart appears to me to be very wise, for the reasons you point out, and I am writing to the Queen, saying that I have ordered you to go. You will act accordingly; and I have no doubt that when the Queen sees the firmness with which I write on the subject she will consent.”⁠[129] Philip’s fiery and impetuous ambassador Feria went considerably beyond his master in his high-handed dealing with the English Government; for Philip’s methods were diplomatic and far-seeing, and his object was not to ride roughshod over his wife’s country, as Feria would have done, but to use its resources for his ends, as if without design, and to perpetrate his hold upon it after his wife’s death.

Mary, still suffering from her usual indispositions, persuaded herself in May that Philip was coming over to see her again. It was, as Feria said, unreasonable; for Philip was overweighted with business, arranging the summer campaigns and a thousand other things: but Mary, full of hope again, caused herself to be carried to St. James’s to be ready to receive her husband, and had horses and lodgings prepared for him from Dover to Gravesend and an escort of ships at Dover to convey him across. Feria told her blankly that the King was too busy to come, and again pressed her about raising the land army to reinforce Philip in Flanders. He found her less ready in the matter than he had hoped—“for the Cardinal and Council persuade her as they like”—and she wearily suggested that Clinton should go to Brussels to discuss the matter with the King. “This,” said Feria, “was only because they think that I push them too hard; and they believe they can deal more easily with your Majesty, their real object being to upset the scheme altogether;” and the ambassador continues by recommending the King when Clinton arrived in Brussels to deal with him high-handedly, blaming the Council angrily for their slackness in the past. Clinton was evidently the most pliant tool of all; and yet, even of him, Feria writes: “Nothing that he says will be true, unless he thinks it will be investigated. I have had no end of trouble about this, for they do nothing but lie and prevaricate.”

All this haughty pressure on the part of Feria, and the servile compliance of Paget and the rest of the Spanish clique, in order to bully the English into raising a large force to join Philip’s army on the pretext of recovering Calais, was seen by the politic King to be unwise. The English fleet, with its seven thousand soldiers on board, might be useful for him in many ways, and he made much of Clinton when he saw him in Brussels, urging him to have the fleet provisioned and ready for service whenever ordered from June to September; but the raising of a land army of Englishmen did not suit him: in the first place because it would pledge him to a regular campaign against the French in Calais for the ultimate benefit of England alone, to the neglect of the Flemish frontier that concerned him most, and secondly, as he says, because “the English, as they would arm unwillingly, however much they were pressed and encouraged, would not be of much use. I can even see that they might cause more inconvenience than otherwise. Either they might come so badly organised and weak as to be easily defeated, which would be most injurious, or they might force me to go to their rescue, and upset my own plans.” The King was of opinion that the English had much better concentrate their land strength on the Scottish frontier and in Ireland, so long as he was allowed to do as he liked with the English fleet.

The meaning of this is made abundantly clear, and Philip’s own foresight vindicated by the sequel. If the English Council were encouraged to employ all their own forces on the Scottish Border it was foreseen that they would not need the three thousand or more German auxiliaries which were now mustering on the Rhine under the leader Wallerdun, much of the money for them having been already disbursed by the English special agents in Flanders, Sir William Pickering and others. Feria, in his letter of 18th May to the King, says: “I understand that these people already repent of having asked for the three thousand Germans, for their view now is only to defend their own shores, and the Scots will not trouble them. They have said nothing to me about it yet, but I know that what I say is true.... If they do not want to bring these 3,000 Germans over, your Majesty might consider whether you will ask for them for yourself.” This, although it was exactly what Philip himself desired and intended, was only effected after much wrangling about the money spent and the responsibility incurred by the English Council. Philip, writing on the 10th June, instructs Feria cunningly to manage so that the Council may be got to propose that the German mercenaries might be taken off their hands as a favour; but if they could not be got to see it in this light that the Queen should be told in confidence that the King needed the Germans very much. The Council proved recalcitrant; for, as they said, they had spent already a large sum upon the mercenaries, and might need them; but they had to give way before the pressure of the Queen and Feria, insisting ultimately, however, that Philip should pay the sum of £2,000 for which Gresham had made himself responsible but had not paid for the arms supplied. The recruiting money of the Germans and first month’s pay was lost.

Relations between the imperious Feria and the English Council became daily more strained, every unimportant point was made a question of dignity by the ambassador,⁠[130] and the sick, disconsolate Queen between the jarring elements, wishing to conciliate both sides, was rendered doubly unhappy. From Feria’s contemptuous and insulting references to Pole it is evident that the Cardinal declined to become an instrument for purely Spanish ends; whilst all the rest of the Councillors are dismissed by the ambassador in his letters to the King as lying rascals intent only upon plunder. Looking beyond Feria’s intemperate, angry words, the principal sin of the Councillors in his eyes seems to have been a disinclination to squander money of which the nation was so sorely in need upon raising forces without some assurance that they would be used for English ends. Already people were grumbling that the powerful fleet under Clinton was to be merely an auxiliary of Philip in the war, at his entire disposal, and the continued bad fortune that followed the Spanish arms increased the anger in England at being thus tied to the tail of Philip in the war, without any attempt being made by him to recover the lost English fortresses.

So far from doing this, indeed, news came early in July that Dunkirk, one of the most useful of his ports, within a few miles of Calais, had been captured by the French, as well as Thionville, an important fortress. Mary was panic-stricken at the news, and summoned Feria from Durham House to say that she must at once send off a courier to Philip to know the truth. Feria made light of the news, and said it was not worth while to send in such haste, and the overburdened Queen broke out in angry reproaches at his indifference. How could her merchants send their wool to Flanders, she asked, if Dunkirk was in French hands? and yet Feria treated the matter as of no importance. But when the ambassador suggested that the English fleets in Plymouth and Dover should at once sail to Dunkirk to help the King, Mary eagerly assented, though the Council at once vetoed it; for, said they, the French have also captured Alderney, and it behoved the admiral to go there first. “And really, to tell your Majesty the truth,” wrote Feria, “I did not dare to contradict them, for I saw that if but four French ships were to land their companies in England they would overturn everything.” This was written in July, and shortly afterwards Feria, having hectored the English Queen and Council thus into placing the English fleet almost entirely at Philip’s disposal, and having raised and paid three thousand German mercenaries which he had appropriated, took his leave and returned to Flanders, first visiting Elizabeth at Hatfield, much, he says, to her and his pleasure: “for reasons which I will tell your Majesty when I see you.”

Mary now was a mere shadow. The cruel persecutions and the loss of Calais together had completely destroyed the belief of the people in her power to rule England for its own benefit. Her father and grandfather, and even the greatly inferior Northumberland, had managed to maintain the balance of power between the two great Continental rivals upon which the importance of England depended. Mary from the first day of her accession, as we have seen, had neglected this essential point in English policy, and had ended by becoming a mere satellite of the Spanish King, involving her country thus in a ruinous war, in which it had lost much and had nothing to gain. The Council, against which Feria raged so savagely, was, it is true, after the death of Gardiner, composed of men of no commanding ability; but it had done its best to prevent the utter subjection of England to Philip’s aims. The success of its efforts was not great; for as Feria’s correspondence shows the most active members of the Council were bought body and soul by Spain, and Mary was in most cases ready to back up Feria’s arrogant hectoring with her royal authority. For her, in her forlorn condition, the first consideration was to please her husband and prevent the Catholic power, upon which she increasingly depended, from collapse.

Her great hope was that Philip might be lured back again to her side to live in prosperity and peace. Again and again her fond hopes were disappointed, and, a prey to a constitutional disorder, she sank deeper and deeper in despondency. After Feria left her in July she continued ailing, whilst those around her, seeing the approach of the inevitable change, busied themselves in plans which might, if they were fortunate, save them from disaster in the future. For men of all opinions recognised that it was not alone a woman who was dying, but a political and religious system that had failed; and vengeance was sharpening its knife, whilst those who had thus made England the servant of a foreigner and a prey to the bigots were trembling for the wrath to come.

Early in September a fever came to add to the Queen’s ailments, and this, being an unusual symptom with her, caused grave anxiety; but Philip’s Flemish councillor Dassonleville, who was in London to inquire whether any league was being negotiated between England, Sweden, and Denmark, wrote early in October that both the Queen and Cardinal Pole were better than they had been since the beginning of their maladies. Parliament met at Westminster on the 5th November, and in it resounded loud complaints, bold and unsuppressed now, of the cost and damage to England caused by the war undertaken to please King Philip, and suggestions were made that the peace negotiations already in progress should be actively pushed. The great question, moreover, that was occupying all minds was that of the succession to the Crown when the Queen should die. “If your Majesty could have been present it would have been of the greatest importance in moving the Parliament to your desires,” wrote Dassonleville. “But if that be impossible, and important affairs should detain you in Flanders, the coming of the Count de Feria, who is much liked here,⁠[131] would serve, nevertheless, to direct affairs so far as the time will allow. Many of the Council are beginning to understand how necessary the alliance of Flanders is to this realm, the salvation of which depends upon it, as England cannot alone withstand for long the efforts of its old enemies, the French and Scots, without the aid of your Majesty. The common people do not understand it yet, and talk of allying the Lady Elizabeth with the Earls of Westmorland or Arundel, and sometimes with a Prince of Sweden or Denmark, so inconstant are they.”⁠[132]⁠

It is quite evident that when Dassonleville speaks of the impossibility of England holding its own without Philip’s aid he meant under the existing system. In this, of course, he was right; but he overlooked the fact that if the country freed itself from the Spanish connection, which had dragged it down, and once more dexterously held the balance between the two Powers, neither would attack it, because neither would be benefited by weakening a possible useful ally. But the English people were quite awake to the alternative if Dassonleville was not, and were looking anxiously away from the sad sufferer who had failed as a Queen and was awaiting extinction in St. James’s, to the demure, self-controlled young woman who bided her time so patiently and so confidently at Hatfield. She knew now she would not have to wait long. “Sire,” continued Dassonleville, “the Queen has had some good intervals since her grave malady; and for some days past has been quieter from her paroxysms. The issue of her illness is as yet uncertain. The people make her out to be worse than the doctors say, and rumour says that a change is so imminent that it will cause the enemy to be the more obstinate about the restoration of Calais. Nevertheless, if your Majesty insists upon not making peace without it, they will have to put up with it.”⁠[133]⁠

This was written on the 6th November; but before the letter was despatched Dassonleville heard from Paget that the Queen’s malady being recognised as grave, the Council had requested her to make some pronouncement with regard to the succession. Mary, feeling the hand of death upon her, consented to a deputation of the Council waiting upon the Princess at Hatfield on the morrow, to tell her that the Queen was willing that she should succeed when she (Mary) should die, only begging two things of her—one to maintain the old religion, and the other to pay the debts she (Mary) had incurred. It was known by this that the gravest anticipations of the people were justified. Ten days before this Philip had learnt that his wife was not likely to live, and he had at once instructed Feria to start for England, for the special purpose of pushing forward urgently the question of Elizabeth’s marriage, which was now seen to be the only means by which he might still hold England. As has been already explained in previous pages, Mary had on each former occasion when the matter had been urged firmly stood out against it, as well as Elizabeth herself. Once the Queen had been won over for a day to the Savoy project, but Cardinal Pole had changed her mind, and nothing had been done. The bold offer of the Swedish prince had shown to Mary as well as to Philip the danger of Elizabeth’s accepting a Protestant marriage; and even at this late hour Philip determined to make a desperate effort through Feria to win Elizabeth for a nominee who would suit him. Suriano, the Venetian ambassador with Philip, writes⁠[134] with regard to Feria’s mission: “The Count’s instructions are that he is to try and dispose the Queen to consent to Lady Elizabeth’s marriage as her sister, and with the prospect of succeeding to the Crown. This negotiation is being conducted with the utmost secrecy, as they suspect that were the French to learn of it they would easily find means to thwart the project, as the greater part of England is opposed to the Queen and most hostile to King Philip and his party, whilst strongly inclined to Lady Elizabeth, who was always attached to the French faction rather than the other.” Feria tarried a few days in Flanders when the news came that Mary was somewhat better; but Dassonleville’s and Cordova’s letters, foreshadowing, as they did, Mary’s rapid passing, sent him hurrying across to England in order to perform his mission before she should die. The great obstacle to the marriage with Savoy—apart, of course, from Elizabeth’s own reluctance—had now disappeared, for Mary had recognised her sister as her successor, without which her marriage would have been useless to Philip.

Feria arrived in London on the 9th November, and he found England in a turmoil. Whispers spread every few days that the Queen was indeed dead, and that her Council only kept back the news until King Philip should come with the strong hand. “Every man’s mynde was then travayled with a strange confusione,” says Hayward, who lived through the crisis, “all things being immoderately eyther dreaded or desired. Every report was greedily both inquired and received, all truthes suspected, diverse tales believed, many improbable conjectures hatched and nourished. Invasion of strangers, civil dissentions, the doubtfull dispositione of the succeeding prince, were cast in every man’s conceite as present perills; but noe man did buysy his witts in contriving remedyes.” Whilst her people were anxiously looking to the future, some with dread and some with hope, the Queen lay in anguish waiting for the end. It was only five years since, full of faith and belief in her system, she had passed over ruined ambitions amidst the acclamations of the people to the throne of her fathers. In that short time, with the best of intentions, she had sapped the basis of England’s international importance, she had opened wide the doors of religious persecution, and, so far as she could, had laid the resources of her country at the feet of her foreign husband. She was leaving England poorer in possessions, in power and in spirit, than it had been at any time since her grandfather brought to an end the civil strife of a century. She had sacrificed her people’s welfare and happiness, as well as her own popularity, by obstinately ignoring accomplished facts and leaning upon a foreign Power to enable her to restore a state of things that was dead.

The Queen was only partially conscious and unable to read Philip’s letter when Feria came to bring her a message from her husband, and he lost no time in travelling to Hatfield on his principal mission. Elizabeth had been so wary and diplomatic in her difficult circumstances that she was as yet an unknown quantity; and doubtless the crafty men of the world who proposed to win her for Spain anticipated no great difficulty from this reticent young woman of five-and-twenty, who had accepted Catholicism so readily. The country was profoundly divided, and it was thought that the new Queen—as Dassonleville wrote, in good faith—would be unable to establish her authority without help from abroad. It was therefore, on the face of it, not an extravagant presumption that she might prefer to follow her sister’s lead and adhere to the traditional policy of England in allying herself with the sovereign of Spain and Flanders.

When Feria arrived at Hatfield he received his first surprise. Before starting from London he had summoned the Council, and in Philip’s name had approved of Elizabeth as the heir to the Crown. Believing that this would enable him to claim Elizabeth’s thanks, he began at Hatfield to enlarge upon the service Philip had done her in thus securing to her the succession. So long as high-flown compliment had been the staple of conversation Elizabeth had given Feria as good as he had brought; but the moment he bespoke her gratitude she stopped him, and said that she would owe her Crown to no one but her people; and when he broadly hinted at the advantage to her of a marriage with her Spanish brother-in-law or a nominee of his she evaded the suggestion dexterously.⁠[135] All through the interview she showed a determination to resist any attempts to place her in the tutelage of Philip. She answered Feria, indeed, somewhat tartly at one point, that her sister had lost her people’s love by marrying a foreigner; and the ambassador left her already convinced that she would be no docile instrument in his master’s hands, as her sister had been.

Mary and Pole lay dying at the same time, fortified by the rites of their Church, whose services were celebrated ceaselessly before their weary eyes. With the Queen there were few now to do her reverence, for most of her courtiers and Councillors were flocking to Hatfield to worship the rising sun; but Mrs. Clarencius, the Countess of Feria (Jane Dormer, Mary’s favourite maid of honour), and a few other faithful friends stood by her to the last. On the morning of the 16th November the Council assembled in her room, and Cordell, the Master of the Rolls, read aloud the Queen’s will, although Mary was unconscious at the time. Feria asserts that when the reader reached the bequests to her personal attendants the Council desired him to omit that portion. In any case, little attention was afterwards paid to the Queen’s testament, for there were none who loved or mourned the forlorn woman. Before dawn on the 17th November Mass was celebrated in the dying chamber in the Palace of St. James. Like her mother on her death-bed in similar circumstances, Mary followed the sacred office devoutly, in the full possession now of her faculties, making the responses audibly and fervently. When the celebrant appealed to “the Lamb of God who took upon Himself the sins of the world,” Mary answered clearly “Miserere nobis, Miserere nobis, Dona nobis pacem.”⁠[136] These cries for mercy, for mercy and peace, were the last words of unhappy Mary Tudor. A few moments afterwards, as the priest held up before her the Sacramental Host, her eyes flushed with tears, and then closed for ever. Philip had no longer any footing in England. He must win one again by force or favour, unless Spain was to surrender her proud supremacy and Catholicism cease to rule the world.

CHAPTER V 1558-1565

Though Mary’s death had long been foreseen, Feria was distracted when it came, for change was on all sides, and each change unfavourable to Spanish interests. “It is very early,” he wrote, “to talk about marriage yet; but the confusion and instability of these people in all their affairs make it necessary for us to be the more alert, so as not to lose the opportunities that may offer, and especially in the matter of marriage.... The new Queen and the people hold themselves free from your Majesty, and will listen to any ambassadors who may come to treat of marriage. Your Majesty understands better than I how important it is that this affair should go through your hands, which will be difficult except with great negotiations and expenditure.” He continues by urging Philip not to allow the Emperor Ferdinand to offer the hand of either of his sons to Elizabeth, and opines that the English would not favour Savoy, whilst, he says, the nobles recognise that it would be impossible for the Queen to marry an Englishman. This was, of course, preliminary to the suggestion of Feria that Philip should marry Elizabeth himself. “The more I think of this business the more certain I am that everything depends upon the husband this woman may take. If he be a suitable one, religious matters will go on well, and the realm will remain friendly with your Majesty; but if not, all will be spoilt. If she decides to marry out of the country she will at once fix her eyes upon your Majesty, although some of them here will be sure to pitch upon the Archduke Ferdinand.”⁠[137]⁠

Feria, who had lorded over Mary’s Council, found the members now sorely changed. They had mostly been bribed heavily by him, and the ambassador roundly abuses them for their ingratitude. They were indeed, such of them as were included in Elizabeth’s Council, too anxious to clear themselves from the odium of the past to smile upon the unpopular Spanish connection; though secretly Lord William Howard, Clinton, and Paget promised their services to Feria. As for the people at large, the death of Mary was to them as if a crushing weight had been lifted from their hearts. Even as she lay dying, the sacred things—the images, relics, and the like—of which she had enforced the veneration, were openly slighted; and Feria wrote a few days after her death: “The people are wagging their tongues a good deal about the Queen’s having sent great sums of money to your Majesty, and that I have sent you 200,000 ducats since I came. They say that it is through your Majesty that the country is in such want, and that Calais was lost; and also that through your not coming to see the Queen she died of grief.”

Under Cecil’s guidance Elizabeth’s first steps were prudent and wise in the extreme. The religious burnings were at once stopped, and those persons who were imprisoned on the charge of heresy were enlarged on their own recognisances; but most of the members of Mary’s Catholic Council were retained, though reinforced by seven new Protestant Councillors, Cecil and Parry being given the most influential duties. But, moderate though the new rulers were, the Catholics, and especially the Spanish party, were in dismay. Only a week after the Queen’s accession Feria wrote to Philip: “The kingdom is entirely in the hands of young folks, heretics, and traitors, and the Queen favours no man who served her sister. The old people and the Catholics are dissatisfied, but dare not open their lips. The Queen seems to me incomparably more feared than her sister was, and gives her orders as absolutely as her father did.”

In the meanwhile the new Queen heard Mass, and made no change in religious observance, but she turned her back upon Bonner when he went to greet her with the other Bishops, and took care to show that, Catholic or Protestant, she was not going to be the submissive tool of either Spain or France, though she professed a desire to be friendly with both. “These people,” wrote Feria, “try to make it known everywhere that your Majesty will have no more influence here than if you had not married the late Queen, and they persuade the present Queen not to be intimate with me. As she is much taken up with the people, she does as they wish her to do, and treats foreigners slightingly. I have therefore decided to go slowly until things settle down and I see who takes the lead. Up to the present nothing is certain, and every one talks as his wishes lead him. I wonder they have not sent me crazy. The whole point is the husband she chooses, and we must try by money arrangements that he shall be one agreeable to your Majesty.”

Elizabeth declined to receive personally either Feria or Dassonleville until she approached London, though Feria sent her an amiable message by Lady Clinton when she arrived at the Charter House, and a splendid ring from Philip by Controller Parry. At the Charter House on the following day the ambassador first saluted the Queen. He was a gallant, handsome gentleman, one of the first nobles in Spain; and Elizabeth was most gracious to him, taking off her glove as soon as he entered the room, in order that he might kiss her hand. The chamber was crowded with people, and it was, of course, no time for political business. He was only in England, he assured her, in order to serve her and let her royal brother-in-law know how best he might gratify her wishes, so as to help forward the good understanding already existing. Feria ventured to touch lightly upon religion, hoping that she would be careful on that point; but to this she gave a broad reply, which Feria thought equivocal. When he left her she had almost allayed his fears, so fine was her diplomacy, and he sent her that day by Lady Clinton two more rings that had belonged to Mary—“as I saw she was so fond of her jewels, and I thought best to give her even the poorest of them.”

He saw her again three days afterwards at Somerset House, where she was staying, and told her that a truce had been settled between France and Spain during the peace negotiations. She showed her suspicions in a moment, thinking that the intention was to isolate her and leave her at hostilities with France. By means of Cecil, however, Feria persuaded her that her fears were unfounded; and in another conversation she exerted all her blandishments upon him to convince him that her leanings were not towards the French, whilst he further delighted her by telling her that he had at Whitehall and at her disposal a casket of jewels that had belonged to her sister. In this sort of intercourse Elizabeth was a match for any one living. It was not until Feria tried to pledge her to anything that he found out his powerlessness. He had occupied the royal residence called Durham Place, in the Strand, as a dwelling house, but he had also apartments at Whitehall, and he tried hard to obtain a renewal of these, “although I am much afraid they will not give it to me. I have little chance of talking to people unless I am inside the Palace, and they are so suspicious of me that, as the late Chancellor (Heath) plainly told me, nobody dares to speak to me.... They are very glad to be free of your Majesty, as though you had done them harm instead of good. Although in several of my letters to your Majesty I have said how small a party you have here, I am never satisfied that I have said enough to describe things as they really are. I am so isolated from them that I am much embarrassed and puzzled to get the means of discovering what is going on; for truly they run away from me as if I were the devil. The best way will be for me to get my foot into the Palace, so as to speak oftener with the Queen, as she is a woman very fond of argument.”

The great question for the Spaniards was Elizabeth’s marriage. If she married a Protestant or a man open to French influence, the effect upon Spanish interests might be disastrous. The gossip on the subject at Court shifted from day to day—sometimes an English suitor, sometimes Prince Eric, sometimes one of the Archdukes, Philip’s cousins, being the favourite. Savoy was always rejected by public voice, because of the fear that he might drag England into war with France to recover his dominions. None of the suitors mentioned except Savoy would have suited Spanish ends. The Archdukes, if they would accept the absolute dictation of their cousin Philip, would have been the least objectionable of the foreign Princes: but Philip was not on very good terms with the Austrian branch of his family at this time; for he was still sore about the succession to the Empire, and the Archdukes were too much dependent upon the Lutherans to please him. So the conviction grew in Feria’s mind that the only satisfactory solution would be for Philip to marry Elizabeth himself. He proposed to appeal to her pride, and to suggest that it would be beneath her to match less splendidly than her sister. Little did either he or his master understand the subtle mind with which they had to deal. Elizabeth was, of course, anxious to keep on good terms with them, and indeed to restore England to its former position as the balancing power, but, smile and coquette as she might, she would never allow herself to be drawn into a position from which she could not retreat.

Feria—impatient, scornful, and proud—began to tire of this inconclusive dallying, especially as he saw, both at Court and outside, that the Protestants were growing bolder, and the Queen herself was relaxing her orthodox observance. He complained bitterly to Philip that everything was hidden from him, and that he could learn nothing, though the Queen said that he knew too much about English affairs; that he was proud, and that she would be glad if he were recalled. “I am afraid,” he wrote, “that one fine day we shall find this woman married, and I shall be the last man to learn anything about it.... I overlook many things and try not to take offence or to appear inquisitive; but their enmity and evil consciences make them so suspicious of me that they think I know everything, and in return for all my efforts to please, I believe that they would like to see me thrown into the river—that is to say, the Queen and her friends would—for the Catholics and goodly people are glad that your Majesty should gain ground here.”

The fear that Elizabeth would slip through their fingers was accentuated for the Spaniards by the idea that her proceedings in religion might induce the Pope to listen to French prompting and excommunicate her, declaring her throne forfeit to the next Catholic heir, Mary of Scotland, Dauphiness of France. Anything would have suited Philip better than that, and it appears to have been this consideration which finally moved him to dazzle the new Queen, and cut out all the other suitors by proposing formally to become her husband himself. Elizabeth had, of course, in her two previous conversations with Feria, understood his veiled allusions to the subject; and when he had pressed his demand for rooms in the Palace of Whitehall, Elizabeth, with prudish modesty, sent word by Cecil that, as she was unmarried and Feria might be her suitor, it would be improper for him to sleep under the same roof. Feria, recognising the absurdity of the alleged reason, believed that the refusal was owing to French intrigue, and urged his master to act promptly. “Your Majesty must get the affair into your own grasp. We must look to it at once that the King of France does not get in and spoil the crop that your Majesty has sown here.” Thus abjured, Philip took the plunge, once more in a pure spirit of martyrdom—not this time on account of disparity of age or lack of attraction on the part of his bride-elect, but rather because of her doubtful orthodoxy.

It is difficult to understand how so sagacious a man as Philip can have been so blind to the character of his sister-in-law as to have believed that an offer made in the spirit displayed in his letter to his ambassador could have been accepted by her. On 10th January, 1559, the King wrote thus to Feria: “I highly approve of the course you have adopted in persuading her and the Council that it is not to her interest to marry a subject. As regards myself, if she should broach the subject to you, you should treat it in such a way as neither to accept nor reject the suggestion entirely. In a matter of such grave importance it was necessary for me to take counsel and consider it maturely in all its bearings, before I sent you my decision. Many great obstacles present themselves, and it is difficult for me to reconcile my conscience to it, as I am obliged to reside in my other dominions, and consequently could not be much in England, which, apparently, is what they fear; and also because the Queen has not been sound in religion, and it would not look well for me to marry her unless she were a Catholic. Besides this, such a marriage would appear like entering upon a perpetual war with France, seeing the claims that the Queen of Scots has to the English Crown. The urgent need for my presence in Spain, which is greater than I can say here, and the heavy expense I should be put to in England by reason of the costly entertainment necessary to the people there, together with the fact that my Treasury is so utterly exhausted as to be unable to meet the most pressing ordinary expenditure, much less new and onerous burdens: bearing in mind these and many other difficulties no less grave, ... I nevertheless cannot lose sight of the enormous importance of such a match to Christianity and the preservation of religion, which has been restored in England by the help of God. Seeing the importance that the country should not relapse into its former errors, which would cause to our neighbouring dominions serious dangers and difficulties, I have decided to put aside all other considerations which might be urged against it, and am resolved to render this service to God, and offer to marry the Queen of England; and I will use every possible effort to effect this, if it can be done on the conditions that will be explained to you. The first and most important is that you should satisfy yourself that the Queen will profess the same religion that I do, the same that I ever shall hold, and that she will persevere in the same and uphold it in the country, doing with that end all that may appear necessary to me. She will have to obtain secret absolution from the Pope and the necessary dispensation, so that when I marry her she will be a Catholic, which she has not hitherto been. In this way it is evident and manifest that I am serving the Lord in marrying her, and that she has been converted by my act. You will not propose any conditions until you see how the Queen is disposed towards the matter itself; and mark well that you must first broach the subject alone, as she has already opened the door to such an approach.”⁠[138] Later Philip mentions that the clause in his marriage treaty with Mary granting Flanders to the issue of the marriage could not be conceded in the case of Elizabeth.

There are few letters extant that reveal so clearly as this does the character of Philip. As he points out in his long preamble, the objections to the match are numerous and grave. Elizabeth was of doubtful orthodoxy, excommunicate and officially declared a bastard, the daughter of a woman whom Catholic Spaniards looked upon as the personification of evil, and yet to marry her the proudest monarch on earth and the champion of the Church omnipotent was ready to salve his conscience, sacrifice personal desires and lavish upon a people he loathed the money wrung painfully from the Castilian subjects that he loved. The talk of his sacrifice to God no doubt was sincerely uttered and believed by himself, because he ever identified his political aims with the cause of the Almighty; but the real reason for his willingness to marry Elizabeth in spite of everything was primarily to prevent England from slipping away from his grasp to the irreparable injury of his cause. If England became a Protestant power under Elizabeth, he foresaw that it would reinforce the elements in his own dominions with which his great struggle was even now visible on the horizon; if it became Catholic under Mary Stuart, matters would be still worse for him, because his great rival France would then hold the whip hand over him for ever from across the Channel. It was a dire predicament for a proud, devout monarch to find himself in, and of the two great evils that threatened, Philip proposed to choose the lesser in marrying Elizabeth “for the greater glory of God.”

But it takes two persons to make a marriage, and Elizabeth, unlike her sister, had no notion of allowing herself and England to be made the tools of another’s ambitions, for she had ambitions of her own, and in most cases they were not identical with those of her brother-in-law. In one particular alone they coincided, namely, in the need for excluding the French from gaining control of England by means of Mary Stuart or otherwise, and this was the point that restrained Philip from proceeding to extremities with Elizabeth for thirty years of provocation. Feria, who was in closer touch with the progress of affairs in England than his master, must have seen the impracticability of proposing for Elizabeth’s hand in the spirit of his instructions, and, although he saw her in the little chamber at Whitehall on the eve of the opening of Parliament on the 25th January, where she chatted very affably with him, he did not venture to mention the question of marriage, as he had been told that Parliament would press her to choose a husband, and thought that he had better wait until then. But Philip was impatient, the English Peace Commissioners at Cateau Cambresis, who had now been joined by Lord William Howard, were standing out firmly for the restoration of Calais as a condition of the general peace.⁠[139] If Elizabeth showed herself ready to become Philip’s wife and the obedient tool of his policy, he was willing to make a stand too on the subject of Calais; but he was determined not to be kept at war for the sake of the English if Elizabeth persevered in her proposed Parliamentary action with regard to religious reform, and he peremptorily instructed Feria to remonstrate earnestly with her on the subject, and to tell her from him, “as a good and true brother, who really wishes her well, both on account of our relationship and because I wish to see her firmly established on the throne, that I warn her to ponder deeply the evils which may result to England, particularly so early in her reign, from any change in religion.... You will enforce this by all the good arguments and persuasions that you can employ, ... but if you can obtain no success in that way you will consider whether it will be well to press the Queen by saying that if this change is made, all idea of my marriage with her must be broken off. If she has any thoughts that way this may be effective.”⁠[140]⁠

Feria was in a quandary, for he knew how impossible it was, seeing Elizabeth’s temper, to deal with her in this way. After two or three inconclusive interviews with the Queen, in which the question of the religious changes was pressed and the marriage broadly hinted at, Feria came to close quarters with her. She began with her usual professions of disinclination to marry at all, and was proceeding, as he feared, to decline her brother-in-law’s proposal, when the ambassador stopped her and said he did not want an answer then. After some coquettish verbal fencing she promised him that she would give him a good answer if she gave him one at all. And then came the serious part of the business. Howard had written to her that Alba had said that they (the Spaniards) could not stand out for Calais any longer, but must make peace in any case.⁠[141]⁠

Elizabeth worked herself up into a rage about this, and began to storm about Mary of Scotland’s claims upon England. She was not so poor that she could not get what money and soldiers she needed to hold her own, she said. Her people were all grumbling, she declared, at the waste of money upon the fleet for Philip’s service and other heavy expenditure the late Queen had incurred for him; and Feria had much ado to enforce his view that England owed a deep debt of gratitude to Philip, and the unreasonableness of expecting that he would keep at war with France for the sake of a single town like Calais. He was afraid even to speak about the religious point for fear of exacerbating their relations: “Yet, although I plainly see her going to perdition, it seems to me that if the marriage can be carried through, the rest will soon be arranged in accordance with the glory of God and the wishes of your Majesty. If the marriage do not take place, all I could say to the Queen about religion would be of little avail, as she is so badly advised by the heretics who surround her, and it might even prejudice the principal matter” (i.e., the marriage).

Events thereafter moved apace. To the Queen’s indignation she was forced to consent to a peace with France, postponing the restitution of Calais for eight years, to be followed by a peace with Scotland. The Act of Supremacy and the Act of Uniformity were passed; and every day, notwithstanding Elizabeth’s diplomatic professions of attachment to Spain and its King, the hold of the latter over England became less powerful. Philip had to make up his mind rapidly after the religious changes in the English Parliament had been made. It was clear to him then that Elizabeth would be no fit instrument to his ends. Feria was telling him hotly that “the only way to deal with these heretics is sword in hand,” and Alba, in Flanders, was for coercing Elizabeth before she grew strong enough to resist Spain and the English Catholics combined.

But Philip hated war, and had a supreme belief in his own diplomatic methods. He was face to face, moreover, with a new development. Always before France had been the insatiable rival of his house, and France had been a solid instrument in the hands of its King. But the Reformation was already confusing the traditional boundaries. Henry II. was growing apprehensive of the increasing spread of Calvinism in his own dominions, and a solution after Philip’s own heart was devised by the Churchmen that drew the Catholic rivals together to face the new danger of Protestantism throughout Europe. England was no longer to be the balancing power between them, but the enemy of both, so long as she remained Protestant. To cement this hopeful attempt to combine Europe politically on new lines Philip was to marry the eldest daughter of France, the Princess Elizabeth of Valois, who, so long as he had hopes of marrying Elizabeth, had been destined for his only son Don Carlos.

The close union of France and Spain caused, as usual, a wave of alarm to pass over England. Paget and the Spanish party in Elizabeth’s Court were for continuing the war against France at any cost and clinging to Philip as the sole chance of safety⁠[142]⁠; and, although the Queen and Cecil would not go so far as that, they did their best to mollify Feria and his master. When the ambassador saw the Queen on the 7th April, 1559 (the day that the news of the signing of the peace of Cateau Cambresis came to London) she was pouting and coquettishly aggrieved that Philip should have engaged himself to be married to any one but her, as she had given him no answer yet. Feria retorted crossly that the King could not wait four months for her answer, and when Cecil told him that they were quite willing to continue the war against France if Philip liked, the ambassador answered him rudely, and “I left them that day as bitter as gall.” Again and again the angry ambassador complained and remonstrated with the Queen about the religious changes and the licence now taken by the people. But she outwitted him at every point, kept up an elaborate pretence of negotiations to marry one of the Austrian Archdukes, who would depend entirely on Philip, and personally assured Feria that she was as good a Catholic as her father, the only point upon which she differed from the Spaniards being the supremacy of the Pope.

Thus England freed herself from Spanish tutelage within six months of Elizabeth’s accession. Feria said she “was a daughter of the devil and her chief ministers the greatest scoundrels and heretics in the land,” and when he went back to join his master in Flanders he breathed fire and slaughter against England and the Queen, whose diplomacy had stultified all his efforts. He had done his best to persuade Philip to pluck a quarrel with England that should give him an excuse for armed intervention, the deposition of Elizabeth by the Pope, and the patronage of Catharine Grey as a pretender for Elizabeth’s throne with the aid of the English Catholics, who, he assured Philip, were all in his favour.⁠[143] But Philip thought that he had found a better way than by war and rejected the advice of his fiery councillors. To represent him in England there remained at Elizabeth’s Court the best possible instrument that could have been selected in the circumstances, the Bishop of Aquila, Alvaro de la Quadra, a supple, patient, unscrupulous old ecclesiastic, who had lived long in Italy and was an adept at sly, stealthy diplomacy, which so cleverly used religion as the stalking-horse of politics. Bishop Jewel calls him “a clever, crafty, old fox”; and he needed all his cunning, for his task for the next five years until it broke his heart was to keep Elizabeth, heretic though she might be, from joining either the Protestants or the French against Philip.

For even before the ink was dry that ratified the peace of Cateau Cambresis, before the pompous ceremonies in England, France, and Spain that celebrated it were finished, a stroke of Fate had rendered the union between the two great Catholic Powers unstable, and old political traditions were reasserting themselves. I have told elsewhere⁠[144] of the ill-fated feast in Paris, when stern Alba wedded in June, 1559, as proxy for his master, the beautiful Valois Princess of fourteen. How her father, the gallant Henry, was stricken down mortally at the joust that followed, and how the rise of his long-neglected wife, Catharine de Medici, able and ambitious, soon made the Catholic League a hollow pretence. She needed not the dominance of the Guises and their Catholic friends, but so nicely to balance them against the Huguenots that she herself might hold the scale. She did not send her sweet daughter to Spain as a pledge for the extirpation of Protestantism root and branch, as had been intended, but to cajole Philip into helping her personally to hold her own as ruler of France, whichever faction was paramount, and to win, if possible, the heir of Spain for her younger daughter, so that her hold over the country might be perpetuated.

The accession also of young Francis II. and Mary Stuart to the throne of France, under the dominion of their ambitious Guise uncles, had driven a great wedge into the unity of the Catholic League. The Guises, who led the Catholic party in France, were now for a short time masters, on behalf of the young King and his wife, of the national resources, and were prepared to use them in furthering their Scottish niece’s claims to the English throne. This naturally drew Philip more to the side of Elizabeth, however perverse she might be, and, from the very first, rendered abortive the Catholic League secretly cemented by the treaty of Cateau Cambresis. When the death of Francis II., after his short reign, threw the Guises into the background and made Catharine de Medici Regent of France, matters were hardly improved. Philip was always a bad hand at playing another’s game, and though his young French wife lived happily with him, for he was a good husband, the purpose of her going to Spain was never achieved, and Philip was as anxious after his French marriage as before it to prevent his mother-in-law and his English sister-in-law from making common cause against him. They, knowing this as well as he, could, and did, always checkmate or paralyse him when they pleased by simulating friendship with each other, either by marriage talk or by a pretence of common interest. Whilst Catharine de Medici lived this was the problem of Europe, and to Philip it proved an insoluble one.

Feria and Alba were for ever advocating the high hand with Elizabeth, but Philip knew that his hollow union with France had drawn all Protestants together, so that if he aided the English Catholics to depose Elizabeth and crush Protestantism in her country, not only would Catholic France be against him, but the Lutheran Germans would be disturbed, and perhaps he might let loose the storm, of which the mutterings were already audible, over his own Netherlands. So, in spite of the Bishop of Aquila’s soft hints and Feria’s warlike advice, Philip decided, notwithstanding Elizabeth’s religious recalcitrancy, upon a policy of palliation and suavity in England. “You must,” he instructed his ambassador, “keep mainly in view by all means to avoid a rupture. I have already pointed out the importance of this, but it is so great that I cannot be satisfied without repeating it many times.” But yet he was ready even thus early if Elizabeth’s subjects attacked her for her religious measures to take full advantage of the opportunity for his own advantage, and so to prevent the French from establishing themselves in England. With these pacific instructions, therefore, he sent the great sum of 60,000 crowns “to gain friends,” and says, “I have also ordered, in case of need, that money shall be raised to fit out a fleet at short notice, so that it may be ready to carry men over to England if required.”

The difference between Feria’s arrogant methods and the Bishop’s blandness was soon seen in his intercourse with the Queen. Of her and her advisers in his letters to Philip he has nothing but violent abuse; but he was all tolerant kindness when he was with her, and got quite friendly with the “heretic” Cecil. He was lodged in Durham Place, as Feria had been, and was in close touch with Lady Mary Sidney and her brother, Lord Robert Dudley, who was soon to be created Earl of Leicester. During all the comedy of pretended marriage negotiations with the Archduke Charles the Bishop dexterously aided or hindered the progress as the interests of Philip seemed to dictate. If the Archduke was to come as a thoroughgoing Catholic and obedient servant of Spain well and good, but the moment there was any talk of his making religious concessions or appearing under Lutheran auspices, then the wily Bishop smiled upon the perennial second string of Lord Robert Dudley. In the meanwhile he was hand in glove with the discontented and dismayed English Catholics, gaining friends amongst them by money promises and blandishments, whilst his spies were busy discovering the weak points on the East Coast towards Flanders, making lists of the Catholic and disaffected English gentry, and whispering to them of the armed aid that in case of need would be sent by the Catholic King. To Philip the Bishop wrote often with affected humility, but with studied significance, saying how surprised the English Catholics were that he made no move to help them. “Your Majesty,” he wrote, “is the only hope of the godly and the dread of the wicked, if the latter are not to be allowed time to combat and weaken the Catholic party.”⁠[145]⁠

But Philip was powerless to stir a finger to help them, much as they might cry to him. The death of Henry II. and the accession of Mary Stuart’s husband, as has been pointed out, had suddenly changed the situation. The claims of the Queen of Scots to the English throne, and the despatch of a strong French force to Leith to succour the Regent Mary of Lorraine, hardly pressed as she was by the rebels subsidised by Elizabeth, precipitated the eventuality that Philip dreaded most—a war in Scotland between France and the Queen of England. If in such a war the latter were beaten by the Guises, then farewell to Spanish influence in England, however Catholic the country might become. Yet Philip dared not fight on the behalf of heresy against the Catholic French element and the Guises, or the Huguenots would become all-powerful; whilst if he interfered in England at all to Elizabeth’s detriment his action would draw together in close unity the powerful Protestant party in England, the majority of the Scots who were Reformers, the Huguenots of France, who were panting for revenge on the Guises, and the Lutherans of Germany and Holland. With such a combination as this behind her Elizabeth might adopt a stronger anti-Catholic attitude than ever.

But what Philip dreaded even more than this was the encouragement that such a strong combination of Protestants would give to the Flemings, who were already straining in the leash to escape from the Spanish religious system. Philip sent envoys to England and France to urge, both by persuasion and threats, that the peace should be kept (March, 1560), but, as usual, his step was too late to prevent hostilities. The Bishop of Aquila, in his private letters to Feria, was scornful of his master’s methods. “If these envoys from his Majesty are only coming to talk, they will do more harm than good, as the Catholics here expect much more than that.... The Queen is greatly alarmed, and this is the time to do what ought to have been done before; but if we are always to be on the defensive and to palliate everything, I can only pray for patience, though I well know we shall never have such an opportunity again. All here are with us, and the very heretics are sick of it.”⁠[146] The Bishop dared not write in this strain to Philip, though he said as much as he could; but the King saw, if his advisers did not, that he could not take up arms against Elizabeth without playing the French game, and it was equally impossible for him to fight his Catholic French allies on behalf of the heretic Queen. All he could do, therefore, was talk.

The result of the short war in Scotland was favourable to Elizabeth, and the pressing danger passed; but Philip’s threat to aid the French if she insisted upon continuing the hostilities brought home to Elizabeth and her minister that the Catholic League was still a danger to them. An attempt was made to persuade the Spaniards that the Queen would really marry the Archduke at once and follow Philip’s advice, the object being to weaken the friendship between Spain and France; but Lord Robert Dudley’s philandering was now so open, and Elizabeth so obviously fond of him, that the new pretence about the Archduke and her sudden Catholic professions deceived nobody.⁠[147] Even Cecil lost heart at the difficulties created by this infatuation of the Queen for Dudley, and the Spanish ambassador chuckled with delight that the “heretics” were falling out amongst themselves and the Catholic cause was looking brighter.

As soon as the death of Dudley’s wife set him free he made an attempt, which for a time hoodwinked Bishop Quadra, to gain the support of Spain for his suit, and even wily Philip believed that England was going to fall under his sway again by means of the Queen’s lover, a belief that proved that he still failed to gauge Elizabeth’s true character. The intermediary in this case was Sir Henry Sidney, who, being a kinsman of the English Countess of Feria and the husband of Robert Dudley’s sister, was persona grata at Durham House. He came to Bishop Quadra late in January, 1561, and after much circumlocution remarked that he was surprised that it had not been suggested to Philip that the opportunity offered “for gaining over Lord Robert by extending a hand to him now in the matter of his marriage with the Queen, and he would thereafter serve and obey your Majesty like one of your own vassals.” The Bishop was cool about it, for Dudley’s character was bad, and many evil tales were afloat about his wife’s recent death. The King of Spain, said the Bishop, had no need to win the Queen of England’s goodwill. She had not, moreover, shown herself very ready hitherto to take his advice upon anything, and it was not sure that she would do so in the matter of her marriage with Lord Robert. Sidney admitted that the rumours about the foul play upon Amy Robsart were generally believed, but he said they were untrue. The Queen, however, was really in love with Robert, and was most anxious to settle the religious question by the help of him as her husband. Yes, said the Bishop, that no doubt is very praiseworthy and necessary; but he did not see why the religious matter should be mixed up with so mundane a business as marrying Dudley. It ought to be undertaken whether the Queen was married or single. Sidney quite agreed. Matters in the country were in a bad way, he admitted, but the Queen and Robert were anxious to put things right, and he swore most solemnly that they intended to restore the Catholic religion in England by means of a General Council of the Church, in which England would join if King Philip would patronise the bridegroom and urge Elizabeth to marry him. The Bishop reminded Sidney that he had been led astray several times before by such talk when the Queen wanted for her own ends to appear friendly to Spain. It was, moreover, very improper to make religion the excuse. If Lord Robert repented of his heresy and wanted to recant there was nothing to prevent him from doing so without bargaining about it, and the interview ended by Sidney’s promising to bring Lord Robert himself to Durham House to satisfy the Bishop of his bonâ fides.

In his letter to the King the Churchman expresses himself as being much shocked at the barefacedness of the proposal; but he goes on to say that he believes that it is only by this means that the Queen can be brought round to the Spanish side. The gossip about her and Dudley, he says, is so scandalous that she will not dare to marry him without some strong support; and there was no price she would not pay to obtain it. Such a tendency as that shown in Sidney’s proposal would, of course, be strenuously opposed by most of Elizabeth’s advisers; and Paget, with Cecil and his friends, attempted a diversion by strongly advocating a close alliance with France, where the young King Francis II. had recently died, and Catharine de Medici had become supreme. The Dudley intrigue with Spain, however, went on, though probably, as we see now, without the full knowledge of the Queen. Lord Robert at length came with Sidney to see the Bishop on the 13th February, and professed his readiness to be the humble servant of King Philip if he would recommend the Queen to marry him. Quadra was cautious. He had no special instructions, he said, and the King was now in Spain, a long way off; but he would promise Dudley that he would, the next time he saw the Queen, urge her to marry; and if she mentioned any particular person he (the Bishop) would enlarge upon Lord Robert’s good qualities and King Philip’s affection for him.

Two days later the smooth-tongued old Bishop found himself alone with the Queen, and ventured to say how glad he was to hear that her marriage was seriously under discussion at last. If she wished to consult the King of Spain on the matter the Bishop was very much at her service, though no instructions from Spain had been sent to him. The Queen talked wide of the subject for some time; but she said at last that she knew she was no angel, and would make the Bishop her confessor. She would not deny that she had some affection for Lord Robert for his good qualities, but had not decided to marry him or any one else. But she saw every day the necessity for her marriage, and that to satisfy the English humour it was desirable that she should marry an Englishman. What would the King of Spain think, she asked, if she married one of her servants? The Bishop said he did not know, but would ask if she directed him to do so; and then he launched out into warm praise of Dudley. Elizabeth promised to do nothing without Philip’s advice, and told the Bishop that when the time came she would speak to him on the subject. The Bishop, in relating the interview, says that he humoured her thus “because he saw the heretics so busy forming combinations with England, France, Scotland, and Germany, and, above all, because your Majesty’s neighbouring States are so pressed that a perverse decision of this woman might prejudice them, though she herself were ruined by it.”⁠[148]⁠

The Bishop, for all his sanctimonious horror that religion should be used in political bargaining, was really quite willing to carry through the deal and to patronise the marriage of Elizabeth and Dudley if he were assured of the payment. That Dudley was ready to promise anything and everything is also certain, but it is more than doubtful whether Elizabeth was aware of what he was promising. It suited her at the moment to meet the Catholic league between France and Spain, hollow as it was, by threatening combinations of Protestants; whilst at the same time, as a second string to her bow, cajoling the Spaniards into the idea that she was willing to be reconciled to them, and had Catholic leanings. When Bishop Quadra saw Dudley the next day Lord Robert was profuse in his thanks, for he knew from the Queen word for word what had passed. It had only been timidity that had prevented the Queen from deciding on the spot, he said, and he begged the Bishop to revert to the subject when he saw her again. His promises knew no bounds. Everything in England, even religion, he said, should be put into the hands of King Philip; and if the sending of a representative to the Council of the Church were not enough he would go himself. To this the Bishop replied that he would do his best to forward matters, but again, in shocked tones, he begged Lord Robert not to mention religion in the matter on any account. What the Queen and Dudley did about that concerned their own consciences. Of course the Catholic King would be delighted to see all these religious dissensions settled, but it should not be a matter of bargain. “I am thus cautious with these people, because if they are playing false, which is quite possible, I do not wish to give them the opportunity of saying that we offered them your Majesty’s favour in return for their changing their religion.”

At the same time the Bishop urged upon his master that the moment had now come for action: either this bargain must be struck with Dudley, or help must be given to the enemies of the existing régime to revolutionise England. “To let these affairs drift at the mercy of chance neither secures England to us nor punishes evil, and must end in disadvantage to your Majesty.” Philip was just as sanctimonious in profession and as pliable in practice as his ambassador. “Our principal aim,” he wrote in reply, “is directed to the service of our Lord, the maintenance of religion, and the settlement and pacification of England, and, as we see that Sidney’s proposals tend to this, and further bearing in mind that God if He wills can extract good from evil, we have decided that the negotiation suggested by Sidney should be listened to.” Dudley was to be helped to marry the Queen, but “the bargain and its payment must be clearly set forth in writing signed by Elizabeth herself, and she must give some earnest of her sincerity by liberating the Catholics she has in prison, she must undertake to send Catholic bishops and ambassadors to the Council of the Church, and submit herself unconditionally to its decisions. And, besides all this, she must begin by giving full toleration to Catholic worship.”

This, again, shows that Philip was utterly at sea as regards the real condition of England at the time, and was still ignorant of Elizabeth’s character and position. Such demands as those he formulated as a preliminary were utterly out of the question, even as a final concession. Before this letter was received in London the insincerity of Elizabeth in the matter began to appear. The Earl of Bedford was sent to France, ostensibly to condole with Catharine for the death of Francis II.; but also to suggest that the French bishops—and especially those of Huguenot leaning—should join her in sending representatives to the Council, but not at Trent, as had been agreed, but somewhere else on this side of the Alps. The cleverness of this move is apparent. Catharine and Elizabeth would in such case seem to be making common cause, which would paralyse Philip; and at the same time the Catholics in England would be tranquillised with the idea that a Council of the Church would settle matters to their liking. Catharine, however, did not jump at the bait, as just then in the first days of her Regency she did not wish to quarrel with her Spanish son-in-law, or to drive the Catholic Guises to desperation by seeming to join with Elizabeth against them.

As soon as this became evident the English Queen grew cool about the Council, much to Dudley’s annoyance, who still tried to keep her up to the mark. She sent Cecil to the Spanish Bishop, asking him to move Philip to write to her recommending her to marry an Englishman, hinting at the same time that this was in Philip’s interest, as she might otherwise marry a foreign enemy of his. Cecil said that her idea was to bring Philip’s letter before a committee of peers, prelates, and commoners, all friends of Dudley, and they would recommend the marriage. This was all very well, said the Bishop, but how about Lord Robert’s religious pledges? But Cecil had no intention, nor probably had the Queen, of carrying out any such promises; and this new proposal was really intended to upset Dudley’s plan. So, gradually, a barrier of limitations and conditions was introduced by Cecil, which made the affair impossible. The Anglican and Lutheran bishops were to sit in the Council; certain points of doctrine must be settled beforehand; the Pope or his legate might be President but not ruler of the Council; and the place of meeting must be mutually agreed upon by all the princes. Dudley alternately fumed and sulked at this diversion by his opponents, and tried desperately to keep the Spanish Bishop in hand. It had, of course, been evident to the latter at once that Philip’s attitude as shown in his instructions was impossible. “Elizabeth,” he said, “had not entered into the business so humbly and submissively that he could lay down the law to her and insist upon her pledging herself in writing”; besides, it would be most unwise to give the “heretics” the opportunity, if they were playing false, of proving that they had got Philip to bargain for his political help in return for religious concessions.

In the meanwhile, encouraged by this philandering, a Papal Nuncio was hurrying across Europe to be ready at a moment’s notice to sail from Flanders to England and invite the representatives of Elizabeth to the Council of Trent. This Nuncio, the Abbé Martinengo, was to be received at Greenwich privately, and not to go through the streets of London, which it was thought would not be safe. Dudley was again in the seventh heaven of blissful anticipation, and ready, if he was the Queen’s husband, to lay England and the faith he had professed at Philip’s feet. He would restore the Catholic Church, he promised, the Queen should give a good answer to the Nuncio about the Council of the Church, and some of the Protestant bishops even, he said, were beginning to waver. But Cecil saw which way matters were tending, and promptly stepped in with another diversion. Protestant feeling in England was already becoming excited at the rumour that a Papal Nuncio was on his way to see the Queen, and Bishop Quadra found himself a prey to intense unpopularity for having, it was said, plotted to bring about a Catholic revolution. The Nuncio was informed that he would not be allowed to land in England (April, 1561), Sidney was hurried off to his post in Wales, Dudley retired before the storm, and Cecil, triumphant, had the satisfaction of knowing that he had prevented England from being dragged into Philip’s clutches again by the ambition of a worthless courtier, aided by the Queen’s momentary weakness.

Bishop Quadra was deeply mortified by the way in which he had been misled, and became more desirous than ever that strong measures should be taken to aid the Catholics to rebel against Elizabeth. After unsuccessfully approaching the French Huguenots to obtain help from them for his marriage with the Queen, Dudley had the impudence, in January, 1562, to approach Quadra again and offer his servile obedience to Spain in return for the aid of King Philip towards his marriage; but the bait was stale, for, as the Bishop wrote, the Catholics thoroughly distrusted Dudley now, and he was of no use any longer as a Spanish instrument.

Though Philip had failed again to secure England as a satellite, the need for his doing so was as urgent as ever, for the Netherlands were seething in discontent, the Huguenots in France were being supported for the time by the Regent Catharine, and it looked as if the stronger coming combination in Europe would not be Catholic but Protestant. To counteract this threatening state of affairs it was necessary for Philip to try a new tack. The massacre of Vassy had precipitated the opening of the first war of religion in France (March, 1562), and this made it expedient for him to strengthen the Guises. So a proposal, upon which, when Cardinal Lorraine had made it a year before, he had looked upon coldly, was now regarded with favour. This was no less than the marriage of the widowed Mary Stuart, now in Scotland, and on ill terms with Catharine, with Philip’s heir, Don Carlos. It was not such a match as the Spanish King in ordinary circumstances would have considered adequate for his son; but as Mary was the Catholic heiress of England, and might by a turn of the wheel become Queen of Britain she was a useful countercheck to Protestant combinations.

As soon as the project got wind Elizabeth, Catharine de Medici, and the Scottish Protestants, led by the Earl of Murray, sought an antidote to the threatened evil. The Darnley match was positively patronised both by Elizabeth and Catharine, and Lethington posted off to London eager to negotiate a friendly understanding between England and Scotland before his Catholic mistress should fall into the marriage net of Spain. But the war between Catholics and Protestants in France was now blazing fiercely, and the Guises were fighting for their lives, unable to help their niece or interfere in any way with Elizabeth’s game in Scotland. This made her for the time the mistress of the situation, and she could afford to deal high-handedly with the Queen of Scots, especially after the Duke of Guise himself had been assassinated before Orleans (February, 1563). She threw all her power on the Huguenot side in the struggle, allowing English contingents to join in the fight and subsiding Condé with money. Mary Stuart’s Protestant advisers had tried hard to negotiate an alliance between England and Scotland on Protestant lines in conjunction with the recognition of Mary as Elizabeth’s heiress under the same auspices; and once more Lethington went to London, in February, 1563, to urge his point. He found the Queen coolly evasive, for she had nothing to fear from Mary or her French kinsmen now, and she knew that Philip would not dare to attack her or interfere forcibly in Scotland whilst the Protestants in France were in the ascendant.

Lethington, of course with Mary’s acquiescence, then shifted his ground. He and Murray had always been strong partisans of England, with the idea of securing the succession to Mary of a Protestant Britain; but, out of patience at last with this new rebuff from Elizabeth, they determined to throw over England and Protestantism, and marry Mary to a nominee of Philip and defy Elizabeth to do her worst. So, at dead of night, again and again, Lethington, the Scottish minister, landed from his boat at the dark stairs of Durham House, and remained for hours closeted with Bishop Quadra. The Bishop himself was daily growing more bitter against Elizabeth. She had now openly aided the French Protestants against the Catholics. She had treated him personally with marked contumely, raiding his house on the pretext that people other than his own servants attended Mass there, for she knew she could do all this now with impunity, because Philip could not afford to quarrel with her whilst the Catholics in France were in a bad way. So the Bishop listened eagerly as the Scot told him how the Queen of England had deceived his mistress, and now again had evaded the question of her succession; how she had artfully stepped in by intrigue, and had rendered abortive all the negotiations for the marriage of Mary with a fitting foreign prince, and had tried to drive her into some unworthy marriage. “Had she not better accept any marriage that the Queen of England proposes for her?” asked Quadra, as a feeler, “if in return she obtains her recognition as the heiress of the English Crown?” No, replied Lethington, emphatically. They had made up their mind that the only way was to force Elizabeth, by marrying Mary to a powerful Catholic prince, with sufficient force behind him to maintain the rights of the Queen of Scots. And then, after a little fencing on both sides, he proposed that Don Carlos should become King Consort of Scotland, and afterwards of Great Britain, with Mary for his wife. Mary was, he said, quite resolved never to marry a Protestant or to accept any husband on the bidding of the Queen of England, and if her approaches to Spain were not well received she would offer to marry her young brother-in-law, Charles IX.

This latter declaration, we may well suppose, was only for the purpose of forcing the hand of Philip, for the match would certainly not have been allowed by Catharine de Medici. The old Bishop, aware of this, passed it over with a smile, and said that there was nothing the Queen of England dreaded more than a marriage between Mary Stuart and a friend of Spain. She had been at infinite pains lately to make them believe that she was a Catholic, but now that her friends the Huguenots were in the ascendant she had become less anxious to conciliate them. But were not the Scots Protestants too? he asked. Lethington, Protestant and friend of Knox though he was, minimised the difference between the creed of Scotland and Spain. Religion, he assured the Spaniard, was not really at the bottom of their trouble in Scotland. Both Elizabeth and Catharine, he said, were in mortal fear of the marriage of Don Carlos and Mary of Scotland, as well they might be; for not only would the Prince thus win the most chaste and beautiful bride in the world, “but he would also succeed to almost universal monarchy by adding to the dominions already possessed by your Majesty two entire islands, this and Ireland, the possession of which would give no trouble whatever, having regard to the attachment which the Catholics bear to this marriage and the union of England and Scotland.”

Bishop Quadra, well aware of the vast importance of such a declaration from one of the leaders of the Scottish Protestants, tried to extract precise religious pledges from him. But Lethington had said all he wished to say in the four hours’ conference, and the Bishop, full of encouragement, promised to obtain promptly the King’s answer to the proposal. Lethington’s next move was to approach the discontented English Catholic nobles, already in a ferment at Dudley’s insolence and Cecil’s religious policy. Almost to a man they assured the Scot of their enthusiastic support of a Spanish marriage for Mary and the acceptance of the revolutionary changes that such a marriage would produce in England. “Only let her marry the heir of Spain and we will salute her as our leader,” they said. This could only mean that with Spanish aid Mary and Carlos were to be placed upon the throne of a united Britain, and that Philip would regain the paramountcy he had lost. Elizabeth’s spies soon got wind of all this, and her counter move was a most extraordinary one—no other, indeed, than to offer Dudley as Mary’s husband, with the assurance of her succession to the English Crown after Elizabeth’s death without issue. It was a mere feint and never meant seriously by Elizabeth, but it divided Scottish opinion and unsettled poor Mary herself, and shows how much more than a match Elizabeth was for Philip in diplomacy.

Whilst she, with consummate skill and daring, was ready with such a diversion as this, the Spanish King was pondering, considering, discussing, and receiving reports upon every phase of the Scottish offer. The opportunity was a supreme one for him, and if he had been prompt and bold to seize the chance he might have won England and Scotland by this means. It is true that Don Carlos was a weak, half-witted boy of degenerate type, though this was not generally known at the time, but it would have been sufficient to betroth him to Mary for his father to have gained a right to interfere in Scotland. The Catholics of England were on the alert for any such opportunity, and the Scots, as we have seen by Lethington’s action, were ready to welcome any power strong enough to defend their country from the intrigues by which Elizabeth sought to sap the independence of their ancient realm.

But promptitude was impossible where Philip was concerned. It took him three months to answer the important letter of Bishop Quadra telling him of Lethington’s offer, and when the reply came to London, in June, 1563, it was thoroughly characteristic of the writer. As usual, he wanted to pledge everybody else up to the hilt, whilst himself remaining free behind bland generalities. His greatest praise was for the Bishop’s prudence in hearing what Lethington had said without giving him any plain answer. “And seeing that the bringing about of this marriage may perhaps be the beginning of a reformation in religious matters in England, I have decided to entertain the negotiation You will have it conducted in the same way that it has been commenced if you consider that safe and secret, telling them [the Scots] to inform you of all the engagements and understandings they have in England; and you, who know how valuable such knowledge will be to me, will keep me fully informed of everything. You will advise me step by step of all that happens, but without settling anything except to discover the particulars referred to above, until I send you instructions. You may tell them of my intentions, but urge them above all to use the utmost secrecy in the business and all connected with it, as all the benefit to be derived depends absolutely upon nothing being heard of it until it is an accomplished fact. If it becomes known that I am concerned in any such negotiations, the French will be greatly alarmed and will spare no efforts to frustrate them—or at least to counteract any profitable result that may arise. As for that Queen of England and her heretics, they are so deeply concerned that it is easy to judge what they would do if they heard of it; so, as I say, it is absolutely necessary that you should keep secret and urge secrecy upon all persons with whom you treat.” Philip knew that Cardinal Lorraine was now pressing his niece to marry the Archduke Charles, Elizabeth’s former suitor; but Lethington had scouted him as being useless for their purpose, as being poor and powerless, and Philip was willing to cut out his own close kinsman if he could thus gain England and Scotland for his son, or rather for himself,⁠[149] and above all avoid another French domination of Scotland, which was threatened by Mary’s pretended willingness to marry the King of France.

When Philip’s letter arrived in London the old Bishop was under a cloud. He was accused of holding communication with Arthur Pole in the Tower. It was known that he had been receiving in Durham House emissaries of the Irish Catholics; and Cecil’s spies reported that suspicious boats came often at night to the water gate. To make matters worse, one day in May a hanger-on of the Bishop’s household, an Italian serving lad, had shot at from the back gate of Durham House a Huguenot captain who was swaggering down the Strand towards Whitehall. The would-be assassin had taken refuge in the house, and had sought sanctuary in the Bishop’s own chamber, whence he was smuggled away by boat by the servants and escaped. Search and violation of diplomatic domicile by the officers of the law followed. The Bishop’s servants were interrogated, the house itself placed in the custody of an officer of the Queen, and the old Bishop, with bitterness in his heart, found himself shunned by all and powerless.⁠[150]⁠

So when Philip’s impossible instructions reached the Bishop, affairs had changed. Lethington had been plainly told by Elizabeth that she was well aware that he was plotting to marry his mistress to Don Carlos or the Archduke, but that if she married either she must face her enmity, whereas if she married a friend of England she would make her the heir to her throne. Lethington and the Scots were therefore already wavering, for the fear was that if Mary wedded a Spanish nominee, Elizabeth would make Darnley her heir. The Catholics, too, not unnaturally, seeing the Countess of Lennox, Darnley’s mother, suddenly taken into high favour with Elizabeth, were thinking what an ideal arrangement it would be to marry Mary and her cousin Darnley with Elizabeth’s blessing, and the assured joint succession to her crown. The Bishop knew all this, and had well nigh lost heart when Philip’s letter arrived. He saw how impossible his master’s methods were in the face of Elizabeth’s rapid changes of policy and fertility of resource; for how could he keep the English Catholics in hand and learn all their combinations, or even get them to make any, on vague secret encouragement which might mean nothing? To the Duke of Alba he wrote: “The remedy is a weak one for so dangerous a malady. When they see that instead of giving them a firm reply we come only with halting proposals and inquiries, I know not what they will think. It is useless to ask them to give me information as to the amount of support the Queen of Scots can rely upon in England for the information of his Majesty. Lethington knows well that all this has been done long ago, for, of course, I could not hide my communications from him. We have been approached by the same people about the marriage ... and they have given to Lethington lists of the Catholics and others who would raise troops for the Queen of Scots.”

Almost hopeless of success, therefore, the Bishop sent one of his most confidential servants to Scotland to tell Mary verbally that the ambassador had a very important communication for her if she would send a trustworthy agent to London to receive it. This messenger, Luis de Paz, left London in the middle of July, 1563, and eventually reached Mary whilst she was travelling in the Western Highlands. She had been ardently expecting Philip’s answer, and had with difficulty held off the other suitors, the Archduke Charles and Eric of Sweden, until it arrived. She gave to Quadra’s messenger a favourable verbal reply, but before he reached Langley, in Buckinghamshire, where the Bishop was staying, the old Spanish Churchman was dying. He had plaintively written to Alba shortly before that it was impossible to conduct affairs in England on Philip’s lines. He had done his best but had been beaten. The English scorned and contemned him. He had been expelled from the Queen’s house; he saw his master’s cause daily waning in England, and he knew that only bold, prompt action would regain the lost ground. The hopelessness of moving Philip to such action broke the old man’s heart. Luis de Paz had just time to whisper Mary’s message to him, and the dying man grieved sorely, he said, that he should thus drop just when he might hope to have succeeded. “I can do no more,” he sighed, just before he passed away, and Spanish influence in England was cast further into the background by his death; for Durham Place during his residence there had been the secret trysting-place of all those who hated Elizabeth’s rule. In the absence of any diplomatic channel through which Mary might work the great combination that she dreamed was to give her the crown of Britain under Philip’s protection, the clever, strong diplomacy of Elizabeth carried all before it. Dudley and Darnley were alternately dangled before Mary’s eyes and then withdrawn, until at length came the Lennox coup d’état and the marriage of the Queen of Scots with her cousin Darnley, which for a time took her out of the market.

In the meanwhile every day that passed made it more difficult, and yet more necessary, for the King of Spain to gain the friendship or control of England. Affairs were going worse and worse with him in the Netherlands, where the struggle was assuming the character of a duel to the death between the old traditions of Flemish self-government and the newer absolutism which had already been fixed upon Castile and now threatened the ancient patrimony of Burgundy under Philip. The Reformed religion, or, indeed, any assertion of the lay right of judgment in matters of faith, was to Philip the embodiment of a rebellious spirit against the absolute centralised authority which was the essence of his system of government, and as such had to be crushed at any cost or sacrifice. Almost openly the English Protestants were sympathising with their Flemish brethren, and many Protestant refugees were flocking into England to establish their industries and seek security under a Protestant Queen. Boldness and good fortune had enabled Elizabeth, on the other hand, to take advantage of the jealousy of her neighbours and to gather around her the growing Protestant party which welcomed the national independence she had attained in so few years, whilst Philip’s hesitancy had succeeded entirely in disheartening the English Catholics, who had at first looked upon him as their champion.

The attitude of Elizabeth throughout her intercourse with the Spanish ambassadors had been such, that she had been able to beguile them when it suited her, and to checkmate them at pleasure; for whilst they had to wait for tardy instructions, which when they came always enjoined impracticable conditions, Elizabeth was opportunist and able to change her tack at an hour’s notice, to the utter confusion of her slow antagonist. The hard treatment of Catholics in England and the welcome accorded to the Flemish Protestant refugees had been met by Philip by the cruel persecution in Spain of Englishmen, upon the barest suspicion of heterodoxy; and this had been resented by the recrudescence of the pillage of Spanish and Flemish ships at sea by English rovers. Not content with this, Elizabeth attempted to foster the new Flemish industries in England by imposing restrictions upon the entrance into her ports of certain manufactured goods coming from Flanders. In retaliation the Spanish rulers began a regular war of tariffs against England; and this, by the middle of 1564, had resulted in a general prohibition being issued on both sides, which practically forbade commercial intercourse altogether. Envoys went backwards and forwards for months, trying unsuccessfully to arrange matters; and in these efforts the Flemings were much more anxious than the English; for the latter had secured a good inlet for their cloths to the Continent through Embden, and Elizabeth had given permission for unrestricted export to all other countries but Flanders and Spain.

The Flemish merchants, on the other hand, were almost bankrupt by the loss of the English trade, and were clamorous to Philip to remedy the matter.⁠[151] Elizabeth could afford to stand firm and resist all attempts to force her into an inferior position in the negotiations. She had taken Philip’s measure by this time, and knew that whilst his own Netherlands were seething in revolt, and the Catholic party in France were held in check by the Huguenots, he dared not seriously injure her. So at last it was not the Queen of England, but Philip, who had to speak humbly; and in June, 1564, there arrived in London a Spanish ambassador of rank, a canon of Toledo, Diego Guzman de Silva, on a new errand. His instructions were precise, and his position was quite distinct from that formerly held by haughty Feria and of Bishop Quadra. They had both had for their mission the forcing of a policy upon a new unstable Queen, whilst Guzman was sent to seek a redress of grievances, and by diplomacy and moderation to compass what threats and retaliation had failed to accomplish. Philip’s hands, indeed, were then too full of his own troubles, both in the Mediterranean and Flanders, for him to hope to rule other countries, and bitter as it must have been for him, and still more bitter for the statesmen of the Alba school, he was forced to speak mildly through his new ambassador to the heretic Queen to prevent the ruin of his Catholic Flemish subjects. To this pass had he been brought in six years from the time when in the days of Mary he had worked his will in England almost unchecked.

Guzman was instructed to make vigorous remonstrance to the English Government with regard to the grievances inflicted on Spanish and Flemish trade in many ways; but he was warned that when he saw Queen Elizabeth he was “to compliment her with the fairest words you can use.” “You will tell her, as I write to her, that I send you to reside near her as my ordinary ambassador, with orders to try to please her in all things, as, in effect, we wish you to do, using every possible effort to that end, and to strive to preserve her friendship towards us, and our mutual alliance. You will assure her that nothing will be wanting on my part to this end, as she well knows by the acts we have hitherto done, and the offers we have made to her.” The ambassador was instructed to win over Lord Robert Dudley, “who is so great a favourite of the Queen, and can influence her to the extent you have been informed. With kindness you will try to gain him, and will also strive to make the friendship of the Queen’s Councillors and officers through whose hands affairs pass, so that you may the more readily guide them in the way desired.” His mission was primarily concerned with securing the restoration of Flemish trade and the reopening of the ports on both sides, though he was also to watch closely the coming and going of “heretics” between England and the Netherlands, to persuade Elizabeth, if possible, to extend toleration to the Catholic worship in England,⁠[152] and he was to spy out the Spanish Protestants who had sought refuge there.

But, although he said nothing to his new ambassador, it is evident that Philip was not inclined to accept as permanent his present state of powerlessness in England, and was patiently biding his time until circumstances allowed him to obtain control once more. This is seen by the stress laid upon the importance of gaining Leicester to the Spanish cause, and still more by the instruction that Guzman was stealthily to encourage the hopes of the English Catholics, “with such dissimulation and dexterity as to give no cause for suspicion to the Queen or her advisers, as it is evident that much evil might follow if the contrary were the case.” Guzman was an amiable, easy-going Churchman in favour of peace, and very soon managed to get affairs upon a more friendly footing. The marriage juggle, by which Elizabeth balanced her own supposed marriage against that of Mary Stuart; the prospective bridegrooms, the Archduke Charles, Don Carlos, Don Juan of Austria, the boy King of France, with Leicester always in reserve, being often changed or transferred from one Queen to the other, were looked upon by Guzman with somewhat scornful amusement. He quite understood that these ever-varying phases of advance and recession obeyed the passing political need of Elizabeth and Catharine de Medici, and he was never greatly perturbed by them.

Elizabeth was all graciousness when she received Guzman’s first visit at Richmond on the 22nd June, 1564. He had had no need to seek Dudley, who had begun to cultivate his friendship as soon as he arrived, for what purpose we shall see presently; and the more to do him honour, on the arrival of the ambassador at the palace landing-stage, young Darnley, of the blood royal, was awaiting him, to lead him to the Queen. She was standing, listening to a keyed instrument, when he entered the presence chamber, led by Lord Chamberlain Howard; and as soon as she saw him she came forward and embraced him warmly. Speaking at first in Italian and later in Latin, she expressed her delight at his coming: “As there were some friendly countries trying to make her believe that your Majesty would never again have a representative here, and she was glad that they had turned out false prophets. She said I should be treated and considered commensurately with the deep interest which for many reasons she took in your Majesty’s affairs.” Then, as a diversion, she displayed much curiosity about the mental and physical qualities of young Don Carlos, and talked some prurient nonsense about Philip’s widowed sister, Juana, whom she said she might marry, she (Elizabeth) being the husband and Juana the wife. To impress the ambassador the more with her desire to be friendly, and to attract attention, as usual, to her own charms, she said that the King, her good brother, “had seen her when she was sorrowful, distressed, ill-treated, imprisoned, and afflicted, and that she had grown greatly since then, and even gave me to understand that she had greatly changed in appearance.” She promised the ambassador a prompt settlement of all grievances, and affectionately embracing him again, handed the somewhat dazzled cleric over to the hospitable care of her courtiers. Dudley, Pembroke, Northampton, Clinton, Howard, and Cecil “came separately and embraced me, congratulating me on my arrival, and expressing their pleasure at my coming;” and so, with much suave compliment, Guzman, surprised at the warmth of his reception, was conducted by Darnley to his barge again.

All this new-born delight in Spaniards on the part of Elizabeth and her courtiers was, of course, not without its reason. The fact is that, after all her aid to Condé and his Huguenots, peace had been made in France upon terms which gave predominance to the Catholics; and she considered that Condé had betrayed her in this, as, indeed, he had. Cardinal Lorraine, the bitter enemy of Elizabeth, was now Catharine de Medici’s henchman, and was busy negotiating a renewal of the Catholic League, which boded ill for England and Protestantism if it succeeded. A meeting was to take place between Catharine and her daughter, Elizabeth, Philip’s wife, with Alba and Lorraine in the background, to settle an accord between France and Spain for the utter extermination of Protestantism throughout the world; and even the Bourbon Huguenot princes of France had been temporarily silenced. In the circumstances Elizabeth naturally wooed Spain violently, and before Guzman had been in England a week he found himself in the centre of a real or feigned conspiracy of the unprincipled Dudley, to introduce Catholicism into England under Spanish protection, and depose Elizabeth’s Protestant minister, Cecil. On the pretext that Cecil had helped in the production of a book by John Hales in favour of Catharine Grey’s claim to the succession, Dudley’s friends secretly urged Guzman to recommend Elizabeth to dismiss and punish Cecil, “as if he were out of the way, the affairs of your Majesty would be more favourably dealt with, and religious questions as well, because Cecil and his friends are those who persecute the Catholics and dislike your Majesty, whereas the other man is regarded as faithful, and the rest of the Catholics so consider him, and have adopted him as their instrument.”

Dudley again was willing to become the humble servant of Philip if Cecil could be got out of the way by Guzman’s aid. He hoped still, he told Guzman, to marry the Queen; “he had an understanding already with the Pope, and a person was in Rome to represent him.” When, however, Guzman asked for details of exactly what Lord Robert promised to do with regard to religion, the answers were vague, and the example of Bishop Quadra, moreover, was not lost on his successor. The ambassador knew that Philip was not ready to attack the English Protestants yet, or on the shifty word of Dudley, but he prepared the ground cleverly for future action. The first thing, he told the conspirators, was to bring the Queen into close friendship with the King of Spain, and with the Catholics through him, as otherwise she would not dare to dismiss her Protestant ministers. “All people think,” he wrote to the King, “that the only remedy for the religious trouble is to get these people turned out of power, as they are the mainstay of the heretics, Lord Robert having the Catholics all on his side; and I tell them that they must take these things [i.e., the need for fortifying Elizabeth by the friendship of Spain] into consideration when they are seeking a remedy, and that plenty of opportunities will offer themselves, if needed later, to raise war or stop trade.⁠[153] The Catholics are much disturbed, and as they have no other idea than this they will not abandon it until they see some way of gaining their point. Certainly, from what I hear, they are very numerous if they dared to show, or had a leader.”

But desirous as the Queen was to curry favour with the Catholic-Spanish party, and infatuated as she might be with Dudley, she could not dispense with Cecil’s services, and Dudley’s hopes again decreased, notwithstanding Philip’s sympathy expressed through Guzman, who was instructed to offer him all the aid he sought; but only on a distinct promise fully to restore the Catholic religion in England in the event of his marriage.⁠[154] This Dudley could not do, though by innuendo he promised much, and thus Cecil remained unmolested. Elizabeth on this occasion was probably a party to Dudley’s action, for she carried matters almost as far with Guzman herself. She went out of her way several times to hint broadly at her desire to enter into negotiations for her marriage with Don Carlos, without the slightest intention, of course, of ever doing so, even if the health of the Prince had made such a match possible. She assured Guzman that she was really a Catholic at heart, “although she had concealed her real feelings in order to prevail with her subjects.”⁠[155] Some weeks later she ordered a crucifix and ornaments to be placed upon the altar in her chapel, and Guzman told her that the preachers were slandering her for it, whereupon she said that she would order crosses to be placed in all the churches in the realm.⁠[156]⁠

Elizabeth, indeed, was seriously alarmed at the impending Catholic League, and in addition to redressing the Spanish trade grievances and lavishing endless blandishments upon Guzman, she made a desperate bid to draw Catharine de Medici to her side by opening negotiations for her own marriage with the boy King of France—negotiations as insincere, doubtless, as the rest, but directed to the same end, namely, the diversion of France and Spain from their threatening friendship, as were also the attempts to revive the now almost outworn subject of the Queens match with the Austrian Archduke. The constant changes perfectly bewildered Guzman, who found Dudley (now created Earl of Leicester) blowing hot and cold. The Catholics, on the one hand, were smiled upon by the Queen, and on the other strong measures were being proposed by Cecil and his friends to stay the growth of “papistry.” But though Philip wrote on behalf of the Catholic English bishops in prison, and Guzman urged for the toleration of Catholic worship, no practical concessions could be obtained from Elizabeth, much as she might smile and suggest to Guzman, with whom she had grown personally very intimate.

In the meanwhile the elaborate preparations for the settlement of the Catholic League by the meeting of the Queens of France and Spain at Bayonne went on, and rumours came to England which caused Elizabeth additional alarm late in 1564, that Philip himself was coming to Flanders in the following year to bring his Flemish subjects into due subjection. Elizabeth’s amiability then grew more intense than ever. “How much she wished her dear brother could stay in one of her ports, that she might regale him!” and Guzman was the object of her constant affectionate solicitude at the numerous balls, feasts, and tourneys to which she invited him, often deploring that his master was not there, too, to enjoy the fun. It must be confessed that, to judge by the relations between Guzman and the French ambassador in England (de Foix), the coming national alliance between their respective countries did not look promising. De Foix had Huguenot leanings, and Guzman always resented his presence at Court at the same time as himself, Elizabeth on several occasions having the greatest difficulty in keeping the peace between them, when by some inadvertence they met in her presence. Indeed, as was soon afterwards proved, the national jealousy of France and Spain and the personal interests of Catharine overrode the Catholic religious object of the League so perseveringly promoted by Cardinal Lorraine and Alba.

On Ash Wednesday, 1565, Elizabeth listened to an open-air sermon preached by Dr. Nowell, Dean of Saint Paul’s, an ardent Reformer, who probably was not a politician. In the course of his sermon he condemned the veneration of images, and Elizabeth angrily told him not to talk upon that subject. Nowell either did not hear her or did not choose to regard the rebuke, and continued, when the Queen again raised her voice and peremptorily commanded him to pass to another subject, as that one was worn out. Soon afterwards de Foix, in conversation with Guzman, remarked that the Queen might have avoided so public and marked an interruption of the preacher. The Spaniard was of another opinion. “I think quite differently,” he said. “Those who sin publicly must be publicly rebuked; and as this Queen does, so might your most Christian King do it: when he gets older he will, I fear, be likely to make more account of the heretics.”

The much feared interview of Bayonne, which the warlike party in Spain hoped would result in the crushing of Protestantism and the eventual submission of England to Spanish dictation, took place in these not very encouraging circumstances in May, 1565. Elizabeth, as a diversion, had been for months negotiating with Catharine for a French marriage, and the Queen Regent of France was taken aback when she saw at Bayonne the articles which she was expected to sign. The total extermination of Protestantism in France and the world over would have meant her personal political extinction, and probably that of her son’s realm; for Philip in that case would have been paramount. What she wanted was not this, but to be able to play the Guises off against the Bourbons, and keep Elizabeth always as a potential ally when the Catholics grew too strong to suit her. At Bayonne, therefore, whilst she ostensibly acceded to everything dictated by Alba and Lorraine, and led her devoutly Catholic and hispanolised daughter to believe that France with all its national power would support her husband’s objects, Catharine no sooner turned her face towards Paris than she began to introduce all sorts of conditions and limitations which stultified the whole plan of the Catholic League, whilst she became more warmly interested than ever in the talk of Elizabeth’s marriage with one of her sons.

The result of the much discussed conferences of Bayonne, in which Philip personally had never been very sanguine, finally disillusioned him as to the practicability of a league with his artful mother-in-law which should make him master of Europe. He had thenceforward no other policy open to him than to revert to the traditional national affinities that had obtained before the religious changes in Europe. He must win England to his side by fair means or foul. For seven years he had tried to isolate her by means of a Catholic league and he had failed: he had spoken arrogantly through Feria, he had tried subtlety through Bishop Quadra, and he had essayed friendly cordiality by means of Guzman. Elizabeth, when it suited her, had been amiability itself, she had languished for a Spanish husband, she had pretended more than once to be a Catholic, she had smiled, pouted, or frowned, as her aims for the moment required; but, notwithstanding all this, the English Catholic bishops were still in durance, Catholic worship was still proscribed, and Philip was further off than ever he had been from controlling English statecraft for his own ends.

CHAPTER VI 1565-1569

In July, 1565, Mary Stuart had been swept by her passion along the rapids that led to her marriage with Darnley and her ruin. Up to this period her policy had been consistent and sagacious, directed mainly to the recognition of her present or prospective right to succeed to the throne of England. She had tried to attain the end alternately by the only two means open to her, by seeking marriage with a Catholic prince strong enough to enforce her claims, and by winning Elizabeth’s acknowledgment of them by submission to her will. So long as she was under the influence of Cardinal Lorraine, and the Guises were powerful, her main efforts had been in the first direction, but after her arrival in Scotland the influence of Murray and Lethington had led her into the second course. In a former chapter it has been related how, despairing of obtaining recognition from Elizabeth, Mary and her Protestant Anglophil advisers had on one occasion, in 1563, reverted to her earlier plans, and had attempted to secure Philip’s aid through her marriage with Don Carlos. She had never since quite abandoned this hope—her only one in this direction, since Guise was dead and Catharine de Medici was her deadly enemy. It is true that she had satisfied herself before Darnley arrived in Scotland that Don Carlos was unlikely or unfit to be a husband for her,⁠[157] but prudence would have dictated delay in her marriage in order that Philip might have provided her with another Consort who would take with him the support of Spain. But Mary lost her head, if not her heart, when she saw “the long lad” Darnley, and took the step which made it, at first sight, appear the more difficult for Philip to help her, and which yet alienated from her Murray and the Protestants and brought her into open enmity with the Queen of England. On the other hand, the wedding of both the Catholic claimants to the Crown of England consolidated the Catholic elements in the north, making Elizabeth’s position more dangerous than at any time since her accession, and Mary had undoubtedly not lost sight of this feature, which she saw might yet enable her to obtain Spanish support when the time for action came.

On the 24th March, 1565, four months before the Darnley marriage, though the prospective bridegroom was already in Scotland, a servant of the Lennoxes, named Fowler, came to Guzman in London with a letter from Mary Queen of Scots. He had been sent from Scotland, he said, by the Queen, ostensibly to obtain from Elizabeth a passport for Secretary Lethington to visit England, but really to ask the Spanish ambassador whether he had instructions to discuss with her a certain business that had formerly been broached to King Philip through his predecessor, Bishop Quadra, as if so she would send Lethington to see him. Guzman did not know Mary’s handwriting and was suspicious, especially as he was aware that Don Carlos could on no account marry Mary; so that Fowler, who said he could not return to Scotland without an answer, proposed to prove his bonâ fides by showing his mistress’s letter to Luis de Paz, a Spanish merchant, who knew her handwriting. On the morrow Guzman was satisfied of Fowler’s honesty, and as he heard alarming news of a plan to marry Mary to her French brother-in-law, he hesitated no longer but sent the messenger Fowler back to Scotland with a letter for Mary, asking her to send Lethington to confer with him.

A few days afterwards Guzman got a further hint from Darnley’s mother, the Countess of Lennox, of what was really in the wind. She sent to tell him how kind Mary was to her son in Scotland, and that the French ambassador had come to her promising all French help and support to Darnley if the Queen of Scots married him. The Countess in her message to Guzman affected to distrust this French offer, which probably she herself had invented, “as she knows the French way of dealing,” and said “that she and her children had no other refuge but the King of Spain, to whom she and they will ever remain faithful. She begs me to address your Majesty in their favour, so that in case the Queen of Scots should open negotiations about Lord Darnley, or in the event of this Queen’s death, they may look to your Majesty for support.” A week or two later the Countess of Lennox returned to the charge. She prayed Guzman to assure Lethington, when he arrived in London, “that your Majesty desired to favour her, as she believes that it would help her son’s business very much. She thinks he may marry the Queen of Scots, who rests her claim to this country more on the support of your Majesty than on anything else, especially as the Queen-mother of France is very much against her.” This seemed to Guzman important, and he did his best to assure Lady Lennox by hints of the sympathy that Mary and Darnley might expect from Spain. “As I have said on many occasions,” he continued in his letter to Philip, “it should be borne in mind that, in addition to the Queen of Scotland’s great claims to this realm, she has certainly here a very strong party, and it is highly desirable in many respects that she should be reckoned with in the interest of affairs that so deeply concern us. The English ports are necessary for the passage of trade between Spain and Flanders, &c.; and, besides this, these English are beginning to navigate largely, and may interfere with us in the Indies, upon which they look greedily, unless they are prevented from sailing.”

Even mild, conciliatory Guzman was thus already joining those who looked eagerly for the ejection of Elizabeth and the substitution of Mary Stuart as Queen of a Catholic Britain under Spanish control. When Lethington arrived in London, therefore, on the 24th April, 1565, Guzman was quite prepared for the approaches he knew would be made. The two first met at some formal occasion at the French Embassy, and as they went along the road together on their way home, Lethington tried to arouse the fears of the Spaniard by hinting that Elizabeth was fishing for a French husband; but Guzman parried that by saying that in such case it would go hard with the Queen of Scots, who would then be on bad terms with both England and France. The next day, 25th April, the Scottish Secretary of State unmasked his batteries. Closeted secretly with Guzman at Paget House in the Strand, he explained how Mary had always desired to lean upon Spanish support alone, how she had bidden for the hand of Don Carlos, and had waited two years for Philip’s answer. Now there were thoughts of the Countess of Lennox’s son, since the King of Spain, it was feared, might have other views for Don Carlos. Lord Darnley had many advantages, but if the King of Spain gave her any hopes of Don Carlos the Queen would not conclude the proposed marriage with Darnley. Guzman replied that the King had not pursued the negotiations for Don Carlos because he had heard that Cardinal Lorraine had practically arranged with the Emperor for Mary to wed the Archduke Charles. After much conversation and explanation on this point, in which Cardinal Lorraine’s betrayal of his niece was made clear, Guzman cautiously expressed approval of Darnley, as he says, “trying to keep them in a good humour in view of eventualities.”

But this was not enough for Lethington. Setting forth the enmity that the Darnley match might draw upon Mary from the Queen of England, he continued, “All this would cause grave evil, but could be remedied by the King of Spain taking my Queen and her affairs under his protection, in the assurance that at all times and in every matter they shall be considered as his own.... Such an arrangement would have to be treated with the utmost secrecy until the opportune moment arrived. There is no doubt whatever that the majority of the [English] gentry and common people are attached to my Queen, and I can promise positively that she will follow the wishes of your master in everything.” Lethington then suggested that, as the despatch of an ambassador from Scotland to Spain might alarm Elizabeth, the King of Spain might authorise Guzman to conclude a secret agreement by which Mary and her future husband should be bound absolutely to Spain in return for Philip’s support, or otherwise that the affair might be carried through by Mary’s ambassador in Paris (Beton, Archbishop of Glasgow) and the Spanish representative there.

Once again we see here that the exigencies of the position had driven the Protestant Lethington to place Scotland and, if possible, England, under the tutelage of the King of Spain, if no other way could be found to enforce the claim of Mary to the English Crown. The course he took was dictated by the highest diplomacy, whatever might be said for its religious consistency. Failing Don Carlos and the King of France, who are now out of the question, Darnley was, in fact, the only man who could unite the English Catholics in Mary’s cause and attract foreign support to her claims. Lethington and Mary knew that Philip’s vital political need was a submissive England, and that Scotland was only interesting to him as contributing to that end. If Philip, by means of Mary and the Lennoxes, could obtain command of the powerful Catholic elements in England united in favour of the two legitimate heirs to the Crown, with the added advantage of a permanent base of operations in Scotland, he might find himself by the death or deposition of Elizabeth, which might be brought about at any time, the virtual master of Great Britain. No wonder, therefore, that Guzman smiled upon Lethington’s important mission, and promised to send post haste to Spain for the King’s decision.

Whilst Elizabeth was making frantic efforts to prevent Mary’s marriage, and to keep up an appearance of negotiating for her own union with Don Carlos or the Archduke, and Leicester was again trying to win Spanish support for his suit by Catholic professions, Philip recognised that the offer made by Lethington to Guzman at last gave him a real opportunity of carrying through his plans for subjugating England by means of a subsidised Catholic rising in favour of Mary and Darnley. The suggestion was one after his own heart, and he accepted it with alacrity. Although cautiously, he was gradually coming round to the view that had been urged by Feria in the first days of Elizabeth’s reign, that England would have to be dealt with by force, only now, and for years afterwards, he wanted it to be the force of others wielded for his benefit. The King’s answer to Guzman was unusually decided and emphatic for him: “Your news has been very pleasing to me, and on the assumption that the marriage of the Queen and Darnley has really gone so far as they say, the bridegroom and his parents being such good Catholics and our affectionate servitors, and having in view the Queen’s good claims to the Crown of England, to which Darnley also pretends, we have decided that, the marriage is one favourable to our interests, and should be promoted and supported to the full extent of our power. We have thought well to assure the Queen of Scotland and Lord Darnley’s party, which we believe is a large one in the country, that this is our will and determination, and that if they will be ruled by our advice, and will not be precipitate, but will patiently await a favourable juncture, when any attempt to frustrate their plans would be useless, I will then assist and aid them in the object they have in view. I have instructed the Duke of Alba to write to this effect to the Scottish ambassador in Paris; but I think well to advise you also that you may know my views and keep them quite secret from the Queen of England and her friends, seeing the great danger that would result to this business and all our affairs if it were known. You may assure Lady Margaret of the sympathy and goodwill I bear to her son and towards the successful accomplishment of the project, in order that they may be satisfied, and know that they may depend upon me, and so be able to entertain and encourage the Catholics and their party in England.”⁠[158]⁠

Philip foresaw the danger of Elizabeth’s being driven by the fear of a Catholic coalition against her to adopt Catharine Grey, or some other Protestant, as her successor, and he enforced upon Guzman, the Lennoxes, and the Scottish and English Catholics, the closest secrecy, and especially that every means should be employed to prevent a rival successor being brought forward. At the same time there is in the King’s letter to his ambassador no concealment of the intention to use this union of Mary Stuart and Darnley to foment a Catholic revolt in England which shall sweep Elizabeth aside. “You will,” he writes, “keep in good intelligence with their party in England and with the Catholics, which is the same thing, and try by all means in your power to animate and encourage them to carry the business into effect, promising them what I have said. But it must all be done so dexterously and adroitly that it shall not become public or reach the Queen’s ears, or evil results will ensue.”

Anxious as Philip might be for secrecy, it was difficult to attain where so many people were concerned. Already Murray and the Scottish Protestant nobles had fallen away from Mary on the mere rumour of a Catholic Darnley match, and were looking askance at the Queen’s new Catholic friends. The Lennoxes, even the Earl himself, retorted foolishly by boasting of the support of the King of Spain,⁠[159] which made matters infinitely worse and gave rise to alarming whispers in Scotland that religious persecution at the point, mayhap, of Spanish pikes might be the outcome of this godless wooing. Darnley, who was still ill in bed, was as imprudent as his father; threatened to break the Duke of Chatelherault’s head as soon as he could get up, and vapoured about his coming greatness under foreign auspices that would enable him to snap his fingers even at the Queen of England. Nor was Mary herself much more cautious in her utterances, and the English agent, Randolph, attributed her new-born pride and indifference to the effects of some devilish enchantment.

But though she was deeply infatuated with “the young fool,” Mary would not marry him until she had received a reply to her advances to Philip. The match with Darnley was to give her, she hoped, the English Crown, but it could only be done with the aid of Spain. So, tired almost of waiting, she seized upon a hollow pretext to send James Hay, of Balmerino, to London to see Guzman, and learn if he had any news for her. On the very day that Hay first saw the Spanish ambassador Philip’s important letter had arrived in London. The Scot had just been violently snubbed by Elizabeth, and all his requests refused contumeliously, as no doubt he had foreseen they would be; his real reason for coming south at all, indeed, being to obtain the sanction not of the Queen of England but the King of Spain to Mary’s marriage with Darnley. The reply from Philip that Guzman gave to Balmerino was indeed a welcome one. “He appeared delighted with it, and said that his Queen desired nothing so much as that she should follow your Majesty’s orders in all things, without swerving a hair’s breadth, and that you should take her under your protection. I urged him to try to get his Queen to manage her affairs prudently, and not to strike until a good opportunity presented itself.”

Hay only stayed in London one day longer, for he knew that the great wish of Mary’s heart was now to be granted; and though to the English partisans and the Protestants in Scotland he deplored “the evil success of his long journey,” it must have been with a merry heart beneath his doublet that he carried his welcome message to Holyrood on the 7th July, 1565. Two days afterwards Mary was secretly married to Darnley, though the public wedding was deferred until the 29th; and the great conspiracy against Elizabeth and Protestantism was then complete. Mary was so infatuated with Darnley at the time that she would probably have married him in any case, but her caprice for him and her determination to supplant Elizabeth had thus led her to promise the submission of herself and her realms to the dictation of a foreign monarch, the traditional foe of France that she pretended to love so well; a monarch whose first object was to gain command of the policy and resources of Scotland and England by exterminating the religion of a large proportion of the people. It was a triumph for her that her marriage with the man for whom she was temporarily crazy should be instrumental in gaining what she had striven so hard for since she left France, namely, the support of Spain; but indoctrinated though she was by the cynical teaching of her uncle, Cardinal Lorraine, she can hardly have realised the turpitude of the act of treachery she was committing. She had been cherished and beloved even by her Protestant subjects, and yet the step she was taking would lead, if she were successful in her object, to the employment of the hideous methods of Spanish religious coercion to crush their religious liberty, to the subordination of the land of her birth, and of England over which she aspired to rule, to the interests of a foreign nation, and would involve the ruin or death of another Queen closely related to her.

On the other hand, it must be allowed on Mary’s behalf that her circumstances were exceptionally difficult. The political system of Catharine de Medici had deprived Scotland of the strong ally that for centuries had been its main protection against the aggression of England, whilst the spread of Protestantism in Scotland had created a new bond of union between the country and Elizabeth’s government. In order to be able to rule Scotland peacefully in these circumstances it was necessary either that the sovereign should accept frankly the Reformed doctrines and become more or less a vassal of England, or else make common cause with the great enemy of the Reformation, submit to the dictation of Spain with all it involved, and restore the lost balance of power in Europe to Philip’s advantage by uniting England and Scotland under Catholic rule. The effect would have been to reduce France to a secondary position, to secure supremacy for the papal Church, and to place Europe at the bidding of Philip II. Between these two alternatives Mary chose that to which her Guisan and Catholic traditions led her, and, reprehensible as her choice may seem to the political ethics of to-day, it was in the circumstances the most natural course for her to take.

There was no hesitation or weakness in Mary’s attitude as soon as she had taken the step and married Darnley with the blessing of Philip. Knox thundered his denunciations from the pulpit, but whimpered and “longed to depart” when the guns of Edinburgh Castle began to speak; Murray, with his 1,200 men-at-arms, meaning mischief, waxed lachrymose when he found that the burgesses shrank from open disloyalty to the Queen, and that Elizabeth dared not help him now to rebel against the friend and ally of Spain. Mary, on the other hand, was confident and energetic. Keeping the saddle through the foulest weather, and over execrable paths, she rode almost alone, armed, and eager to meet her rebellious brother and his supporters. This was the eventuality which she had foreseen when she had ensured Catholic support from abroad on her marriage with Darnley, and she lost no time in claiming it.

All the North of England was on the alert and ready for action in her favour if success were assured by the aid they looked for from Philip; and to the Pope Mary appealed even before her marriage was publicly celebrated. The Protestants, she wrote, were in arms against her, the Queen of England was in desperation: if his Holiness would send a force of 12,000 men to Scotland for six months the religion of Rome might be restored permanently. It was too much for the Pope to do without Philip’s connivance, so he put off Mary’s envoy with fair words until the reply could come from Spain.⁠[160] To Philip himself she also wrote shortly before her public marriage (24th July, 1565): “I have given notice to your ambassador of all that has taken place, on the assurance that in the event of my urgently needing your succour and assistance, which I do, your Majesty will grant them to me in order to maintain the faith, with which object you raise such great forces against the Turk. I can truly say that no war is more dangerous to Christianity nor more pernicious to the obedience due to princes than that moved by these new evangelists (God grant that you may never be troubled with them in your dominions), and I therefore beg your Majesty, for this reason, and in consideration of the desire I have and always have had to bind myself to you against all the world, to instruct your ambassador to uphold the rights of the Earl of Lennox’s son and my own in England, and to order him to declare to the Queen of England that you will not allow anything to be done to our disadvantage.”⁠[161]⁠

There is no doubt that a vast Catholic conspiracy, especially in the North of England, was in existence at this time, full of hope, encouraged by the agents of the Countess of Lennox, that the aid of Philip sent to Mary would enable them to shake off the yoke of Elizabeth and her Protestant ministers. The constant injunctions of the King of Spain that everything must be kept inviolably secret, and no move made until success was ensured, had been powerless, as usual, to close the mouths of elated people who thought that their days of tribulation were soon to end. Before Mary’s public marriage the eager English Catholics also sent their own emissary to the Spanish Regent of Flanders, Philip’s sister, the Duchess of Parma, to confer with her, and thence to proceed to Scotland. The man they chose was one Francis Yaxley, who had filled several bureaucratic posts in the English Court, especially that of Clerk of the Signet during Philip’s stay in England. He had been a friend of Bishop Quadra and a follower of Cecil, but at this time was a professed Catholic attached to the Lennox party. He knew foreign countries, and had even been in Spain; so that he was considered to be a good instrument for bringing into accord the English Catholics, the Scottish Queen, and King Philip. Guzman, giving notice to the King of his going to Flanders, says that “he is a person well acquainted with affairs here and will be able to give the Queen of Scotland a great deal of information. They (i.e., the English Catholics) say that he is a devoted servant of your Majesty.”⁠[162]⁠

Exactly what this man arranged in Flanders before proceeding to Scotland is not known, but when he arrived, in August, at Leith, Randolph, the English agent in Edinburgh, knew enough to suspect him. “His errand I yet know not,” he wrote to Cecil, “and would I knew what might be said to such ‘gestes’ who come for little good.”⁠[163] Whatever message Yaxley brought it was a welcome one to Mary and her husband, Darnley particularly “rejoicing and imparting all his affairs to him.” Yaxley is represented by the English agent as imposing upon Darnley and his “yong company,” by his boastful talk, “as a fit man to send abroad, as he knew so well the Courts of Spain and England, besides his acquaintance in Flanders and at Brussels, that he doubted not to accomplish any commission. So he is to pass secretly to the Duchess of Aerschot [Mary’s aunt], who shall procure him audience of the Regent, to whom he shall declare that this Queen ... will commit herself, her husband, and her country to his [King Philip’s] protection, and, seeing the Queen of England disposed to marry the French King, the rather to maintain her [Mary’s] estate she and her husband will remit all her titles to England to the King of Spain’s judgment; and if the Duchess of Parma thought meet he is to pass with these offers to Spain.... He [Yaxley] told his secret friends the names of many noblemen and gentlemen of good power in England ready to follow the King of Spain’s directions for the alteration of religion.”⁠[164]⁠

Before Yaxley left again—not, as this letter says, to Flanders, but direct to Spain from Dumbarton—he renounced his English citizenship to become a Scotsman. “The Queen and her husband,” wrote Randolph, “have sent him ambassador to Spain; he embarked three days past [i.e., 17th September]. It passes my power to know his commission, but it is for little good.”⁠[165] What Randolph could not fathom is to some extent divulged to us by the letter Mary wrote to Philip by Yaxley; although, of course, his verbal message was more precise as to what was required and intended. “Monsieur mon bon frère,” she writes from Glasgow on the 10th September, “the earnestness you have always displayed in the maintenance of our Catholic faith has caused me previously to crave your favours and aid, foreseeing that which has now happened in this realm of mine, tending to the entire ruin of the Catholics and the establishment of these unhappy errors. In resisting them my husband and myself will be in peril of losing our Crown, and by the same means our claims elsewhere, unless we have the help of one of the great Christian princes. Bearing this in mind, and seeing the energy with which you have proceeded in your own States, and especially the firmness with which you have upheld those who have depended upon your favour, we have thought well to address you, in preference to any others, to ask for your counsel, and for your help and support. With this end we have sent this gentleman, an Englishman and a faithful servant of my husband and myself, with ample charge to render to you an account of the condition of our affairs, of which he has full knowledge; praying you to give credit to his words as if they were our own, and to send him back with all speed, as the case is so pressing as to touch both our Crown and the liberty of the Church for ever. To maintain this we will spare neither life nor estate, with your support and counsel.”⁠[166]⁠

Elizabeth’s Government were fully informed through their spies of the grave purport of Yaxley’s mission; and Catharine, who was almost as apprehensive of a Spanish domination of Scotland and England as Elizabeth herself, made an attempt by means of a special ambassador (Castelnau de la Mauvissière) to win Mary away from dependence upon Philip by new professions of friendship towards her. Mary, however, was in no humble frame of mind now, and would brook no interference either from her mother-in-law in France or her cousin in England, with both of whom she had long scores to settle. She would listen to no suggestions of a reconciliation with Murray, and she plainly threatened the French ambassador that if his King did not at once help her to punish the rebels she would invoke the aid of the King of Spain. The position was a triumphant one for Mary so long as she depended upon Spanish help; and if Philip had been prompt and such armed aid had been sent to Scotland before Murray succumbed, Elizabeth might have been deposed and Philip have obtained the control of Britain.

Elizabeth for once was really alarmed. There was the confident talk now of Philip’s coming with a great fleet and army to Flanders, which pessimists in England thought might be used against this country. So whilst Mary of Scotland, in full hope of Philip’s support, was defying England, Elizabeth was afraid of stirring a finger to help Murray and the Protestants ostensibly, for fear of bringing Spaniards or French Catholics, or both, into North Britain; in which case her own crown would have been in dire danger. Guzman saw Elizabeth on the 16th September, and found her full of complaints of the ingratitude of the Queen of Scots and the Lennoxes, to whom she had been so kind and meant so well. The present rebellion in Scotland was not really about religion at all, she said, and Mary only pretended that it was, in order to enlist the help of foreign princes. “Well, that may be,” replied Guzman drily, “but in any case it is very inexpedient, and sets a bad example to help rebellious subjects in their disobedience.” “Oh,” cried Elizabeth, quite shocked at the idea, “God forbid that I should ever help disobedient subjects, unless I saw very good reason why they should not be made to suffer without a hearing!” Elizabeth, indeed, who was sending money secretly to Murray, and throwing the blame for everything upon the Lennoxes and Darnley, was now quite apologetic at the attitude into which she was forced by events and by Mary’s appeal to Spain. So powerless was she at this juncture that she had to sit idly by whilst Murray and his adherents fled across the Border (13th October, 1565) before Mary’s threatened vengeance, and she was even forced to feign anger and indignation at his rebellion when he sought audience in England of the Queen whose stalking-horse he had been.

Ignorant, of course, of Murray’s collapse, Yaxley duly arrived at Segovia, where Philip was, on the 23rd October, 1565, and gave his letter and verbal message to the King. Fortunately Philip repeated this message to Guzman in his letter to him, written on the following day, and we are thus able to understand exactly how far Mary was willing to go in her ambitious plans. “The first thing,” writes Philip, “was to assure us in fair words of the great hope and confidence they reposed in me, desiring to govern themselves by my direction alone, and to do nothing without my consent and pleasure: for this reason they wish to inform me of the need in which they are, and assure us of their zealous desire to establish their realm anew under the Christian religion, and to join other Christian princes with that object. Not having sufficient forces of their own they begged me to aid them as a Christian monarch; and, in order to induce me to do so, the envoy set forth the danger in which the Queen and King of Scotland were, by reason of the heretics, stimulated and favoured by the English with men and money; so that the said sovereigns might easily fall into the hands of the rebels, and be conveyed abroad, leaving the State unprotected, unless I, in whom after God they put their trust, aided them with money and troops. If I would consent to do this it would not only be the means of destroying the rebels, but would confirm the King and Queen in their hope of succeeding to the English throne, and would banish their fear that the heretics would oust them, the real heirs, and elect some heretic instead. They promised that if they obtained the succession of the Crown by my means they would renew more closely the alliance and league between England and our house against the world, and leave all other friends for us. They also begged us to write urgent letters to the Queen of England, first asking her to release Lady Margaret (Lennox), and secondly to desist from aiding the Scottish rebels.”⁠[167] Yaxley also asked that an accredited Spanish ambassador might be sent to Scotland to arrange a binding treaty and to advise Mary and her husband as to their proceedings.

Philip was not ready yet for heroic measures in Great Britain, for he was busy planning the deadly blow he hoped to deal upon his disaffected Flemings. But he sent back by Yaxley cordial letters to Mary and Darnley, and told them to consult either Guzman or the Spanish ambassador in Paris when they were in doubt how to proceed. What advice was to be given to them in such case is seen in the King’s instructions to Guzman. “They should confine themselves for the present to punishing the rebels and pacifying the kingdom. When they have done this, and affairs have settled down, they could look further ahead than at present.” Philip was equally cautious in other directions. He did not want to tie himself openly or formally to Mary until he was quite sure that she would be a fit and obedient instrument for him to obtain command of England. She must, with her husband, for this purpose be able to command the united support of the English Catholic party, and Philip must be quite sure that her French relatives were not to influence her in any way. So he declined to negotiate a formal treaty or to write to Elizabeth about Lady Lennox, and even confined his present assistance to a sum of money, no less than 20,000 crowns, which was to be secretly handed to Yaxley by a Spanish banker, who himself did not know its destination, outside Antwerp.

With this answer Yaxley travelled post-haste to Flanders, and duly took ship in Antwerp bound for the port of Leith with this large sum of money on his person. This was about the 20th November, 1565. The season was a terribly tempestuous one, and at some time in December, from the wreck of a Flemish ship, there was cast up by the sea upon the coast of Northumberland the drowned body of Yaxley with his treasure upon him. Guzman was alarmed when he heard of it, more for the letters and papers from Philip that the man bore than for the money, as they would divulge the whole plot; but if the letters were found, which it is probable they were, they were not delivered to Elizabeth. The Earl of Northumberland was a Catholic noble and secretly an adherent of Mary’s, as will be seen later; but, although his attachment to her might prompt him to keep or destroy letters compromising her, it was not proof against his claiming the money upon the dead man, which he seized in virtue of his territorial rights; although he had angry disputes and lawsuits with the Lord Admiral on the subject, who also claimed the salvage. Mary herself sent Melville to ask Northumberland for the delivery of the money intended for her. “But all my entreaties were ineffectual; he altogether refused to give any part thereof to the Queen (of Scots), albeit he was himself a Catholic and professed secretly to be her friend.”⁠[168]⁠

At about the same time the Pope sent to Mary, by Philip’s permission, a similar sum of 20,000 crowns, and promised a subsidy of 4,000 crowns a month to pay troops to suppress the rebellion. But Murray was in England and the revolt practically at an end by this time. Elizabeth was protesting with injured innocence that nothing was further from her thoughts than subsidising trouble in her dear sister’s realm; whilst Mary, taking Philip’s advice to heart, was diplomatically biding her time for the great blow to be struck that would give her the Crown of England. She once more turned a smiling face upon Randolph, and readily agreed now to receive special ambassadors from Elizabeth to settle all disputes between them. The rebels, all but Murray and Kirkaldy of Grange, were received into favour again, and to please and lull Elizabeth into false security, Darnley was ostentatiously neglected by his wife. Kirkaldy, dour and unbending, warned the English that Mary was fooling them. “Send as many ambassadors as ye please to our Queen, they shall receive proud answers, for she thinks to have a force ready as soon as ye do, besides her hope of friendship [of the Catholics] in England, of which she brags not a little, so driving time is to her advantage.”⁠[169] Kirkaldy was right, as events proved. Mary was temporising as Philip advised her to do, counting upon the aid of Spain, the Pope, and the English Catholics when the hour should strike. But for her the hour never did strike. Her evil star led her along the path which ended in England and martyrdom.

The tragedy of Rizzio, the vicious foolishness of Darnley, the levity of Mary, and the falsity of Murray and Morton, destroyed for a time the great dream, once so promising in appearance, that the Queen of Scots would mount the Catholic throne of Britain by the aid of Spain. When Mary was in Lochleven and her infant son had been adopted as their King by the nobles, Elizabeth and Catharine vied with each other in their loud expressions of sympathy with a Queen thus contemned by her subjects, the object in both cases being to obtain, if possible, either through Mary or her persecutors, a pretext to interfere in Scotland, and thus to frustrate the Spanish combination. Murray, who was not in Scotland when Darnley was murdered, found himself assiduously courted, by the French especially, on his way home, and had a long friendly interview even with Guzman in London. After the first shock of dismay caused to the Catholics by the marriage of Mary to Bothwell—a divorced man and a Protestant—public opinion on their part agreed to regard her as innocent of the crimes laid to her charge; and when, on the unhappy 16th May, 1568, Mary, weeping with grief and bitter disappointment, bade a last farewell to the land of her fathers to claim the hospitality of her bitterest enemy, her party in the north still founded their hopes upon her, notwithstanding the black suspicion that hung over her, whilst she was unsubdued and full of plans for future triumph over her enemies.

In her first letter to Elizabeth she struck a high but unwise note, claiming admission to the Queen’s presence and English aid to subdue her rebel subjects, failing which she demanded leave to go to France or Spain and obtain assistance there. Elizabeth refused both requests, for whilst she was kept in England the unhappy Mary had nothing to offer in return; but Knollys, who took the message, warned the Queen of England that the Catholic gentry were flocking to salute the fugitive, whose presence in the north was a danger, and Mary sent indignant and imprudent messages by Lord Herries to Elizabeth threatening to appeal to her great Catholic friends on the Continent. This attitude sealed Mary’s fate and determined her imprisonment. Lord Herries talked openly, even in Elizabeth’s palace, of his plans for claiming Catholic aid for his mistress; and although Guzman used all his deft persuasions to soften the English Queen, Elizabeth explained to him quite cogently again and again that she dared not allow Mary to bring foreign Catholic forces into Britain, nor from a safe refuge on the Continent to organise disaffection in England.

Elizabeth, with ample reason, was at the time in a panic at Philip’s action in Flanders. For many months the pretence had been kept up that the King himself was coming to the Netherlands to pacify discontent. Great forces had been raised in Italy, Spain, and Germany, and a strong fleet fitted out, to the great alarm of the English, who feared that at last the time for Philip’s vengeance had arrived, although Elizabeth had tremblingly tried to keep up the pretence to Guzman that she was delighted at “her good brother’s” coming. At last when all was ready, in the autumn of 1567, vast sums of money collected, and the troops under arms, no longer a royal escort but a strong avenging army, Philip announced that he would not go to Flanders himself but would send the terrible Duke of Alba. Then all the world knew what was meant—war to the knife until Protestantism and political liberty were crushed in the Netherlands. It was clear to Huguenots, Lutherans, and Anglicans that the time of trial and struggle was at hand, and mutual messages and promises of support crossed from one to the other, for they all knew that if the King of Spain were victorious over dissent in his own land the turn of the others would come. Elizabeth’s retort to Alba’s proceedings was, as usual, both bold and diplomatic. She once more made strenuous efforts to reopen the negotiations for her marriage with the Archduke, she cajoled Guzman again into the belief that she was not in accord with the proceedings of her Reformed bishops; and whilst all England was thrilling with sympathy for the oppressed Flemings she made the most elaborate protestations to the Spanish ambassador that she had not helped and would not help them in their resistance.⁠[170] But at the same time Elizabeth, by a policy of alternate severity and leniency towards them, convinced the English Catholic party that their future treatment depended alone upon their gaining her goodwill.

The first suppression of revolt in Flanders effected by Alba on his arrival coincided with a change in Philip’s policy towards England, probably under the influence of the warlike party now dominant in his counsels. Guzman, as we have seen, had always spoken fair to Elizabeth and Cecil, though he often complained to his master of having to deal with “heretics” thus. But from Madrid now a harsher note was struck. The English spies in Spain reported that all the talk now was of the coming conquest of England, and of Catholic combinations to overthrow the Queen; and in February Elizabeth learnt from a messenger sent by her ambassador in Spain, Dr. Man, Dean of Gloucester, to inform her of the imprisonment of Don Carlos, that the household of her ambassador had not been allowed to celebrate Protestant worship in the embassy building. Dr. Man was a notoriously foolish, babbling person, and, as Philip averred, had openly scoffed at a religious procession, and had spoken at dinner before Spaniards disrespectfully of the Catholic faith. The Duke of Feria had been sent to warn him, which we may be sure he did haughtily enough,⁠[171] and Philip, on Man’s first arrival in Madrid, appears to have told him harshly “that he must conduct himself as his predecessors had done.” The Inquisition had, so Philip declared, complained of him, and he was said to have acted “simply as a perverse dogmatiser.”

However this may have been, the prohibition of his own national worship within the embassy walls was a violation of diplomatic privilege, though Philip said that other English ambassadors (meaning Challoner) had put up with it; and when Elizabeth heard of it she was violently angry. Cecil went to Guzman and told him heatedly that unless the English ambassador in Madrid had the same privileges conceded to him as those that Guzman enjoyed in London, he would immediately be withdrawn. Philip, said Elizabeth, might do as he liked with his own subjects, but he should not persecute hers. The complaint, of course, went to Madrid, and at the same time a letter to Dr. Man from the irate Elizabeth ordering him to demand immediate satisfaction from the King. Philip was ready for it and gave him no opportunity. In a violent letter to Guzman, entirely unlike his previous tone towards England, he tells his ambassador that he has banished Man from Madrid, and refused to have any more intercourse with him. He had, says the King, even tried to proselytise in Spain; and if he had not been an ambassador the Inquisition would have made short work of him. If Elizabeth did not recall him at once, he would be expelled from Spain. When Guzman waited upon Elizabeth early in May, 1568, with this message and handed her his new letter of credence, he watched her face closely. “When she came to the latter part about the ambassador she changed colour and seemed annoyed, asking me what it meant.” Guzman, as gently as he could, gave her the rough message, and said that a gentleman was on the way from Spain to explain matters. In the meanwhile, amongst other things, he might tell her that this precious ambassador of hers had publicly called the Pope a “canting little monk!” “Oh! there is nothing in that,” said the Queen, but Guzman thought otherwise. She had not dealt with Bishop Quadra so harshly, she said, although she found he was positively plotting against her. “She therefore grieved that her ambassador should be treated as he had been, especially as at this time suspicions and comments would arise therefrom. This way of treating ambassadors was a forerunner of greater unpleasantness, particularly coming as it did on the top of the news of the Catholic league against her, and I should hear next day what would be said in London about it.”

A week or so after this came the news that Man had been expelled from Madrid with every circumstance of insult, and Guzman, anxious to hear what the English would think of it, called upon Cecil. He found the minister in a furious passion at the outrage upon international courtesy. Such a thing, he said, had never been heard of before unless a pretext for war was sought, and it was a great piece of disrespect and an insult to the Queen, showing a desire to pick a quarrel with her, as had already been stated in certain quarters, and it now behoved the Queen to be prepared. It is certain that this incident, almost coinciding as it did with Mary Stuart’s arrival in England and her open threats to appeal to the Catholic Powers for aid, greatly perturbed and alarmed Elizabeth. The war of religion in France was again in full swing, and her friends the Huguenots had their hands full and could not help her, the Flemings were temporarily crushed under the iron heel of Alba, and the Catholics of the North of England were in a ferment at the coming of the Queen of Scots.

In spite, therefore, of Guzman’s remonstrances, the flail fell upon the backs of the English Catholics, and for the first time Guzman himself was treated with harshness. Cecil told him “that the Council regarded him with suspicion, and the Queen did the same.” The ambassador was gentler and more conciliatory than ever; but in the new situation created he was not the man for the place. In February, 1568, he had earnestly begged the King to recall him on the pretext of ill-health and lack of means. At that time, before Mary Stuart’s arrival in England, the relations between England and Spain were not abnormally strained, for Mary, being deposed and imprisoned, was powerless. Philip sent no answer to the ambassador’s request for several months; but in May, when the prospect was no longer “quiet and friendly,” he sent to Guzman his letter of dismissal. The King at this time needed a rough, overbearing man to support his strong action with regard to the English ambassador. The communications that had passed between Philip and Mary Stuart, and the reports he had received as to the attitude of the English Catholics of the north from the Lennoxes and others, had convinced him that an opportunity offered for dealing his blow. Guzman had continued gently to encourage the Queen of Scotland’s agent, Fleming, but neither his instructions nor his disposition allowed him to go beyond bare expressions of sympathy. “I have shown him great goodwill, and have in general terms assured him of your Majesty’s sincere affection for his Queen, as I am letting the Catholics, her friends, understand.”⁠[172] But Guzman went no further than this.

Philip always chose his instruments carefully, with a view for the precise task he confided to them. He had sent Guzman to London to tranquillise Elizabeth by cordiality and a show of simple frankness, at a time when trade was suspended and she was deeply irritated at the intrigues of Bishop Quadra. The ambassador had done his work admirably, but now another phase had to be dealt with, and a different man was required. To some extent, perhaps, Guzman’s recall may have been influenced by his own remark that Catholics are exposed to much danger to the purity of their faith by living so long amongst heretics, in answer to which the King told him that he was not to join in religious discussions with enemies of the Church; but the choice of his successor was certainly made with a view to an alteration in the attitude in future to be adopted towards Elizabeth by her brother-in-law. All hope of bringing her round to a Catholic policy was now quite abandoned. To invade and conquer her country, as Feria had proposed, when it might have been done, in the first days of her reign, was not at present in Philip’s power. But he had a famous general and a powerful army a few hours only from her shores, and she might be frightened into a humble and tolerant mood, perhaps, by a rough-tongued bully with such a force to threaten with. Besides, reports had told the King that the Catholics of the North of England were yearning for his coming to liberate their country from the yoke of heresy, and a bold zealot was needed to organise them into a fit instrument for Philip’s future purpose.

Such a man, though without the subtlety and secrecy required, was found in Don Gerau de Spes, a haughty Catalan knight of the Alba school, as intolerant as Feria himself. It was no part of Philip’s intention yet to quarrel openly with Elizabeth, and the instructions he gave to his new ambassador were, as will be seen presently, entirely pacific; but the King was really in great trepidation as to the way in which the Queen would take the expulsion of her ambassador, and de Spes’s first task was to frighten her into humility, and into desisting from countenancing the open aid that was flowing over from England to the Flemish rebels. When Guzman went to Hatfield to announce to the Queen his recall he found her troubled and suspicious at the rumours that had reached her as to the reasons for the change. “She showed more sorrow than I expected, and, changing colour, told me that she was grieved to the bottom of her heart that there should be any change, as she was so greatly pleased with my procedure. She said she had always shown me how pleased she was with me, and hoped to God there was no mystery behind this change.”

The supple ambassador tranquillised her. She knew, he said, what poor health he had, and how badly the English climate suited him. There was no other mystery behind his going than that. She was coquettishly aggrieved, too, at his wanting to leave her, as they had been such friends; and besides, there was all this talk about a Catholic league against her! Guzman again reassured her; but when he got back to London he found Cecil less easy to calm. He had been told alarming stories by his spies, most of which we now know were untrue, and after assuring Guzman of the grief that his recall would cause to the Queen, he continued that “it confirmed what he had heard from various quarters, that Cardinal Lorraine had arranged a treaty with the Duke of Alba respecting this country and the Queen of Scots, which had been negotiated through me [i.e., Guzman] as they could not trust the French ambassador. It was said, also, that the Queen of Scots herself was in communication with me and sent me letters for your Majesty. It was asserted that, now that I had arranged it all, I wished to leave in order that my successor, and not myself, should witness the carrying out of the plan.”⁠[173] Guzman knew that a letter to him enclosing one from Mary to Philip had fallen into Cecil’s hands, so he had to be dexterous in his management of the situation. He affected to laugh at such assertions as absurd;⁠[174] and the interview ended by the highest praise being bestowed upon Guzman, who, said Cecil, had absolutely gained the Queen’s confidence; and many dubious questions were put by Cecil as to what sort of a person Don Gerau de Spes was.

Don Gerau soon showed this for himself. He was instructed by Philip to explain to Elizabeth the misdeeds of Dr. Man that had led to his expulsion, and to exonerate the Duke and Duchess of Feria, and especially the English relatives of the latter, from any blame in the matter. He was also to watch the introduction of warlike stores into England and keep in touch with the Duke of Alba in Flanders; but he is emphatically enjoined “to serve and gratify the Queen on every possible occasion, trying to keep her on good terms, and assuring her from me that I will always return her friendship as her good neighbour and brother.” De Spes, however, must have carried secret instructions in addition to this, because when he was passing through Paris, Mary Stuarts ambassador, the Archbishop of Glasgow, recommended to him the care of the imprisoned Queen’s affairs, “as she founded all her hopes on your Majesty’s favour,” and, in reply, de Spes said that he had orders to do everything he could for her. There is no such clause in his public instructions, and it is most unlikely that any ambassador of Philip would have dared to plunge without instructions into conspiracies against the Government to which he was accredited, as de Spes did immediately after his arrival in England.

Before crossing the Channel, de Spes had a conference with the Duke of Alba at Utrecht, where a long list of Philip’s grievances against Elizabeth were discussed. The indictment was a grave one, the injuries said to be inflicted by the English upon Spaniards and Flemings amounting in value, it was computed, to 300,000 ducats a year; and it is certain that at this interview between the two fiery Spaniards plans for revenging and amending this state of things were canvassed and agreed upon. In England at the time there resided a Spanish merchant, ambitious to fill a diplomatic rôle, and, although he had lived in London for thirty years at least, he was as zealous and intolerant in religious affairs as de Spes, or even Philip himself. This man, of whom we shall hear much presently, Antonio de Guaras, anxious to ingratiate himself, had sent to de Spes in Flanders two broadsheets that had just been published in England attacking Philip’s system and the communications that it was known passed between the English Catholics and the King of Spain. Such papers, of course, had been published in Guzman’s time, but he had wisely passed them by or minimised their importance. To de Spes they served as a spark to the tinder of his passion, and he arrived in England fuming with rage at the insolence of the heretics.

As de Spes rode from Dover towards London, with a long train of Spanish residents in England at his heels, early in September, 1568, he was overtaken by a Scottish gentleman (probably James Beton) on his way from Paris in the service of the imprisoned Mary, with whom he was going to seek an interview. De Spes listened eagerly to his story of the ill-treatment of Mary by the “heretics,” and told him that he had letters in London from King Philip to her. He had enough prudence to tell the Scot when, after their arrival in the capital, he came for the King’s letter to take to Mary that it would be wise that he, as Spanish ambassador, should not be seen too prominently in her interests; but he associated himself at once in all the Scottish Queen’s plans to escape from her bondage, and sent her warm messages of encouragement. Almost at the same time (15th September) Philip himself was writing from the Escorial an important letter to the Duke of Alba. The Queen of Scots, he said, had written praying for his help to extricate her from Elizabeth’s hands, and professing her readiness to die in defence of the faith.⁠[175] “I have refrained from arriving at any decision or answering her autograph letter ... until you tell me what you think of the business, and in what way and to what extent I should assist her. I beg you to write to me by the first opportunity on the matter, and in the meanwhile to encourage the Queen the best you can to persevere firmly in her saintly purpose; for whilst she does so God will not abandon her.”⁠[176] It is obvious from this that Philip had not decided yet to help Mary, but only to encourage her until affairs appeared to him propitious, and we shall be able to judge, therefore, to what extent the zeal of de Spes precipitated matters.

Elizabeth was making a progress through Hampshire, and Guzman presented his successor to her at Newbury on the 12th September, 1568. To the scornful anger of de Spes, Cardinal Chatillon, the Huguenot brother of Coligny, was also seeking audience of the Queen, and being feasted and made much of in the interval by Sir Thomas Gresham at his house in London. That a Cardinal, a prince of the Catholic Church, followed by a wife and family and with several bishops at his side as unorthodox as he, should be ruffling about the streets of London in cape and sword and jewelled cap, shocked de Spes gravely; but that he should be asking, and obtaining, arms from the Tower of London and money and English volunteers to fight against the Catholics and the King in France made the Spaniard more bitter than anything else. The new ambassador had not been installed in Paget House⁠[177] a fortnight before Mary Stuart’s emissaries were in close conference with him. One of them came to him early in October disguised as a merchant, saying that he was bearing letters from her to the Duke of Alba in Flanders. The Conference of York, which had been summoned to decide Mary’s guilt or innocence of the murder of her husband, was already gathering, and the Scottish Queen herself was at Bolton. How eager de Spes was even thus early to engage in plots in her favour is seen in the letter he wrote to the King on the 9th October giving him this news. “Where she is the Catholics are more numerous than in any part of the country. She knows how to ingratiate herself with her keepers, and has many sympathisers on her side. It will not be difficult to release her, and even to raise a great revolt against this Queen; but it will be more prudent that your Majesty should not appear in this, and I will do nothing until I receive orders from your Majesty or the Duke.”⁠[178]⁠

All this foregathering with Scottish agents on the part of de Spes was not lost upon the English Government, whose spies reported everything. De Spes says that Cecil sneeringly asked Beton (the nephew of the Archbishop of Glasgow, who was in London on his way from Paris to see Mary) “whether he had been with his complaints to the new Spanish ambassador yet, and how often he went to Paget House.” In these circumstances it is not surprising that relations grew rapidly acrimonious between Philip’s ambassador and Elizabeth’s ministers. He pressed with boldness and persistence the claims of the Spanish shipmasters for the depredations committed by English rovers, and by the Huguenots and Dutch rebels who took shelter in English ports; and to these claims Cecil retorted by bringing up the old grievance of Dr. Man’s expulsion, and certain insulting references to the Queen of England contained in a recently published Spanish book by Dr. Illescas on Pontifical History. To make matters worse, de Spes did not confine himself to the redress of Spanish grievances, but made himself the champion of Catholics generally. A Portuguese envoy, Dr. Alvarez, was in London to ask Elizabeth to forbid English ships to go to the coast of Guinea, where Hawkins had been slave-trading, and suddenly one morning the Bishop of London’s men appeared before the house in which Alvarez lived and demanded that certain Englishmen then attending Mass there should be delivered to them for punishment. The Portuguese refused to surrender them, and the house was soon surrounded by a threatening crowd. Word was carried to de Spes, who immediately sent off one of his household to demand of the Lord Mayor (Sir Roger Martin) the dispersal of the mob. “What is the cause of the gathering?” asked the chief magistrate, and when the Spaniard told him that it was a question of Catholic worship, Sir Roger burst out in a rage that he would rather send his men to reinforce the mob than to disperse it in such a case.

The presence of such a firebrand ambassador as this in London, in constant communication, as Elizabeth’s ministers knew, with all the elements of disaffection in England, and in close correspondence with the terrible Duke of Alba in Flanders, convinced the English Government that evil plans were brewing. It was known that Philip’s principal difficulty was money. The expense of the campaigns in Flanders and the constant wars in the Mediterranean had exhausted the resources of Castile, and Philip’s credit was as bad as could be. Alba’s troops were unpaid and growing mutinous, committing outrage and depredations upon Catholics as much as upon Protestants. The Duke had pressed, again and again, for money from Spain, and the English spies in Flanders had continued to send alarmist reports, all premature as we see now, but then believed to be true, of the hostile intentions of Alba against England as soon as he had crushed the Dutchmen and obtained the needed resources from Spain.

Chance threw into Elizabeth’s way a means of paralysing Alba for a time and rendering impossible the plans to injure her that she knew were hatching. Philip had, with infinite difficulty, managed to contract, at usurious rates, a loan of money from Genoese bankers, and, with his characteristic caution, he had stipulated that the money should be delivered by the lenders to the agents of the Duke of Alba in Antwerp. The Channel was infested with Huguenot privateers and pirates of all sorts on the look out for ships flying the Spanish flag, and the Dutch “Beggars” blockaded the Belgian coast. The ships, six or seven of them, which were bringing Philip’s borrowed treasure were known to have sailed late in November, and the rovers were all on the alert for them when they came. Finding themselves chased, the treasure ships ran into English ports, some into Plymouth, some to Falmouth, and the largest of them into Southampton, in order to escape their pursuers and claim official English protection. Even in port the privateers threatened the fugitives, and two of the treasure ships, swift Biscay cutters, fearing that the heretics on shore were as dangerous as their colleagues afloat, boldly ran the blockade of pirates and escaped, eventually arriving safely in Antwerp. But the others, and especially the big ship in Southampton with £31,000 in money on board, could only cling desperately to the English port authorities, whilst they sent swift messengers to Benedict Spinola, the famous Genoese banker in London, the agent and partner of the lenders, praying him to obtain safety for them.

Spinola, being, of course, interested in the treasure, went at once to de Spes, and asked him to request officially of the Queen’s Council that the money should be protected effectively in the English ports, and, if necessary, landed and conveyed overland to Dover for transmission to Antwerp under English convoy. De Spes lost no time, and on the 29th November saw the Queen, who readily promised him a passport to carry the money overland, or, if the Genoese preferred it, she would have the ships convoyed to their destination. Satisfied with this, de Spes wrote to Alba for instructions as to which course to follow. In the meanwhile Admiral Wynter was leaving the Thames with an English squadron to relieve the Huguenots besieged by the King of France in Rochelle, and on the way he looked into the Channel ports to ensure the safety of the treasure ships. Before Wynter sailed finally from England Spinola, who was interested, as great financiers are to-day, in many enterprises, wrote to him that he had just received word that rumours were current in Spain of a great disaster having happened on the coast of Mexico to Captain John Hawkins, the bold English sailor who had on more than one occasion braved the Spanish prohibition and had conducted successful trading expeditions to the Spanish colonies. De Spes had been bitterly complaining of this, and it was feared, said Spinola, that the Hawkins expedition, in which he had an interest, had been attacked and annihilated by the Spanish authorities.

When Wynter received Spinola’s news on the 2nd December he was in Plymouth, assuring himself of the safety of the Spanish treasure ships there. Wynter naturally told the evil news he had learned from Spinola to William Hawkins, the brother of John, who lived in Plymouth, and William at once wrote to Cecil, who was also interested in the venture, suggesting that Spinola should be questioned, and if it turned out that the Spaniards had attacked the English trading expedition, the money in the ships now being protected by English guns should be seized in reprisal. This letter was written on the 3rd December, the day after the safe conduct had been signed by Elizabeth for bringing the treasure overland to Dover, and before Cecil can have received it this safe conduct was on its way in the hands of de Spes’s agents to Southampton, and so to Plymouth and Falmouth. Cecil’s messengers, however, were not far behind, and, in spite of the protest of the Spanish captain, Horsey, the Governor of the Isle of Wight, by Cecil’s secret orders, landed the treasure from the ship at Southampton and placed it in the keeping of the mayor of the town. Similar action was taken with the treasure at Plymouth and Falmouth, and when the news reached de Spes in London he at once jumped at the conclusion that the rumours were true that he had heard at Court to the effect that some of the Queen’s Council and her Huguenot friends had been urging her to keep the treasure for her own purposes.

Spinola, a resident in London, dependent largely upon Elizabeth’s goodwill and Cecil’s friendship, had, indeed, let out in conversation not only what he had heard about the Spanish attack upon John Hawkins’s expedition in Mexico, but also that the Genoese financiers were responsible for the money advanced to Philip until it was handed to the Spanish authorities in Flanders. “In that case,” said Elizabeth, “I can borrow it myself; for my credit is quite as good as that of the King of Spain.” Rash de Spes, however, did not wait for any such public avowal. To his intemperate and insolent protests Cecil and the other Councillors would only say that the money was quite safe, and for the present no other answer with regard to it could be given to him. This was on the 21st December and the ambassador at once sent a special courier to Alba with a letter praying, in burning indignation, that all English property and that of Spinola on Spanish soil should be seized.⁠[179] Nothing more unwise than this can be conceived; for no sooner had Alba made the confiscatory proclamation than Elizabeth not only justified thereby her seizure of the money, now openly avowed, but at once confiscated all Spanish and Flemish property in England, including the ships that had brought the money.

De Spes had been saying for weeks past that the best way to bring the Queen to her knees, and to force her into the arms of Spain, would be to stop all English trade; and when he had sent to Alba the unwise advice to make the seizure of English property he still believed that such a measure would dismay the “heretic” Government. So far from doing that it placed Elizabeth technically in the right; for up to that point she had not openly avowed her intention of keeping the loan money; and the value of Spanish-Flemish property in England was immensely greater than that of English property in Philip’s dominions. The news of the seizure of the loan money fell upon Alba and his master like a death sentence. Without this money to pay his troops Alba was almost in despair, and Philip had exhausted his last rag of credit in raising the loan. In vain de Spes raged and fumed. Cecil and his mistress were perfectly cool about it; for they saw that the impetuousness of their opponents had put them in the right, and the large sum of ready money they had seized strengthened them as it proportionately weakened Philip. De Spes’s house was placed under guard; and a threatening mob in the City of London breathed vengeance upon the foreigners, and especially Spaniards, most of whom had fled into hiding. To make matters worse, a cipher letter from de Spes to Alba was intercepted and deciphered, full of violent and insulting references to Cecil, and other letters to Spanish friends in Flanders containing foolish abuse of the Queen herself.⁠[180] Called upon peremptorily for explanation of these references, the ambassador could only palliate, disavow, and explain that he did not mean what he said; and he himself was placed under arrest and forbidden access to the Court.

Even then, when the dire consequences of his imprudence must have been patent to him, he was in close cipher correspondence with Mary Stuart, who sent him news, which he took care to exaggerate, of Protestant plots being formed to murder King Philip. Writing to the King on the 8th January, 1569, he says, after pressing him to foment dissatisfaction in England by stopping all trade: “In the meanwhile means will be found to bring this country to its senses and subdue it to the Catholic faith. Those who have spoken to me about a rising for the Queen of Scots will not fail to return to the subject,⁠[181] and I will inform the Duke [Alba], as your Majesty orders. Pray do not consider me or my safety, but take the best course for your Majesty’s interests.... These heretic knaves of the Council are going headlong to perdition, incited by Cecil, who is indescribably crazy in his zeal for heresy.” Later in the same letter de Spes tells how his own prediction came true and the conspirators did seek him. “The Earl of Northumberland came to see me disguised at four o’clock this morning, and is ready to serve your Majesty. I sent a post yesterday to the Duke by an Englishman who has secret communication with Flanders.... At midnight last night the Bishop of Ross came to offer the goodwill of his mistress [i.e., Mary Stuart] and of many gentlemen of this country, and I have reported this to the Duke [of Alba]. The Queen of Scotland told my servant to convey to me the following words: ‘Tell the ambassador that if his master will help me I shall be Queen of England in three months, and Mass shall be said throughout the land.’”⁠[182]⁠

It will be seen that before de Spes had been in England four months he had forced King Philip into a position of hardly veiled hostility towards England, at the very period when his lack of resources and the recrudescence of the war in the Netherlands made it impossible for him to attempt coercion upon Elizabeth. Alba himself was dismayed at the unexpectedly bold action of the English Government in seizing the treasure and embargoing all Spanish-Flemish property in England. The Flemish burghers, already sorely distressed by the civil war, were almost in open revolt at this stoppage of the rich English trade and the embargo of their property in England, and Alba, hard as he might be, was forced to make an attempt to reason with Elizabeth by means of some more pliable instrument than de Spes. The person chosen was the garrulous Flemish lawyer, Dassonleville, who had come to England just before Queen Mary Tudor’s death, but he found himself more contemptuously treated even than de Spes. Who was he, the Council asked, that he should seek audience of a Queen with a letter of credence from a person who, so far as she knew, was not a sovereign? Nothing wounded proud Alba so much as this slight, and poor Dassonleville was denied audience, and was placed under arrest in the house of the Sheriff of London.

By this time no less than 700,000 ducats worth of Flemish ships and property had been seized in England, besides Philip’s treasure of a million; and the Spaniards, especially Alba, were bitterly regretting the deplorable diplomacy of de Spes. Philip, who hated to come to prompt decisions, was now face to face with a crisis. In obedience to the clamours of his ambassador he had stopped all trade between his dominions and England; by which, instead of its bringing Elizabeth to her knees, his subjects suffered much more than the English. It was evident, however, that this state of things could not continue indefinitely, and he was driven by these circumstances, at the very time when he was more hardly pressed than ever, to consider whether he could now conquer England by means of the English Catholics and Mary Stuart. For such a conquest to be of use to him it was necessary to be quite sure that Mary should be free from French influence, and that the new Catholic Government should look to him alone for orders.

When, therefore, he received news from Alba and de Spes of the seizures he wrote to the former: “Don Gerau urges the opportunity which now presents itself to remedy religious affairs in that country by deposing the present Queen and giving the crown to the Queen of Scots, who will immediately be joined by all the Catholics. Please inquire what foundation there is for this, and what success would probably attend such a plan; as if there is anything in it, I should be glad to carry it out. It appears to me that, after my special obligation to maintain my own dominions in our holy faith, I am bound to make every effort to restore and preserve it in England, as in former times. If there is any good grounds for the suggestion, no time more opportune than the present could be found ... and in order not to miss the chance, I have thought well to refer the decision to you. If you think the opportunity will be lost by waiting to consult me you may at once take the steps you may see fitting.” It was not often that Philip went so far as this in a prompt decision, and to de Spes he was equally decided. “If what you suggest about taking the crown away from the Queen were successful, it would certainly be of great moment, and I would help it most willingly, in order to redress religion, and shelter and console the Catholics, who, I am convinced, are very numerous. You will learn all you can about this thoroughly and advise me and the Duke of Alba fully.”⁠[183]⁠

In the meanwhile the conspiracy, by far the most dangerous that Elizabeth ever had to face, was developing in London. Cecil, who, in fact, was the most pacific of ministers, is represented by the Spanish party as the firebrand, determined to precipitate a war with Spain. This was certainly not the case. He, with his cool head, understood how far he might go now that Philip was powerless to attack England. The seizure of the money destined to pay Alba’s troops had made all the difference, and Cecil and his mistress knew that they might for the present defy Spain with impunity. The news of the attack upon Hawkins’s expedition at San Juan de Lua was now confirmed and added to the determination of the English Protestant party to get even with a Power which, for the time at all events, was disabled for harm. But the conservative elements, the old English nobility, with their strong Catholic leanings, their traditions of awed regard for the alliance of the House of Burgundy and Spain, and with their long-standing jealousy of Cecil, saw in his present action a dangerous provocation to a Power they dreaded, and a possible opportunity of supplanting him and his party in the counsels of the Queen.

On several occasions the nobles of this party had expressed to de Spes their annoyance at the seizure of the treasure; and we have seen that the Earl of Northumberland, the powerful Catholic head of the House of Percy, had sought him out secretly in the dead of night to make disloyal offers to him. The Duke of Norfolk, unhappily for himself, had also been drawn into these questionable intrigues by his father-in-law, the Earl of Arundel. Late in February, 1569, Norfolk and Arundel sent a Florentine banker in London, one Ridolfi, a great friend of de Spes and the Pope’s agent in England, to tell the Spanish ambassador that they had put up with Cecil’s impertinences and violence in seizing the treasure so far because they were not strong enough to resist him. “But they are gathering their friends, and letting the public know what is going on, in the hope and belief that they will be able to turn out the present accursed Government and raise a Catholic one, bringing the Queen to consent thereto. They think you [i.e., the Duke of Alba] will support them in this, and that the country will not lose the friendship of our King.” The object of this conspiracy was to capture (and probably kill) Cecil; and, although the nobles euphemistically professed to believe that Elizabeth would consent to a entire revolution in her religion and policy, it is evident that the intention of the majority was to depose her in favour of Mary Stuart. On the 2nd April de Spes writes: “The Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Arundel wish to serve your Majesty. They have many friends and adherents in the country, and when they hear that your Majesty will accept their goodwill, they will declare themselves more openly at a convenient opportunity. The Duke of Alba ... orders me to entertain and caress them on your Majesty’s behalf, and says that he expects shortly your Majesty’s decision as to what is to be done.... If your Majesty orders measures to be taken for the conversion of the kingdom and the punishment of these insolent heretics and barefaced thieves, I do not think it will be difficult to bring them to subjection, or at least to change the Government and religion.... Many Catholics write to me secretly, saying that the moment they see your Majesty’s standard raised in this country they will all rise to serve you.”

But Cecil was too wary to be caught by such weaklings as Norfolk and Arundel, and by pretending to fall into their views for a time about the reconciliation and concessions to the Spaniards, he managed a few weeks after the above letter was written to throw the plans of the conspirators into confusion by dividing their counsels. In the meanwhile Alba (on the 10th March) had to tell Philip some unpleasant truths in answer to his suggestion that English affairs should be taken in hand and settled on the impracticable lines suggested by feather-headed de Spes. “I know not,” Alba wrote to the King, “whether an open rupture with England at the present time will be advantageous, considering the condition of your treasury, and these States being so exhausted with the war and late disturbances, and so lacking of ships and many other things necessary for a fresh war; and it would certainly be a grave loss of dignity, with your Majesty’s power, to return to the old negotiations. All things considered, I think it would be best to adopt a gentle course, writing to the Queen that, seeing the close friendship and alliance that have so long existed between the two countries, particularly between her father and the Emperor, and your brotherly affection for her, even though she should desire to quarrel, you will not consent to do so, and that it shall never be said that the tie that binds you together has been loosened.”

To this lame and impotent conclusion had even warlike Alba been brought by the inevitable logic of events. Elizabeth had seized the treasure, imprisoned two ambassadors, embargoed all Spanish property in her realms; she had at the time hundreds of Spanish sailors and others in gaol, and she rejected with contumely all attempts of the Spaniards to reconcile her on the basis of mutual concessions. The Dutch and the Huguenots depended now largely upon her support, and the English Catholics were made to feel more painfully than ever that appeals to their powerful friends upon the Continent could not protect them from the hard rule of their own Sovereign. And yet, withal, Alba had to confess that the only course now open to him was to speak fair, until at some future time a safe opportunity for injuring Elizabeth might arrive.

Up to this time since Philip had faced the necessity for winning England by other means than moral suasion, the projects for doing so had always run upon the lines of subsidising and supporting the revolt of the Catholic party in the interests of the Queen of Scots; and in this direction, but later with an ominous addition to the programme, the next attempts developed. During the sitting of the Conference of York in October, 1568, to investigate the charges against Mary relative to the murder of Darnley, the Duke of Norfolk had suggested to Lethington the desirability of hushing up the ugly business as against the Queen of Scots; and on the following day he had a long, private conversation with Murray to the same effect. Thomas Howard, fourth Duke of Norfolk, son of the martyred Surrey, was the greatest noble in England, a kinsman of the Queen, and up to this time ostensibly a Protestant. Personally, he was popular, for his manners were kindly and his possessions great, but, as events proved, he was as weak and unstable as he was ambitious. At this time he was about thirty-three years of age, and his wife, the daughter of the Earl of Arundel, and widow of Lord Dacre, had died. Such a man, with his personal prestige and his powerful name, was a fit instrument for stronger spirits than himself. In conversation with Murray at York, Norfolk said that Queen Elizabeth herself would not consider the subject of the succession, but it was necessary for the nobles of England to look ahead. “What could be Murray’s motive,” he asked, “in coming to England to blacken Queen Mary’s character and thus injuring her chances of the English succession?”

As a consequence of these efforts of Norfolk, it was agreed with Murray and Lethington to make the Conference of York abortive, and Mary was informed of this by a letter from Norfolk.⁠[184] In the course of the subsequent negotiations a few days afterwards, Lethington remarked that as Norfolk showed himself so much in favour of Mary, the whisper he had heard about the possibility of his marriage to her was probably true, and, according to Norfolk, earnestly advocated the match.⁠[185] Norfolk listened, for the prospect of the matrimonial Crown of England was a tempting one, and his sister, Lady Scrope, who was with Mary at Bolton, had no difficulty in obtaining the Scottish Queen’s acceptance of a suggestion which seemed to secure for her cause the higher nobility of England, who were anxious to overthrow the Cecils, and Bacons, and Hunsdons, and other new men, who now ruled England. De Spes was very soon approached, and, of course, warmly approved of the plan to marry Norfolk to the Queen of Scots, whilst a close and affectionate correspondence was carried on between Mary and her new suitor. For a time the plan was frustrated by the alarm of Leicester, when he suspected the real object of it, and by the dexterity of Cecil, as has already been described.

Norfolk and Arundel had, however, never lost touch of de Spes, both of them constantly importuning him for money in return for their efforts in favour of the Spaniards in the seizure dispute. The Bishop of Ross, Mary’s busy agent, also kept the matter alive with de Spes. Norfolk, Arundel, Lumley, Northumberland, Cumberland, Montagu, Dacre, Morley, and many other Catholic nobles, de Spes wrote to Alba, were ready to join in the conspiracy to release Mary and place England under the control of King Philip, if some armed demonstration were made on their behalf from Flanders. But Alba, as he plaintively assured King Philip, was powerless to assail, or even to offend, Elizabeth further, until she could be persuaded to surrender the vast quantity of Spanish-Flemish property she now held. Until then, he said, they must speak fair and softly to her, though the English and other Protestant privateers were capturing and plundering every Spanish ship they came across.

In the meanwhile de Spes, still in disgrace and forbidden from Court, could only plot impotently through the Bishop of Ross and Italian intermediaries, many of them spies. The coming and going of such folk and the constant news sent by de Spes of the progress of the conspiracy, fairly alarmed Alba, who was now chiefly concerned in getting some of the confiscated property restored and trade reopened. In July he sent to de Spes, though he could ill spare it, the six thousand crowns bribe demanded by Norfolk, Arundel, and Lumley for their efforts in favour of the Spanish claims, and for the first time he spoke firmly to de Spes about his constant plotting. “I must again repeat,” he said, “to you, most emphatically, that you are not, on any account, to entertain approaches to you against the Queen or her Councillors, or anything touching them. On the contrary, if people come to you with such talk, you must be so reticent that they may never be able to say that any minister of the King has given ear to it.” At this very time the imprudent ambassador was almost daily or nightly closeted with some agent of the conspirators, and was warmly seconding their plans. But as pacific, almost humble, representations by other agents came from Alba to the English Government, in hope of some arrangement for the restitution, Elizabeth assumed a gentler attitude; though she gave up not an atom of her plunder, and she partially released de Spes from his imprisonment.

In the comparative remoteness of Winchester House, in Southwark, which he now rented, the Spanish ambassador, as imprudent as ever, found it easier than before to carry on his plots for the subjection of England; and, regardless of Alba’s stern injunction quoted above, he became more active and mischievous than ever. On the 25th July, 1569, he wrote to the King that the Bishop of Ross had been to see him at three o’clock that morning “to assure me of the wish of the Duke of Norfolk to serve your Majesty. He said he was a Catholic, and has the support, even in London, of many merchants and aldermen. I will report everything to the Duke of Alba and follow his instructions.” Shortly before this, Mary herself, in one of her many affectionate letters to Norfolk, had intimated that she was in communication with the Duke of Alba; and de Spes followed up the letter by an assurance that everything was almost ready for the great coup. Whilst Norfolk was thus playing the game of Spain and pretending to be a Catholic, he was full of Protestant professions to Murray, and to the French ambassador, La Mothe Fénélon, and he avowed himself at the same time the devoted servant of Catharine de Medici. A majority of the English Council had met in caucus and had decided in favour of Norfolk’s marriage with Mary; and although it is probable that most of the members were not aware of the plot behind the match, it is certain that neither Mary nor her intended husband deceived themselves with regard to the ultimate aim. Nor was there any concealment on the part of the Spaniards. Alba sent Mary a subsidy of 10,000 ducats in August (she had asked for 30,000 or 40,000), and at the same date de Spes wrote to the King: “I believe some great event will happen here soon, as the people are much dissatisfied and distressed for want of trade, and these gentlemen of Nonsuch have some new imaginations in their heads.”⁠[186]⁠

The “new imaginations,” whatever they were, hardly suited Philip. He had through life a distinct repugnance to associating himself with the French in any of his plans with regard to England. Norfolk and his friends, doubtless in good faith, desired by means of Mary Stuart to change the government and religion of England, with or without the deposition of Elizabeth, and in order to do so they were glad to obtain support from any quarter they could. They had primarily no desire to hand England, bound hard and fast, to Spain, which was alone what Philip wanted. It is certain that Mary herself was willing to do so, because she knew that no effective armed aid could come to her from France, divided as that country was religiously and with her enemy Catharine dominant. Whilst Norfolk and his friends, therefore, were bidding for support on all sides and obtaining it, Mary was endeavouring with her might to keep the Spaniards, upon whom alone she depended, from slipping away from her. By the Bishop of Ross she begged de Spes to obtain Philip’s consent to her marriage with Norfolk, and the ambassador, in relating this to the King, wrote: “The business is so far forward that it will be difficult now to prevent it, and if it is to be done I think it had better be with your Majesty’s consent, which cannot fail to be of great advantage to them, and will bind them more closely to your Majesty’s service. The Queen of Scots says that if she were at liberty, or could get such help as would enable her to bring her country into submission, she would deliver herself and her son entirely into your Majesty’s hands; but that now she is obliged to sail with the wind, though she will never depart from your Majesty’s wishes.”

Philip, indeed, was growing doubtful of the way the affair was progressing, and of de Spes’s management of it. “If the marriage of the Duke of Norfolk and the Queen of Scots,” he wrote, “is effected in the way, and with the objects you are informed, there is no doubt that it would be of great importance for the restoration of our true Faith in England, and would console the good Catholics now so oppressed. I desire these objects warmly, as you know; but they [the conspirators] must be very careful how they undertake the business, for if they make a mistake they will all be ruined. You did well in referring them to the Duke of Alba. You will limit yourself to this, in accordance with your orders, which you will not exceed.” Philip distrusted Norfolk, who up to that time had been a Protestant, and the Duke’s approaches to the French completed the King’s coolness towards him. But before this letter of Philip’s reached London the miserable Norfolk had collapsed. Leicester, who had been a party to the plan, again took fright when he began to understand the object behind it, and this time made a clean breast of it to the Queen herself.

Suddenly the blow fell. Mary Stuart’s prison was made closer, and Norfolk and the conservative lords were peremptorily summoned before the Queen at Windsor. The Duke, protesting his unalterable loyalty to Elizabeth, travelled in deadly fear as far as London, and on the day of his arrival at Howard House a messenger from the Earl of Northumberland came secretly to de Spes. Making a private sign, which had been agreed upon as a proof of genuineness, he said “that the Earl of Northumberland and his friends in the North had agreed to liberate the Queen of Scotland and establish the Catholic religion, returning to the amity and alliance with your Majesty which they so much desire. The Earl wished to know if your Majesty would approve of this, as he would undertake nothing that was not in your interest.” To this de Spes dared not say more than that he would write to the Duke of Alba about it. “The Duke of Norfolk,” he adds, “is here preparing all his friends.” So far from doing this, Norfolk was malingering in a panic, and two days later fled to Kenninghall, whimpering in a pitiable letter to Elizabeth that he never meant any harm. On his honour, he never dealt with the Queen of Scots further than he declared to the Queen and some of her Council. Such lying and prevarication was scorned by the irate Elizabeth. Ill or well, she wrote in a rage, Norfolk must come to her instantly, and, trembling with fear, the poor wretch went as slow as he dared to Windsor, there with lachrymose repentance to be ordered into arrest with Arundel, Lumley, Pembroke, and all the rest of his accomplices who were within Elizabeth’s reach.

It is clear that notwithstanding de Spes’s constant predictions of immediate coming success, and his repeated assurances that Elizabeth and her friends would be swept aside as a consequence of this plan, Philip was never greatly deceived by it. Alba had told him that he was powerless for the present, and he knew England sufficiently well to see that unless a large and well-organised force was used at the critical moment by him, an attempt to revolutionise England in his interests would fail. The trail of deadly deliberation, moreover, palsied every act of his life. At some time in August, 1569, when Mary Stuart’s appeals were reaching him, he instructed Alba to obtain full particulars of the military possibilities of the situation in England, in order that any action he might decide to take later should be effectual. A half-dozen or more envoys of various sorts, official and unofficial, had been sent over one after the other to try by some means to effect a mutual restitution of the seizures—Genoese financiers, Flemish diplomatists, and even Protestant merchants—but all without effect. On receiving the King’s orders, however, Alba instructed another embassy, surely the strangest for such a purpose ever seen, to go to England and endeavour to make terms with Elizabeth or bribe her advisers. The leader was one of Alba’s most trusted Italian generals, Ciappino Vitelli, and he was to be accompanied by fifty experienced military officers, with a couple of official secretaries for appearance’ sake. That their mission was not that which ostensibly appeared is clear from the fact that at the same time Alba sent another unofficial envoy—the Genoese merchant mariner Fiesco—to attempt to gain a restitution by the private bribery of Leicester and Cecil. Cecil and the Queen laughed at the idea of such an embassy as that of this fire-eating Ciappino coming to settle a commercial dispute, and when the party arrived at Calais for embarkation for England, Cobham, the Governor of Dover Castle, sent word that only Ciappino Vitelli himself and a small suite would be received. A still smaller number was allowed to proceed beyond Dover, and another detachment was stayed at Canterbury; so that by the time the gouty, obese, old Italian general was received by the Queen at Kingston-on-Thames, not even de Spes being allowed to accompany him to the presence, the military object of the mission was cleverly frustrated. The plague was raging in London, and Ciappino never entered the capital; and his interview with the Queen was mainly taken up by her angry complaint of the insolence of the Duke of Alba. After many days of quibbling, he was told that his powers were insufficient, and was politely invited to get out of the country as quickly as possible, his despatches to Alba being intercepted and read at Dover.

It was indeed time that so dangerous a guest should be promptly asked to depart; for this was the most critical juncture of Elizabeth’s reign and her Crown trembled in the balance. All the lords were not so pusillanimous as Norfolk. Both Dacre and Northumberland had formally notified to de Spes that they were ready to take up arms in Philip’s service. For many months the imprudent ambassador had been going beyond his instructions and encouraging these nobles to expect effective aid from Philip. If only a small number of arquebusiers were sent to them from Flanders, said Northumberland and Westmorland, they would undertake to release Mary, subdue the North of England, restore Catholic worship, and make friends with Spain. “I feel sure,” wrote de Spes, “that they will attempt the task; and it will be better effected by them than by the Duke of Norfolk, as they are better fitted for it, and the Queen of Scots will have greater freedom in the choice of a husband.”

The questionable attitude of Westmorland and Northumberland caused Elizabeth to summon them to her presence. They disobeyed and, raising their standard, marched into Durham in force on the 14th November. Destroying the communion table in the cathedral, they caused Mass to be solemnly celebrated; and then pushing rapidly onward towards Ripon, Wetherby and Tadcaster, they finally assembled on Clifford Moor. The Earl of Sussex, the Queen’s Lieutenant in York, was for a time reduced to act on the defensive; and now, if Alba had been prompt and Philip ready, it is possible that the die might have been cast a winning number; and Mary Stuart, rescued from Tutbury, whither she had been rapidly carried, might have been made Queen of a Catholic Britain, under Spanish protection. When news came to de Spes of the southward march of the lords and their renewed prayers for aid from Flanders, he wrote to the King: “I have on several occasions written to your Majesty of the goodwill of these nobles, and I have given a letter in cipher to the gentleman they are sending to the Duke of Alba to ask for aid. They beg for prompt reply, as communications will soon be stopped.... It is certain that there has never been so good an opportunity either of punishing those who have so grievously opposed your Majesty’s interests, or of restoring the Catholic religion, in which consists the maintenance of our old alliance and friendship with this country.” To Alba de Spes wrote in jubilant strain on the 1st December. “The rebels,” he said, “were twelve thousand strong and were marching to release Mary and give battle to the Queen’s forces;” but he ominously adds that none of their confederates have yet risen. Ciappino Vitelli was still lingering at Colebrook, near Windsor, on the pretext of gout, though messages were being sent to him from the Queen that she considered his continued stay in England highly suspicious, as indeed it was, considering that he told de Spes, who doubtless conveyed it to the rebels, that they ought to march straight to London, where nothing could withstand them, seeing the confusion at Court, whilst their other friends would have a greater chance of moving.

And de Spes, the man who, before all others, had led these unfortunate lords to believe that Spanish aid would not fail them, was obliged, now that the crisis had come, to assure the Duke of Alba that he would “do nothing without orders from your Excellency.” The northern lords could not wait for Philip’s leaden pondering, nor upon Alba’s need, and, disheartened at the lack of response, they fell into disunion and wasted the precious time besieging Barnard Castle until the approach of Sussex with a newly organised army struck them with panic and they fled to Scotland—Northumberland to be sold basely to the English and to the scaffold; Westmorland, more unfortunate still, to seek lifelong exile in Spanish lands—a pathetic, poverty-stricken pensioner upon Philip’s irregular bounty, striving to earn his poor living by joining in plots to hand his native country over to the King of Spain. The rebellion in the North, for a time so threatening, was begun, as we have seen, without due preparation and conducted without ability to an inglorious termination.⁠[187] But not a little of the blame for the miserable fiasco must be laid at the door of de Spes, who for months had been holding out hopes—as we see now, without authority—that an armed Spanish force from Flanders would be ready to support the rising. Alas! English Catholics, even after this first hard lesson, had yet to learn that Philip’s aid was not so lightly given, or given at all, without ample assurance that he alone should reap the harvest of success without incurring the penalties of failure.

CHAPTER VII 1570-1578

Alba was driven well nigh to desperation by the contemptuous treatment extended to Ciappino in England and the evident determination of Elizabeth to hold her ground with regard to the property she had seized. Something must be done, and that quickly, he wrote to the King. If they exclude our ships from English ports, even for shelter, intercourse by sea between Spain and Flanders must cease, and we shall be absolutely obliged to commence hostilities. “Your Majesty’s present urgent needs are better known to you than to any one, and here the pressure is very great. The past wars, the emigration of the people, the stoppage of trade, and the general want of confidence here, all convince me that a rupture with England at present would be most inopportune; but if the English force it upon us, we cannot avoid it;” and the grim Duke, who had drowned Flanders in blood, had tamely to propose to his master, as the only way now open to them, that Elizabeth should be more mildly treated than ever, in the hope that at least she would allow Spanish ships to shelter in her ports, whilst the plundered Flemish merchants were allowed to go over to England unofficially and make the best terms they individually could to rescue their property.

Nor was Philip much more stout-hearted than his general. Whilst the northern nobles were yet in arms in Yorkshire, he wrote to Alba thus: “English affairs are going on in a way that may make it necessary, after all, to bring that Queen to do by force what she refuses to reason. Her duty is so plain that doubtless God causes her to ignore it, in order that by these means His holy religion may be restored in England and the Catholics and good Christians rescued from the thraldom in which they live. In case her obstinacy and hardness of heart should continue, therefore, you will consider the best direction to be given to our action. We here think that the best course will be to encourage with money and secret favour the Catholics of the North, and to help those in Ireland to take up arms against the heretics, to deliver the crown to the Queen of Scots to whom it belongs by succession.... This is only mentioned at present that you may know what is passing in our minds here [i.e., in Spain], and that with your great prudence and a full consideration of affairs in general, you may ponder what is best to be done. What you say is very true; we are beginning to lose prestige by delaying so long to provide a remedy for the great grievance done by this woman to us.”⁠[188]⁠

Mary Stuart, closely watched and in prison, alone never lost heart or courage. Norfolk’s weak poltroonery, the disastrous collapse of the northern lords, the slow hesitancy of Philip, were all met by her with confident predictions of coming success, if only the King of Spain would take her cause in hand. Letter after letter went from her and from the restless Bishop of Ross in her name to Philip and Alba. “The Queen is in good heart,” the Bishop of Ross assured de Spes, “and the principal Catholics of this country have sent me word not to desist from the first intention, for that, as soon as they learn that they will have foreign help, and arrangements are made for it to reach them, they will rise and stand out until this country is Catholic and the succession assured to Queen Mary.” This was soon after the flight of the northern lords (18th January, 1570), and at the same time a warm love correspondence was passing between Mary and Norfolk, she with honeyed words, and at serious risk to herself, urging him not to abandon the great plan that was to make them both free and great,⁠[189] though he was still a prisoner in the Tower.

Meanwhile the dangerous attempt at a Catholic rebellion in England and the known confidence of the Queen of Scots had drawn the Protestants of Europe together: a close union existed between Elizabeth and the Lutheran Princes of Germany, whilst Hans Casimir and other mercenary leaders were raising troops subsidised by England and the Huguenots to renew the religious war in France. The privateers in the Channel were more aggressive than ever, and Cardinal Chatillon still flaunted his unecclesiastical equipment at the English Court. Hardly a letter was written by de Spes at the time (1570) that does not contain some suggestion for striking at Elizabeth’s power. The Queen of Scots might be captured by a coup de main and carried off to Spain, as she herself suggested; the Bishop of Ross assures him that a few Spanish troops landed in Scotland might easily overturn the new Regent Lennox;⁠[190] a small force sent to aid the Irish rebels would enable them to expel the English; “and it looks as if the enterprise might be effected in both islands at the same time, for in Ireland most of the nation will rise as soon as they see your Majesty’s flag on the coast, and no resistance would be made except in Dublin and the fortresses.”

To all these suggestions of his intemperate ambassador Philip had still no answer but to enjoin prudence and secrecy. Information, pledges, assurances without end were requested, whilst Philip pondered and considered. Everything was referred to the Duke of Alba for decision, and Alba would not move without specific orders; whilst in this deadlock the Spanish commerce was swept from the seas and the legendary power of the Catholic King was made a mock and derision of the heretics. Once Philip’s hands were nearly forced by the impatience of Mary’s friends. The more extreme school of English and Scottish Catholics had been urging for some time that a Papal Bull of Deprivation against Elizabeth should be obtained, in order that Mary’s immediate claim to the Crown of England might be regularised. Philip had gently put aside all such requests or left them unanswered. He was not yet ready for Elizabeth’s forcible deposition; for, as we have seen, his cumbrous methods forbade prompt action, and he had no intention of ousting Elizabeth until he had made himself quite certain that he, and he alone, would be master of England under her successor. But the action of the Scottish and Guisan Catholics in Rome, greatly to Philip’s annoyance, procured the Bull from the Pope over Philip’s head; and de Spes’s chaplain, Father Berga, doubtless with the full connivance of the ambassador, who was apparently incapable of understanding high politics, persuaded John Felton to court martyrdom by fixing the Pope’s Bull on the Bishop of London’s door on Corpus Christi Day late in May, 1570. De Spes, in the innocence of his heart, wrote off in jubilant strain to Philip, recording the event and foretelling all sorts of great consequences from it. But the King had nothing but condemnation and annoyance that his plans should thus be interfered with by the meddling of priests, and de Spes had to read some very plain talk from his master, whilst the share of his fugitive chaplain in the outrage still further brought the ambassador and his master into the black books of Elizabeth.

The bold action of Felton, however, frightened the Government into a milder attitude towards the moderate English Catholics, and the mustering of a strong fleet in Spanish Flanders, for the purpose of conveying to Spain Philip’s fourth wife, Anna of Austria, heightened the alarm. Elizabeth was so much perturbed that she kept her room for days together, bewailing the vengeance that she thought at last was about to fall upon her for all her provocations of her brother-in-law. Cecil (now Lord Burghley) appears to have been the great object of his mistress’s wrath. To him, she cried, alone was due the trouble in which she found herself. Here, thanks to Cecil’s policy, she said, was a great army and fleet ready to attack her in the Channel, and Philip was causing another force to be mustered in Spain under the traitor Stukeley to invade Ireland. But this was only a momentary weakness, which even steadfast Burghley himself shared to the extremity of preparing for timely flight with such portable property as he could gather.⁠[191] The unwonted fit of despair did not last long. English forces were got together rapidly, the English conservative and moderate Catholics were conciliated, and the Duke of Norfolk was released from the Tower to only nominal arrest in his own house; for if the conservative nobles of his party considered themselves absolved by the Pope’s Bull from their oath of allegiance to the Queen, then, indeed, might Elizabeth tremble. This was on the 4th August, and, on the 23rd June previous, the Duke of Norfolk had made in writing the most abject submission to the Queen, pledging himself “freely, voluntarily, and absolutely, by my allegiance to your Majesty, my Sovereign Lady, never to offend your Highness, but do utterly renounce and revoke all that which on my part any wise hath passed, with a full intention never to deal in that cause of marriage with the Queen of Scots, nor in any other cause belonging to her.”⁠[192] Even Mary herself was now smiled upon by Elizabeth, and negotiations for a reconciliation were opened with her; for the Spanish fleet was still in English waters, and a peace between the warring parties had been patched up in France.

With these numerous signs of yielding on the part of the Protestants, it is not surprising that the Spanish partisans should pluck up courage. De Spes, raging with wounded pride at the indignities continually heaped upon him,⁠[193] all of which, Philip told him, he must bear patiently, never ceased to plot with the Bishop of Ross and Mary Stuart. On the 2nd September he wrote to Philip details of another dangerous conspiracy that had been broached to him by Mary through the Bishop of Ross. The Catholics, he said, feeling themselves now absolved from their allegiance to Elizabeth by the Pope’s Bull, were willing to rise. The sons of the Earl of Derby and the gentry of Lancashire were ready to release Mary—one of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s sons having also been brought into the plan, which would make it easy, as Mary was in Shrewsbury’s keeping. This combination looked askance at Norfolk as a doubtful Catholic and a backslider, though it was joined by his kinsmen Arundel and Lumley, as well as by the thoroughgoing Catholics, Southampton, Worcester, and Montagu (Sir Anthony Browne). The plan now advanced was for a Spanish fleet to go to the Stanley country, the Isle of Man, or the Lancashire coast, and carry Mary Stuart thence to safety. The scheme, however, was thrown away by the kidnapping and forcible abduction to England of Dr. Story, the English Catholic Agent in Antwerp, who upon the rack had torn from him all he knew, which was not much, of the communications on the subject that had passed between Mary Stuart’s friends and the Duke of Alba. The ostentatious but insincere negotiations going on between Elizabeth and the Queen of Scots, and the redoubled vigilance of Cecil’s Government, completed the impracticability of this scheme, and then once more Norfolk took the lead.

On the 15th October de Spes wrote to the King that approaches were being made by the French to marry the young Duke of Anjou to Mary, this, of course, being one of Catharine’s tricks to frustrate the Spanish attempts to dominate Britain through the Queen of Scots. “It may be,” says de Spes, “that the Queen [Mary] will consent, but it will not please the majority of the English people, and it certainly does not please me. The Catholics are not very much in favour of the marriage with the Duke of Norfolk, as they are uncertain about his orthodoxy, although Arundel and Lumley assert that he will be obedient to the Church. His desire to reign may well lead him from bad paths to good ones. The Duke [of Norfolk] himself has been very cool about this marriage, but he now seems to wish to renew the project, particularly as he expects shortly to be quite at liberty, in accordance with the Queen’s promise to him. If your Majesty’s wishes are to be represented ... the Bishop of Ross will be a good negotiator, and I could conduct the matter with him or with Ridolfi, who has been in communication with them; and if it should be necessary for the Duke of Norfolk to bind himself separately to other conditions, steps may be taken at once in the matter. Pray your Majesty send me orders, for it is certain that the release and marriage of the Queen of Scots carries with it the tranquillisation of Flanders and the restoration of religion in this country.”

Philip, in answer to this and many similar hints, had nothing but vague expressions of sympathy to send in reply, with fresh orders to his ambassador to follow strictly the instructions of the Duke of Alba. For months, until the Spanish fleet had passed harmlessly down Channel, the hollow negotiations between Elizabeth and Mary went on, and a similar pretence of conferences with regard to the reopening of trade with the Duke of Alba, whilst Elizabeth checkmated the French advances to Mary Stuart by herself suddenly displaying a desire to marry the boy Duke of Anjou. “They think,” wrote de Spes early in February, 1571, “that with this talk about the marriage of the Queen [Elizabeth] with the Duke of Anjou we shall be afraid to offend them, and the pirates are more welcomed than ever, whilst the Queen of Scot’s business is being delayed. It is true that so far as the Catholics are concerned matters were never more favourable than now. I did not dare to accept their offers, in the face of the Duke of Alba’s instructions; but whenever his Majesty wishes, a great service can be done to God, and at the same time the safety of the Netherlands secured and the throne of Spain aggrandised. The position of the King’s ambassador here does not add much to his dignity.... I have suffered more than can be imagined.”⁠[194] De Spes had his personal grudge as well as his Catholic zeal now to spur him on to vengeance. The irresponsiveness of his master and of Alba to the repeated suggestions that armed aid should be sent to the English Catholics suggested for the first time a viler method by which Elizabeth, the main obstacle to the Anglo-Spanish alliance, might be removed. The above letter is different from any that had preceded it, and was written privately, not to the King, as usual, but to his Secretary, Zayas. A “great service might be done to God whenever his Majesty wished.” It was no longer dependent, apparently, upon the ability of Philip to send large armed forces, though they might be needed later to hold the conquest.

We will see from other sources what this new feature in the plan was. Two days after de Spes wrote the above letter, on the 8th February, 1571, Mary, who had learnt that the ambassador could do nothing, as he says, but refer the conspirators to the Duke of Alba, wrote as follows to the Bishop of Ross.⁠[195] After saying that she would, as soon as she was released, go to Spain and throw herself entirely upon the protection of Philip, she proceeds: “I would advise to send some faithful man towards the King of Spain whom he might trust, to make him understand the state of my realm, and also of the friends I have here, their deliberations and the means they may have to set themselves to the fields and saist [i.e., obtain possession] them of me, if the said King of Spain will embrace and sustain my cause and theirs. I think Ridolfi may best acquit himself of this charge securely ... under colour of his own traffic.” She continues by saying that Philip’s fears of Norfolk’s orthodoxy must be banished. “I see no other means but to assure them of the Duke, for that is the knot of the matter. My whole hope is in the Catholics of this realm.” When the Bishop of Ross transmitted this proposal to Norfolk the latter at once acquiesced in the despatch of Ridolfi to Flanders, Spain, and Rome,⁠[196] for the purpose of demanding aid to seize and depose Elizabeth; and on the 10th March de Spes wrote to the King, “The Queen of Scotland, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Catholic leaders have wisely resolved to send a gentleman to your Majesty, who will see the Duke of Alba first, but without the knowledge of the French. I have, after much difficulty, obtained a copy of his instructions, and send them herewith.”

On the 25th March Ridolfi was ready to start, and de Spes wrote to Philip: “The Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk, in the names of many other lords and gentlemen attached to your Majesty’s interests, and the promotion of the Catholic faith, are sending Rodolfo Ridolfi, a Florentine gentleman, to offer their services to your Majesty, and to represent to you that the time is now ripe to take a step of great benefit to Christendom, as Ridolfi will set forth to your Majesty. The letter of credence from the Duke [of Norfolk] is written in the cipher that I sent Zayas, in case the letter is intercepted ...;” whilst to Secretary Zayas, de Spes wrote at the same time: “The bearer is Rodolfo Ridolfi, whom the Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk are sending to his Majesty.... It is necessary that he should have audience of his Majesty with the utmost secrecy, as you will be able to arrange, on so important a matter as this.”⁠[197] Almost simultaneously Henry Cobham was sent to Spain by Elizabeth in order ostensibly to negotiate direct about the seizures, but really to ascertain how far Philip was helping the Irish rebels, and de Spes does not conceal his glee that “these thieves and pirates” will find, “though they send ambassadors and play their old tricks,” and he (de Spes) “is still mixing his words with honey,” “all this will not hinder what his Majesty will decide to do.”⁠[198]⁠

Ridolfi arrived in Brussels at the beginning of April, and his mission was discussed exhaustively by Alba and his Council. The long report which Alba thereupon sent to Philip is a State paper of the highest interest, because it not only sets forth fully the whole position, but for the first time formulates clearly the plan of murdering Elizabeth as a political measure. We have traced in previous pages how the provocation had grown, how the powerlessness of the Spaniards to vindicate their prestige and their interests had embittered them. In all the previous suggestions for the substitution of Mary Stuart for Elizabeth on the English throne, it is true that there could have been little doubt as to what would have been the fate of the deposed Queen at the hands of the victors; but in Alba’s minute to Philip the killing of Elizabeth as a preliminary measure is recommended as a condition of Spanish support. Alba sets forth with great prolixity the pros and cons of the position, the saintly character of the objects, the liberation of the captive Mary, and the restoration of the faith in England. Norfolk, he says, will undertake to rise and hold his own country for forty days after liberating the Queen of Scots if Philip will promise before the expiration of that time to send him 6,000 arquebusiers. He has means, he says, to seize the Tower of London and secure the person of Elizabeth, and he and Mary will look alone to the King of Spain for guidance. Alba, as usual, is full of doubts, limitations, and misgivings. Suppose after the Spanish aid had been sent the enterprise were to fail! Not only would the Queen of Scots and Norfolk lose their heads, but the Catholic religion would be utterly crushed thenceforward in England, and Elizabeth would throw herself entirely into the hands of France. Ridolfi, too, seemed to Alba rather a talkative person for such a mission. He had to pass through France: what if he opened his mouth too wide there, or in Rome? Besides, the Pope himself was rather too fond of consulting French Cardinals....

And so on, and so forth, until at last Alba gives to Philip his final recommendation. Ridolfi was to be warned that the French must have nothing whatever to do with the affair, and he was to be sent on his way to Rome and Madrid. The King is recommended to embark the 6,000 men required for England in the fleet being prepared in Spain to bring out the new Governor of Flanders, Medina Celi; but that on no account should the aid be sent to England on the conditions proposed by Norfolk and Mary, for fear of failure. “But in case that the Queen of England should first have died, either of natural death or otherwise, or the confederates had seized and secured her person without your Majesty having had anything to do with it, then I should find no objection whatever to it, for the affair would be quite on another footing.” “Everything,” added Alba, “should be prepared secretly in Flanders, but no move should be made until Elizabeth was dead, naturally or otherwise. As soon as that happened your Majesty ought not to miss such a fine opportunity to attain the end desired—the restoration of our holy Catholic faith and the future tranquillity of your dominions.”⁠[199]⁠

Whilst Ridolfi, duly warned to be secret, went on his way to Rome, where the Pope heartily blessed his mission, and thence to Madrid, where he arrived in the last days of June, evil fell upon the project in England. The Flemish Secretary of the Bishop of Ross, Charles Bailly, had accompanied Ridolfi to Flanders, in order to bring back news of the reception of Norfolk’s proposals by Alba. The latter had, of course, not gone beyond general approval in his intercourse with Ridolfi, the murder condition being reserved for Philip’s own consideration; but he had said enough to prove conclusively that he regarded with sympathy, and hoped to aid, a project intended to depose Elizabeth in favour of Mary and Norfolk. Bailly wrote letters in cipher at Ridolfi’s dictation, giving Alba’s provisional answers to the Bishop of Ross and two other correspondents identified by numbers only. Bailly, who had been closely watched by Cecil’s spies in Flanders, carried the letters to England himself, and on the 15th April de Spes reports to the King that this man had been stopped at Dover and his packets taken from him. The letters he bore were in cipher, which of itself was suspicious; but in addition to this, every movement of Ridolfi in Brussels was known to Elizabeth’s Government, and the Secretary’s coming had been looked for. The packet of letters was given into the custody of Lord Cobham, the Governor of Dover Castle, until the Council in London should send instructions, whilst the unhappy youth, Bailly, was sent to the Marshalsea in Southwark pending inquiries.

The Cobhams belonged to the party of conservative nobles, ready to turn against Elizabeth the moment she was in danger, and by a trick of one of the younger brothers, Thomas—they were notoriously a turbulent lot—the precious packet of letters was spirited away to the Spanish ambassador in London and a dummy packet substituted for it. When this was opened with great anticipation before the Queen’s Council in London, to their dismay they found nothing but a confused jumble written in the same cipher. But they were not to be baulked. At least they had Charles Bailly safe under lock and bars, and the rack might induce him to talk. He began by making a grave mistake, writing letters—of course intercepted—to the Bishop of Ross that, now that the real letters had reached their destination without being deciphered, they had nothing to fear; that though they tore him to pieces on the rack he would confess nothing; and he begged the Bishop to tell him what answers he should give to his examiners. The Bishop, claiming ecclesiastical and diplomatic immunity, was just as imprudent as his secretary, urging him to stand firm and defy the English and gain the lasting gratitude of Mary. The poor wretch knew little of the details of Ridolfi’s mission, but he had written the cipher letters he bore; and gradually the agony of torture wrung from him all he knew.⁠[200] Every day he sent fresh appealing letters to the Bishop of Ross, with the only result at length of lodging the Bishop himself in the Tower, threatened with the rack, notwithstanding his mitre and diplomatic position. Bailly deposed that Alba had received Ridolfi favourably, and had sent him on to Rome and Madrid to demand armed help in England for the two persons whose identity had been concealed by numbers.

For some time the authorities could get no further than this. Of course they knew that the two persons unnamed were Mary and Norfolk, but they needed legal proof, and gradually Cecil’s net was widened and swept into gaol one after the other of the confidants and tools of the plotters. In August a false follower of Norfolk brought to the Council a bag of £600 with a cipher letter that had been entrusted to him by Norfolk’s secretary to forward to Lord Herries, the leader of Mary’s Catholic friends in Scotland. Curiously enough this sum of money had been received from the French ambassador, so it is clear that Mary and Norfolk were playing false and doing what Alba dreaded most, namely, bringing the French into the business. But this fact made matters no better from the point of view of the English Council, and suddenly the Duke of Norfolk, the first noble in England, found himself in prison with all his confidential servants. The torture did its fell work promptly, and the secrets of the underlings were drawn from them, implicating the Duke beyond redemption. The Bishop of Ross, seeing his most secret papers deciphered, became almost loquacious in his fright, and went out of his way to vituperate his unhappy mistress.

Norfolk collapsed as abjectly as before. He had hoped at first, he said, to wed Mary by Elizabeth’s permission. He was sorry and repentant for having acted so falsely after he had promised not to do so, and would never do it again. He had not really been a Catholic, he said, and now submitted himself entirely to her Majesty’s mercy. He had never, he solemnly avowed, intended to bring foreign troops into England, or to touch the sacred person of his revered sovereign. It was all the fault of the Bishop of Ross, of Mary, of anybody but himself, ... and so, with such sorry lies as this, the most beloved and highest noble in England whined for mercy and his bare life. Elizabeth was loath to sacrifice him, for he was her cousin and the head of a powerful group of Englishmen, but at length the Protestant influences around her were too strong for her to resist, and Norfolk’s head fell on Tower Hill on the 2nd June, 1572.

Before this happened, Philip’s Council in Madrid had exhaustively discussed Alba’s recommendation that the murder of Elizabeth should precede the sending of Spanish forces to England. They not only approved fully of it, but laid down that the act should be committed, not in London, but whilst the Queen was on a progress. Much sanctimonious talk there was in the Council about the sacredness of the cause excusing the means, and even the Pope’s Nuncio smiled upon the nefarious plan and called it righteous. As for Philip himself, he was perfectly willing, and said that the whole thing now turned upon the ability to get the money together for the purpose, “and it would be a great pity to miss so important a matter or so small an amount, as later it would cost so much more.”⁠[201] It is probably true, as was urged for them, that neither Mary nor Norfolk consented in so many words to this openly avowed condition of the Spaniards to make the prior murder of Elizabeth a condition of armed aid being sent from Flanders. The proposal was certainly not contained in the instructions carried by Ridolfi from Norfolk, though it is, in my opinion, indicated in the letter from de Spes to Zayas of 25th March quoted on an earlier page. It is first put clearly in black and white by Alba himself, and warmly adopted by Philip and his Council. But though Mary and Norfolk were not therefore necessarily parties to the proposed crime, there can be no doubt in the mind of any reasonable person what would have befallen Elizabeth if success had attended the attempt, and Norfolk had carried out the pledge he gave to Alba to seize the Tower of London and secure the person of the Queen.

We have here, however, not to deal with the culpability of the English actors so much as with that of the Catholic King, so full of saintly professions and so devoutly pious himself, who in his helplessness and desperation was willing at last, in order to extricate himself from a political impasse, to consent to treason and murder as a means to righteousness. In the letter Philip wrote to de Spes (4th August, 1571)—in ignorance, of course, of the collapse of the plot—he conveys his intention to patronise the murder of Elizabeth in the following characteristic words: “After carrying the whole question before Almighty God, whose cause it is, and in whom we trust for the guidance and direction of the affair better than human prudence can effect or understand, since the object is entirely, purely, and simply directed to His glory and service and the exaltation of His holy faith, I have resolved to adopt the course which you will learn from the Duke of Alba, to whom I write about it at great length. In conformity therewith and the orders he will give to you, you will act in the business with the discretion, dexterity, suavity and prudence which we expect of you, keeping in close communication with the Duke (of Alba) and carrying out his orders explicitly.”⁠[202]⁠

As the damning facts were gradually wrung out of the miserable accomplices in the plot, during the summer and autumn of 1571 the position of de Spes became daily more impossible in England. His name was constantly cropping up in the depositions, and every deponent had some evidence to give of his activity in forwarding this conspiracy to overturn the Government to which he was accredited. Even then, semi-prisoner as he was, and himself in danger of punishment or ignominious expulsion, he never ceased to plot; and his eagerness made him and his master an easy prey to an amusing piece of successful mystification that any person less blinded by hate than he would have seen through at once. It will be recollected that John Hawkins’s trading expedition to Central America had been treacherously attacked by a superior Spanish force at St. Juan de Lua, Mexico, in October, 1568, Hawkins with difficulty escaping with only two tiny ships. Property of great value and over a hundred men had been captured by the Spaniards and sent to Seville, the unfortunate sailors being delivered to the Inquisition and condemned to slavery. John Hawkins was the last man in the world to reconcile himself tamely to such a loss; and through a Catholic friend of his, George Fitzwilliam, a kinsman of the Duchess of Feria, he opened negotiations in Spain for the release of his sailors and the return of his property, on condition that he deserted the English service with the Queen’s fleet of fourteen armed ships, and joined that of the King of Spain for the invasion of England in favour of Mary Stuart.

Poor Mary, as usual, was easily hoodwinked, as indeed was Fitzwilliam himself at first, and the Ferias eagerly listened to the suggestion of apostasy of such a man as John Hawkins. Fitzwilliam returned to London from Spain with an encouraging answer and tokens for the Queen of Scots, in order that she might be asked to assure the Ferias and Philip of the genuineness of Hawkins’s offer. Cecil, who was behind Hawkins in the whole negotiation and enjoyed the position almost as much as the great sailor, smoothed over the difficulties of access to Mary, who, only too ready to believe in the honesty of others, sent him back to Spain with all sorts of assurances, letters for Philip and the Ferias, and a beautiful missal bound in gold for the Duchess of Feria, wherein she had written “Absit nobis gloriari nisi in cruce Domini nostri Jesu Christi.—Marie R.” When Fitzwilliam came to him, de Spes was easily drawn into the plan, and became enthusiastically certain of the bonâ fides of Hawkins. The more he sees of him, he says, the more convinced he is of his honesty. He is a Catholic, and very ambitious; and only once, and then but for a moment, did the gullible ambassador somewhat distrust Cecil’s complaisancy in allowing Fitzwilliam easy access to Mary Stuart, and to run backwards and forwards unimpeded between England and the coast of Spain.

Fitzwilliam again returned early in September to England entirely successful in his mission, and Hawkins wrote full of glee to Lord Burghley. The King and the Duke of Feria had jumped at Hawkins’s offer, his sailors had all been released and embarked for England, and the agreement between Hawkins and the Spaniards with orders for a great sum of money to be paid to Hawkins had been sent to de Spes, who was to forward the enterprise with all diligence. “The design is,” wrote Hawkins, “that my power should join with the Duke of Alba’s power, which he doth secretly provide in Flanders, as well as with the power which cometh with the Duke of Medina from Spain, and so all together to invade this realm and set up the Queen of Scots. They have practised with us for the burning of Her Majesty’s ships; therefore there should be some good care had of them; but not so as to appear that anything is discovered.... The King hath sent a ruby of good price to the Queen of Scots, with letters also, which in my judgment were good to be delivered. The letters be of no importance, but his message by word is to comfort her and say that he hath now none other care than to place her in her own. It were good, also, that the ambassador (de Spes) did make request unto your Lordship that Fitzwilliam may have access to the Queen of Scots to render thanks to her for the delivery of our prisoners [i.e., in Spain] now at liberty. It will be a good colour for your Lordship to confer with him more largely. I have sent your Lordship a copy of my pardon from the King of Spain, in the very order and manner I have it. The Duke of Medina and the Duke of Alba hath, each, one of the same pardons more amplified to present to me; although this be large enough! with very great titles and honours from the King: from which God deliver me!... Their practices be very mischievous, and they be never idle. But God I hope will confound them and turn their devices upon their own necks.”⁠[203]⁠

There was no limit to the credulity of de Spes. The great sum of money passed from him to Hawkins, but though the fourteen ships that the latter had promised to the King of Spain came not, for the discovery of the Ridolfi treason upset for the time the whole plan of murder and invasion, the ambassador never lost faith in Hawkins and Fitzwilliam. Norfolk was condemned to death, Mary Stuart, herself in closer confinement than ever, was in dire danger of the block, de Spes threatened and insulted hourly, and his henchman, Luis de Paz, haled to prison, and Antonio de Guaras, his close friend, not daring to leave his house for many months together, and yet de Spes firmly believed that John Hawkins, an Englishman if ever there was one, was only waiting the signal from the King of Spain to desert with the English fleet and join his country’s enemies. At length, on the 14th December, Elizabeth determined she would have no more of de Spes. His complicity in the Ridolfi plot had been made absolutely clear; his pernicious activity had been watched for three years, and every effort had been made to drive him out of England without avail. So, on the 14th December, 1571, the Lords of the Council summoned him to Westminster. Lord Burghley spoke and told him that repeated requests had been made to the King of Spain to withdraw him, and now the Queen wished to know when he was going, as she did not want him in England. De Spes replied defiantly that he knew nothing about her wants. When he received proper instructions from his own Sovereign to go he would go, and not before.

A long statement of all his misdeeds in England was then read to him in Spanish, to which he replied that much of it was false, and he desired to send an answer to it. “Oh no!” quoth Cecil, “your King would have no reply from Dr. Man, and our Queen will have none from you.” Then, after a few more heated words, the ambassador was told roughly that he would have to leave England in three days, and in the meanwhile he would be in charge of Henry Knollys. Could he send a courier to his King? he asked. No; that would take too long, he was told. To the Duke of Alba, then? Certainly not; they cared nothing for the Duke of Alba, replied Burghley. “It was impossible to leave,” objected de Spes, “until I send and get money from Antwerp to pay my debts.” “We will lend you the money you need,” replied Cecil; and at last de Spes had to make the best of it. Lagging on the road as long as he could upon all sorts of pretexts, his servants imprisoned and he himself threatened and insulted at every step, the ambassador of Spain was at last hustled out of England, fuming with rage and full of hare-brained projects by which, with the help of Hawkins, the King of Spain might be avenged on the heretic Queen and become the master of England.

The Huguenots were now in unrestrained power in France, and Elizabeth, as usual when she was in fear of Spain, was carrying on a desperate flirtation with the Duke of Anjou, and surpassing herself in her blandishment to Catharine de Medici. Simultaneously with the expulsion of de Spes from England, the Spanish ambassador in Paris, Don Francés de Alava, found France similarly uncongenial to him; for he had been plotting against the Huguenots as de Spes had plotted against the Protestants, and had fled in disguise to Flanders, so that Philip found himself alienated both from England and France at the same time, a position that always made him uneasy, especially now that not only a marriage but a national alliance was in full negotiation between Elizabeth and Catharine.⁠[204] For the next six months the farcical political courtship of the young Duke of Alençon, the boy brother of Anjou and the King of France, was carried on furiously by the middle-aged Queen of England as an antidote for the unappeasable anger of Spain. But with her usual diplomacy, now that she had worked her will in everything, Elizabeth thought best not to drive Philip into violent courses against her. She had seized his million ducats and all the property of his subjects in England, she had unmasked all his plots, had expelled his ambassador, flouted his great viceroy Alba, her subjects had harried Spanish ships on every sea, and helped unchecked the Dutch rebels who defied him; but she did not wish to go to war with him if she could help it, especially if she could gain all she wanted without doing so.

When the Spanish ambassador in Paris was about to escape, Walsingham, the English ambassador, had gone and congratulated him upon the great naval victory over the Turks in the Mediterranean that King Philip’s brother, Don Juan, had just gained at Lepanto; and then, after asking many curious questions about Don Juan, Walsingham had said to Don Francés, as if in joke, “This sounds like a marriage, does it not?” The Spaniard retorted in the same tone, “Yes; let you and I manage it together.” With this opening Walsingham became serious, and enlarged upon Elizabeth’s personal obligations and liking for her Spanish brother-in-law, and the turpitude of certain ministers in sowing discord between them. If it were not for the obstacle of religion, he continued, the marriage hinted at might take place. It was, of course, mere talk, and was intended to be no more; but Walsingham spoke with a purpose, and knew that his mistress thought it time to repair some of the broken ties that held her country to Spain.

More marked and authoritative approaches were made simultaneously in England itself. The man who had been instructed by Alba to keep an eye on Spanish affairs unofficially when de Spes left England was Antonio de Guaras, an Aragonese merchant living on Dowgate Hill, Thames Street. He had been established in London for many years as a prosperous importer of Spanish produce, and had a perfect craze for writing descriptions of public events and taking part in public affairs; a zealous busybody, whose flamboyant patriotism and Catholicism had made him the friend and companion of successive Spanish ambassadors, especially of de Spes. In the anti-Catholic excitement in May, 1569, his house had been raided by the officers of the law deputed to destroy superstitious images, and a considerable stock of church ornaments of this description seized. One half of the stock was piled into a heap before Guaras’ door and burnt, the other half being similarly treated by the Standard in Cheapside; whilst the people, who only a dozen years before, under Mary, had been so devoutly Catholic, cried in derision that they were burning the Spanish gods.⁠[205] Since that time, as Guaras had been the principal importer of such wares from Spain, he had shown himself as little as possible in the streets to avoid unpleasantness, though of course he, like so many other Spaniards interested, had tried his hand again and again to make some private arrangement for the ransom of the Spanish commercial property seized by the English.

The Flemish noble Zweveghem, and the Genoese merchant Fiesco, who had both been negotiating in London about the seizures, were packed off at the same time as de Spes, for Elizabeth and Cecil were bent upon making the demonstration as political and public as possible; but though it did not suit the economical Queen to disgorge what she had taken, she had no wish to drive Philip to extremities, and the stoppage of the great English cloth trade with Flanders and of the importation of Spanish produce into England was causing serious distress in the country. So, having thoroughly humbled the Spaniards, whose hands were fuller than ever now with the capture of Brille by the Beggars and the rising of all Zeeland, supported by ample English aid, Elizabeth thought that the time had come for her to unbend a little to her sorely pressed brother-in-law. Walsingham’s half joking colloquy with Alava in Paris, in January, 1572, had been a straw cast into the air; the warning of the Dutch privateer fleet out of Dover, though ostensibly to satisfy the remonstrances of the Hamburg merchants, was another; and in March Guaras, a mere merchant, hitherto so unpopular, suddenly found himself made much of by emissaries from the Court. Friends of Cecil told him that the Queen was only too willing to come to an amicable arrangement about trade, and any person who brought it about would be doing a great service to God and to both countries. What a pity it was that there was no person accredited in London who could undertake it! Would Guaras convey these expressions to Alba? If so, the interlocutor would approach Lord Burghley.

After many hints of this sort Burghley himself sent for Guaras, and told him that they were anxious to settle matters. “He spoke of your Majesty’s person with due reverence, confessing to me that they had always hitherto feared and suspected greatly that the Duke of Alba, being a declared enemy, might oppose a settlement, but they had lately been informed that the evil did not arise with him entirely, but from certain persons in your Majesty’s Court, mentioning the late Duke of Feria, who, he said, though ostensibly a good friend of the Queen, was in matters of State her enemy.” Guaras, who loved to play the statesman, boasted somewhat of his master’s greatness and of the benefit his friendship would bring to England, but, of course, in diplomacy he was no match for Cecil, who firmly put him into his place. Thenceforward for weeks the game of advance and retire on the part of Cecil went on. Sometimes Guaras would go home to Thames Street in the seventh heaven of delight, with the idea that he was settling great national affairs where professional diplomatists had failed; at other times he would stand for hours in Cecil’s anterooms of Whitehall, only to be passed by silently with a cold nod when the Minister came out.

When at last it was agreed (8th April) that Zweveghem, the Flemish Councillor, should come again to England and settle matters, Guaras, much pleased at his success, entered his barge from Whitehall stairs to return home with the friend who served as his intermediary with Lord Burghley. As the boat pushed off into the stream, he says, “I saw the Queen approaching the landing-place of the Palace in her barge, in which, the day being fine, she had been taking the air in company with my Lord of Leicester and many other gentlemen, and followed by a large number of boats filled with people who wished to see her Majesty. We, being amongst the press of people, stayed our boat to look upon her, and when I made my bow like the rest, the Queen, as usual, saluted the people, and noticing me, either because she recognised me or because I was a foreigner or some one told her my name, to the surprise of every one, I being such a humble person, she, calling out to me in Italian, my boat being somewhat distant from hers out of respect to her, asked me very gaily and graciously if I was coming from the Court and had seen Lord Burghley I knelt, as was my duty, and replied, ‘Yes, Madam, at your Majesty’s service.’ As the boats approached the landing-place her Majesty’s barge was delayed a moment, when she smilingly seemed to desire to say something more to me, whereupon I endeavoured to bring my boat alongside the Queen’s barge, and she turned towards me and asked, ‘When were you with Lord Burghley?’ to which I replied, ‘Madam, I have just left him,’ whereupon she waved her hand several times, apparently with great pleasure, and said, ‘That is all right,’ and her barge then proceeded, she bidding me farewell with so many signs of pleasure and favour that people noticed it much, and I was more surprised than any one to receive these favours from the Queen, to whom I have never rendered any service.”⁠[206]⁠

Elizabeth had no intention, however, of allowing the Spaniards, and particularly Alba, to assume any airs of superiority on the strength of her willingness to negotiate about trade. When Zweveghem saw her a few days afterwards, sent by Alba to discuss terms, she thought that his tone was too haughty, and that he seemed to assume that she was pleading for an arrangement. Guaras, of course, had to bear the blame. It was at once said that he had misrepresented matters to Alba, and there was nothing but black looks for him. “Tell Guaras,” said Burghley, “that if he wants to come and see me let him come, or stay away, as he likes.... If the Duke of Alba, through Guaras, pretends to be willing for peace and concord, whilst on the other hand through Zweveghem he treats the matter in a different spirit, it is clear that, however good our intentions may be, theirs are not equally so.” Alba was in no melting mood now, for English men and arms were being poured into Zeeland, and the Huguenots also were helping the Netherlanders against him. The Dutch privateers were still sheltered in English ports, whilst Constable Montmorenci, and one of the most splendid embassies that ever represented France, was in England for the ratification of the offensive and defensive alliance of the two countries that had been signed at Blois on the 12th April. By it the Spanish Netherlands were to be partitioned, the ancient rivals were never to quarrel again, the Huguenot Navarre was to marry the King of France’s sister. Elizabeth might, perhaps, marry young Alençon, but in any case she and Catharine, with the Huguenots, were bound together for ever to resist the arrogance of Spain. All this was gall and wormwood to Alba, and, busy as he was with his bloody work, it is no wonder that he was now in no hurry to respond to the English approaches for a settlement, and Guaras for a time found himself cold-shouldered.

The affection between the French and English, however, was too pronounced to last very long. The offensive and defensive alliance against Spain had given to the Huguenots more power than quite suited Catharine, and the Colignys and their friends of the “religion” were speaking too boldly to please her. The Emperor (whose daughter the young King Charles IX. had married), the Pope, and the Doge of Venice sent to remonstrate with the Most Christian King for thus joining rebels and heretics against good Catholics, whilst the Gondis, Biragos, and Guises were whispering to Catharine that she was provoking Philip too far. So, as the summer of 1572 wore on, the messages sent from France to England grew cooler, and Charles IX. began to cry off the bargain for the joint action with Elizabeth in the Spanish Netherlands. But still Catharine pushed industriously the love-making of her favourite boy Alençon with Elizabeth, in order that England and the Huguenots might not be driven into open opposition to her. A pretty lad named La Mole, one of the mignons, was sent to England in July, ostensibly to do the vicarious love-making for Alençon, but really to discourage the idea of any act of overt hostility on the part of France in the Spanish States,⁠[207] and thus practically to withdraw from the much-lauded treaty of alliance, of which the ink was hardly dry.

La Mole performed the philandering part of his mission entirely to Elizabeth’s satisfaction. She was on her progress to Kenilworth, and carried the young French gallant along with her from place to place, exerting all her mature witcheries upon him, but keenly alive and not a little apprehensive at the way in which she had been thrown over with regard to the alliance. The danger to her was great, for she had been drawn into a position of open hostility to the Spaniards in Flanders on the strength of the alliance with France, and now found herself alone. So she told everybody, and most people believed her this time, that she meant to marry the French prince without fail, and when she bade goodbye to La Mole at Kenilworth, he went on his homeward way loaded with sweet messages for the Prince and rich presents for himself.

He arrived in London on the 27th August on his way to France; and on the same day there landed at Rye two couriers from Paris, one with letters from Walsingham to the Queen, the other with official despatches to the French ambassador. The latter were seized by the port authorities and sent in haste to the Queen at Kenilworth; but secret though they were kept, ill tidings fly fast, and soon there sped through England, none knew how or whence, the dread news that the Papists had banded together to slaughter Protestants throughout the world. On the fated day of Navarre’s wedding in Paris—the day of Saint Bartholomew—the storm had burst. Hounded on by the King himself and by his mother, slaughter unchecked had swept across the capital. The noble Coligny had fallen first, and then every citizen but those who wore the badge of Guise was hounded to his death. Through France the tale of horror ran, across the Channel to Protestant England fled thousands of Huguenots, dreading the general massacre that portended; and when Elizabeth suspended her pastime at Kenilworth to read the despatch that brought the news, her brow clouded and her heart sank; for it seemed now that, at last, all her clever tricks had failed and catastrophe loomed over her and England. For the league of Bayonne had produced its baleful fruit at last.⁠[208] The alliance and friendship just so ostentatiously concluded with France was but a fraud and a blind, the marriage talk with Alençon was all a lie: Catharine and her son, after all, had made common cause with Philip and the Guises, and England stood alone opposed to united Catholicism pledged to wholesale massacre.

In a day the orgy of St. Bartholomew had changed the political aspect. The French, lately so caressed in England, were now regarded as monsters of falsity. Elizabeth, in deep mourning, after long delay received the French ambassador coldly, and contemptuously listened to his palliations and explanations; for she knew that the Guises were now paramount in France, and from them she had nothing but enmity to expect. But dismay was not allowed to dominate the counsels of Elizabeth for very long. When such a combination as this existed between the ancient enemies Spain and France, England’s safety depended upon sowing discord between them. This was never very difficult, for their interests nationally were always antagonistic, and their antipathies were stronger than their affinities.⁠[209] At the first flush of the news Philip and the Spaniards were overjoyed that so many heretics should be butchered, and Guaras from London, writing to the Duke of Alba on the 30th August says: “God grant that it may be true, and that these rebel heretics may have met with this bad end”; and the national consequences were not lost upon him, even thus early, for though he was but a meddling merchant, he had far clearer ideas of policy than had de Spes. “Since the news came we hear no more of English soldiers going over to Flanders. This last affair, indeed, will give them something else to think about. If the news from Paris be true, the league between these people [i.e., the English] and the French will probably come to nothing, as the people are already murmuring that they cannot trust Frenchmen.”

Elizabeth, indeed, had been badly betrayed by the French. She had been drawn into hostility to Philip in Flanders, and had been left in the lurch. To her alone now could the Prince of Orange look for help, since the French had deserted him; and though she had no intention of allowing the Dutch Protestants to be crushed by Alba, Elizabeth saw that in future all she did to help them must be done without an open national rupture between England and Spain. Immediately, therefore, her tone changed. Not only were the Dutch rebels ostentatiously disavowed by her, but the somewhat bewildered Guaras found himself once more a persona grata at Court.⁠[210] Early in October the Duke of Alba sent him his cool and tardy reply with regard to the proposed negotiations for reopening trade. When Guaras appeared at Windsor with the despatch he found Burghley all smiles. “On that very day, he said, and on many other previous occasions the Queen had said to him she wondered why Guaras did not come to Court with the reply. They were much surprised to have received no answer to the offer made by the Queen to withdraw the Englishmen from Flanders, who, he said, only went there to resist the Frenchmen, who might try to gain a footing.... When I told him I had a letter for the Queen he seemed greatly delighted and asked me to show it to him. When he read the superscripture he said, ‘Although it comes tardily and the Queen is unwell, I will take it to her at once, because I know how pleased she will be to know that you have come with the message.’”⁠[211]⁠

Thenceforward for a time no one was more welcome at Court than Guaras. A fortnight after the above letter was written the French ambassador, La Mothe, remarked: “Guaras ... the Spaniard, is much better attended to and more favourably received at this Court than he used to be. He has great hopes of getting them to withdraw all the English from Flushing and Flanders, as well as of arranging the disputes about commercial intercourse.”⁠[212] All was not plain sailing yet, for Alba was hard and Elizabeth stood out firmly for religious toleration for Englishmen in Spain, which claim from the first was scouted as preposterous by the Spaniards, and in the end was almost the only point upon which the English had to give way. But the constant more or less covert aid in men and money sent from England to support Orange, and the fear that if driven too far Elizabeth might at last yield to the arguments and persuasions of the Dutch that she would assume the protection of Holland and Zeeland, brought down even Alba’s pride; and early in the spring of 1573 trade was reopened, on terms greatly in favour of Elizabeth, since her subjects again obtained an open market for their cloths, whilst she kept practically the greater part of the property she had seized.

Gradually Guaras, though in somewhat more humble fashion than de Spes, immersed himself in intrigues on behalf of Spain, many of them doubtless proposed to him in good faith, but others, as we know now, mere traps set for him by Lord Burghley’s contrivance, into which he easily fell to his own ultimate undoing. Several English captains were in close negotiation with him for months for the betrayal to the Spaniards of Flushing, Caunfer, and other strong places, for the murder of the Prince of Orange, and other schemes. But it is evident that these advances through him were received with doubt and caution by Philip and Alba, who probably doubted his discretion, for when a group of English captains had to be finally negotiated with for the capture of Flushing a special envoy, a merchant seaman named Zubiaur, was sent to England for the purpose with strict orders that Guaras should know nothing whatever of it; and even whilst Guaras was acting as chargé d’affaires of Spain a Portuguese spy (Fogaza) in Spanish pay reported all his movements to the authorities at Madrid.

By the end of 1573 it was patent to all the world that Alba’s reign of blood had failed. The stern old chief had been beaten indeed by Elizabeth’s seizure of the treasure, and he never recovered from the blow. Forced to raise money somehow, for Philip was bankrupt both in credit and in means, Alba imposed upon rich Flanders and Brabant the “tenth penny” that had ruined Castile. Then all the Netherlanders rose. It was no longer a question of local government or even of faith, but of moneybags; and Catholic and Protestant alike rebelled against spoliation and the destruction of Flemish prosperity. Indignant remonstrances went to Philip, and the Spanish Council even angrily condemned Alba’s measure. “Neither the heads smitten off nor the privileges abolished have aroused so much resistance as this,” wrote Alba: but he needed money for the King’s service, and money he must have. Thus he found himself face to face, not with a faction in revolt, but with an outraged and united nation, and through 1572 the grim old Duke stuck to his guns. First he crushed the south, sweeping the Huguenot auxiliaries aside and submitting all those who raised the slightest protest to ruthless slaughter.

Brabant and Flanders, bloodless, could fight against him no more, but Holland and Zeeland were made of sterner stuff. Money and men in abundance came to them from England, and all the silver ducats scattered by Guaras and all Elizabeth’s protestations of friendship for her dear brother in Spain could not stop them; until at last Philip grew angry and impatient at the useless slaughter, and Alba, heartbroken, went into disgrace, whilst a viceroy of widely different type came with the olive-branch in hand to win back at least Catholic Brabant and Flanders to Philip’s rule again by almost any concessions. There was, indeed, no other way for Philip now, for he had come to the end of his resources, and his troubles were not confined to the Protestant Netherlands.

His brilliant young brother, Don Juan of Austria, in command of the combined Christian fleet, had sailed from Messina in September, 1571, and had broken the Moslem power in the Mediterranean that had for so long been a thorn in the side of Spain. All Catholic Christendom lost its head over Don Juan: his enthusiasm, his gallantry, his personal beauty made him in the eyes of his contemporaries a very paladin of the Cross. Philip, religious though he might be, was cold and reticent, appealing little to the imagination of men. But this young Prince, his brother, splendid beyond words and with some of the military ability of his father the Emperor, might be the man destined by God for the final victory of the Cross over all its enemies. Don Juan not only carried away others, but was carried away himself. To follow up his victory by the conquest of Constantinople and the Holy Land, and to become a new Constantine, seemed to him and to the Catholics, who idolised him, an easily realisable vision. If not that, then why not Christianise Africa, re-establish the empire of Carthage with Don Juan as its sovereign?

But all this meant vast sums of money, and to such suggestions Philip turned an irresponsive ear. Clamour as Don Juan and his friends might, no assistance could be got from Spain for his wild schemes; for King Philip had other things to do than conquer vast new empires for his base brother, whilst his own Netherlands were slipping from his grasp and Elizabeth of England openly defied him. Then Don Juan, disobeying orders, seized and fortified Tunis on his own account. All appeals for support to Philip were sternly refused, and within a year the city was recaptured by the Turk and the eight thousand Spaniards in it slaughtered. Don Juan in despair remained in Italy, full still of high dreams if heroic conquest for the faith. He was surrounded, as before, by advisers as flighty and hot-headed as himself; and it occurred to some of them if he was not to be allowed to become a Christian Emperor of the East, there was in the West another empire in the hands of heretics, still awaiting its champion who should restore it to the Church.

Guaras wrote to Philip’s Secretary, Zayas, as early as November, 1574, saying, “The Queen of Scotland founds all her hopes upon his Majesty after God, and by a letter she has written to an influential friend, who read it to me, it is certain that there is nothing she desires more than to accept the proposition about Don Juan of Austria,⁠[213] she having been persuaded by this person and others that it would benefit Christendom greatly. If it be his Majesty’s wish that this matter should be considered, and communications have to be carried on with the Queen about it, this cipher can be utilised for the purpose, it being so obscure and without an alphabet that no one can decipher it.... If this happy event could be brought about, she would be a saintly, chaste, and Catholic Princess, the greatest lady on earth, for England, Scotland, and Ireland are indeed a vast empire.... If his Majesty will graciously allow a letter for her contentment in this business to be written, an opportunity might occur for her rescue. If consent is given on our part this project would undoubtedly be executed. She writes herself about it to the person I have mentioned, and desires above all things that her son should marry the elder Infanta, for which purpose she will consent that the man who holds him should carry him to Spain.”

Philip had heard stories similar to this before, and was not ready yet for another plot depending upon the English Catholics. Requesens, the new Viceroy of Flanders, did his best, but he was surrounded by unconquerable difficulties from the first, legacies, most of them, from the régime of Alba. Many of the Flemish seamen were disloyal and the Catholic clergy disaffected, whilst the mercantile classes were nearly beggared and in deep discontent. But, withal, the Walloons and Southern States were pacified, though Holland and Zeeland were as stubborn as ever. Requesens’ principal difficulty, as usual, was want of money; and the Catholic Flemings insisted that if they were to remain loyal to Spain the unpaid, murderous rabble of foreign soldiers who were terrorising friends and enemies alike must be withdrawn from Flanders. But Philip could not pay them, and they would not budge without their wage, for the rich houses of the burghers were always there for plunder. In the midst of this impasse, when things were at their worst, Requesens died, in March, 1576, and Philip, glad to get his brother away from Italy, ordered him to hurry direct to Flanders and carry out the policy of pacification at any cost or sacrifice. The troops were to be sent away, the burghers conciliated, and, if possible, the Dutch won over by promises of large concessions.

To Don Juan, with his heart aflame with high ambitions, concessions and conciliation of heretics were utterly repugnant; but the mission seemed to open a sure road to the great plan we have seen hinted at in Guaras’ letter of November, 1574. Pope Gregory XIII. was as ready as Don Juan for such an enterprise, and sent his Nuncio to Philip to pray him to allow his brother to swoop down upon England with the troops from Flanders, release and marry Mary Stuart, and with her become sovereign of a Britain Catholic and a faithful ally of Spain. Philip, as was his wont when he disapproved of a plan, was vaguely benevolent, but he hated priestly interference in his plans, and distrusted the Vatican where the French priests had so much to say. Worst of all, Don Juan disobeyed orders and came to Spain to press his plans for capturing England, and the delay thus caused was fatal. Before he could reach the Flemish frontier the Italian and Spanish troops had thrown off all restraint and had sacked Antwerp. The Catholic Flemings and Walloons were forced to make common cause with Orange, who assumed the lead in the Government, and all Netherlanders stood shoulder to shoulder against the ravishers and spoilers of their homes. When Don Juan came, therefore, he was told that he would only be admitted on conditions to be dictated by the States. Among these conditions was that the mutinous troops should not be sent away by sea, for the plan to invade England with them was well known by Orange, but should march out overland. Don Juan protested and raved in vain. Philip coldly ordered him to accede to any terms consistent with Spanish sovereignty over Flanders; and at last, in the early spring of 1577, he made his “joyous entry” into Brussels with a heart steeped in hate of the Flemings, whose firmness had destroyed his great dream of capturing England for the Cross and marrying the imprisoned Catholic Queen, like the hero of a fairy tale.

In these fine plans Guaras was a zealous and a willing agent, and Mary Stuart, as usual, an eager participant, all their intrigues being perfectly well known to Cecil through his spies. Cecil, indeed, had become quite friendly with Guaras,⁠[214] and thus, without being suspected, kept his eye on all his proceedings. The letters the merchant wrote to Spain were frequently intercepted, and although the pride of Guaras in his cipher was justified and most of the contents are still undeciphered, sufficient was read to prove that he was plotting ceaselessly with England’s enemies. Letters, too, were known to be passing by means of Guaras between Mary Stuart and Don Juan; and even the Flemish Catholic nobles, who had now for a time deserted the Spanish cause and were appealing to Elizabeth for aid, were constantly warning the English of the plans that were being so industriously forwarded by Guaras.

That Mary Stuart and Don Juan at this time understood each other perfectly, though Philip, for reasons already pointed out, was irresponsive to their appeals, is seen in an important letter written by Mary to the conspirator Charles Paget long afterwards (May, 1586) at the time when she was implicated in the plot that ended in her death. Paget was instructed to discover through Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador in Paris, whether Philip was then (1586) ready to attack England, which, she says, “to me seemeth the surest and readiest way for him whereby to rid himself altogether of the Queen’s malice against him. So as now he doth find himself constrained to come to the same remedies which in Don John of Austria’s time were propounded unto him, which I doubt he shall not find presently in these parts of such strength and virtue as if he had applied them in time and place.... I remember that Don John was always stiff in this opinion that there was no other means in the world whereby to set up again the King’s affairs in the Low Countries, and to assure his States in all other parts, than in re-establishing this realm under God and a Prince his friend; for, so much as Don John foresaw right well that this Queen would not fail to break with him, and give him, as she hath done, the first blow.”⁠[215]⁠

Guaras had many hints and warnings which he failed to regard, both from Cecil and the Queen herself. In his letter of 29th March, 1575, he gives an account of one such hint. “The Queen was walking,” he says, “a long way from the Palace of Richmond, where she is staying, surrounded by her courtiers and nobles, when, catching sight of me from afar, she called me by name and welcomed me.” He had to ask her permission to buy some cannon in England for the Flemish Government, to which she gave him an amiable reply, and he continued to walk through the park a few steps behind her chatting with her alone. She was full of her witcheries and compliments to Spaniards, with whom for the moment it suited to be friends, but told Guaras that she was annoyed at the way her subjects in Spain were treated by the Inquisition. She grew somewhat vehement about it and said, “I promise ye my father would not have put up with it, and if the matter is not amended I shall be obliged to arrest some of the King of Spain’s subjects and treat them in the same way.” Having given this hint, she grew gracious again and said: “You know full well, old wine, old bread, and old friends should be valued, and if only to let these Frenchmen see, who are wrangling as to whether our friendship is firm or not, there is good reason to show undisguisedly the kindly feeling which inwardly exists.” This, of course, referred to the attempts of the French to interfere in Flanders, which always made Elizabeth smile upon Spaniards;⁠[216] and when Guaras handsomely returned the compliment the Queen suddenly turned upon him, and shot the bolt she had been preparing all along: “You say you wish to serve me, Guaras; will you tell me the truth? They say that a certain Scottish prisoner of mine has sent you a token of friendship in the form of a painted lion; is it true?” Poor Guaras could only protest that he had never received any such token, as he had not; but the hint, and the more pointed one about the arrest, certainly did not abate his activity as a go-between for Mary and Don Juan.

So long as the danger of French interference in Flanders lasted Elizabeth dared not do anything very unpleasant to Spain; but as soon as that difficulty was banished by new negotiations for the marriage of Elizabeth and Alençon, Guaras began to find his position less comfortable. In November, 1575, Egremont Ratcliff, the brother of the Earl of Sussex, who had been a fugitive in Flanders and Italy since the northern rebellion, came to England, with a story of Don Juan’s plans in conjunction with Mary Stuart, and in this, of course, Guaras was involved. His fresh negotiations, too, early in 1576 for the betrayal by the English Catholics of certain of the Zeeland fortresses to the Spaniards was discovered. The Flemish Catholic nobles were now in England praying for support against Philip’s soldiery, and Elizabeth was in mortal fear of French aid being given to them on the one hand and of Don Juan’s reported plans against England on the other, whilst Guaras in his correspondence grew more and more bitter and violent as he saw the fruition of his hopes gradually disappear before Elizabeth’s amiability to the Catholic Flemish nobles and the united opposition now offered to Don Juan’s ambitions.

But in the circumstances Elizabeth did not dare yet to proceed to extremities with Spaniards; and one case amusingly shows that these high political considerations somewhat bewildered administrative officers, who could not follow such frequent changes of attitude. A Portuguese ambassador, Giraldi, had been for some time in England endeavouring to arrange some open questions relative to the depredations of the Protestant privateers; and late in 1576 the Recorder of London, Sir William Fleetwood, a zealous Catholic-baiter, with the Sheriffs, considered it his duty to surround with his posse the house of the Portuguese envoy for the purpose of catching and arresting unauthorised persons there hearing Mass. They forced an entry after a stiff fight with the Portuguese porter, Mr. Recorder Fleetwood being rather seriously mauled in the affray, and loudly broke in upon the sacred service by summoning all English people to come out in custody. Immediately the foreigners present, indignant at the interruption, drew their daggers and swords, and made as if to attack the officers, but were appeased by the sheriffs until the ladies had withdrawn. Having allowed the members of the embassy to depart, the officers then examined the other foreigners: “and trulie they most despitefully against all civilitie used such lewd words in their language against us, that if our company had understande them there might have chanced great harm. ‘Sirs,’ I saide to them, ‘I see no remedie but you must goe to prison, for most of you be free denizens.’ And then I willed the officers to lay hand on them, and immediately every man suddenly most humbly put off his cap, and began to be sutors and sought favour; and so on their submission we suffered them to depart, all save Antonio de Guaras, who was not willing to go from us, but kept us company.” After sending the English subjects off to prison and scolding some of their own constables for accepting “singing cakes” from the priest at the altar, Fleetwood and Sheriff Barnes stood in the gallery looking down upon the altar. “And then Antonio Guaras tooke me by the hand to see the altar how trim it was. And I said to Guaras, ‘Sir, if I had done my duty here to you and to the Queen upon All Hallowes Day last I had taken two hundred, and as many more on All Souls.’ ‘Ho! Sir,’ said Guaras unto me: ‘become of this religion, and surely you will like it well, and I will be readie means to make you a good Christian.’ And so we went near the altar, where neither he nor I touched any manner of thing; and so we bade the priest farewell, who gently saluted us, and I suddenlie looked back and saw the priest shake his head mumbling out words that sounded like Diable and male croix, or to that effect. Then said I to Mr. Sheriff, ‘Let us depart, for the priest doth curse us.’ And so we departed, and Antonio Guaras brought us to the utter gate, where the Sheriff and I invited him to dynner with us; but he departed back to hear the profaned Mass. The aforesaid Guaras at this business said that he himself was an ambassador of a greater person than —— and so did shake his head. ‘What!’ quoth I, ‘do you mean a greater personage than our mistress?’ ‘Na, na,’ said he, ‘I mean not so.’ ‘No,’ quoth I, ‘it were not best for you to make comparisons with the Queen our mistress. Whose ambassador are ye, then?’ quoth I, ‘the Pope’s?’ And then he departed further off in anger. This Guaras was a very busy fellow in this action.”⁠[217]⁠

Neither Giraldi nor Guaras was disposed to allow their diplomatic privileges to be violated in this fashion, however; and in consequence of their vehement complaints Fleetwood had to submit to a severe scolding from the Council and was sent to the Fleet. But Guaras’ immunity was not to last much longer. Elizabeth, before many months were over, found herself assiduously courted by the French, and assured by Catharine that Alençon would do nothing in Flanders but with the co-operation of England—it was hoped as Elizabeth’s husband. Don Juan also, during the time that he remained in negotiation with the States, was only too anxious to win Elizabeth’s help, or at least neutrality; so that when suspicion against Guaras became certainty she had no hesitation in closing the toils around him. In January, 1577, Sir Amyas Paulet, the English ambassador in Paris, reported that a dependent of Guaras, a Spanish tailor, named Damian Dela, a resident in London, had passed through Paris with some highly suspicious letters for King Philip. We know now that the King was firmly against Don Juan’s plans to invade England; but this, of course, was not known at the time, and Paulet advised Burghley to put Guaras to the torture to discover what was going on. This only made the English Government more vigilant; but in the spring of 1577 Secretary Wilson was sent to Flanders to endeavour to bring about an agreement between the States and Don Juan. The latter, when jocosely twitted by Wilson on his wish to marry the Queen of Scots, somewhat ungallantly ridiculed the idea as preposterous; but whilst Wilson was in the Low Countries he managed to obtain through St. Aldegonde possession of some intercepted letters from Guaras on the matter. The cipher was difficult, and only some words could be read; but they were enough to prove that Guaras was in constant communication with Mary Stuart and Don Juan, and Wilson wrote to Cecil expressing his surprise that an unofficial person like Guaras should be allowed to act more scandalously than any accredited ambassador would be allowed to do.

From that time, May, 1577, Guaras was watched almost night and day, and most of his letters intercepted, though not many could be read. On the 28th September, 1577, he proposed to Zayas, King Philip’s secretary, that he should be allowed to arrange for the kidnapping and conveyance to Spain of some of the important Catholic Flemish nobles then in England, or to promote a revolt in Ireland; and he continues by saying, “I have received the enclosed letters from the Queen of Scotland. I have perfectly safe means of sending and receiving letters for her, and the world is praying that God may be preserving her for some great service to the fear of this Queen and her friends. I am encouraging her with letters of comfort until she can be served by acts.”⁠[218] On the 4th October Guaras wrote another inflammatory letter to Zayas, detailing the plans which he said had been agreed upon by England and the Flemish nobles to throw off the Spanish yoke for good by the aid of Elizabeth. He passionately cries for prompt reprisals upon the English, but he complains that his letters are read, and he fears his ciphers may be discovered.

At midnight on the 19th October, 1577, the Sheriff of London with an armed force appeared before the house of Guaras in Thames Street. In the Queen’s name entrance was forced and Guaras placed under arrest, all his papers being seized, and he himself a few days later placed in solitary confinement in Newgate. His clerk, in conveying the news to Zayas, understood the gravity of the affair, for from the first the authorities refused to acknowledge the prisoner’s diplomatic status. “God deliver us from these troubles,” he wrote, “for I promise your worship that unless some remedy be sent from Spain my master Antonio de Guaras will find himself in dire trouble, as will all of us in his house, for we are sore distressed. With all earnestness I supplicate you to let his Majesty know, in the hope that delivery may be sent to us.” Guaras himself writes from prison in hot indignation. He had, he says, placed the letters from the Queen of Scots and King Philip in a safe place, and they had not been captured, but he knows that much of his correspondence has been sent to England by the Flemish nobles, and, reading between the lines, one sees that the poor wretch is in mortal fear, though he passionately protests his innocence whilst vituperating his captors.

No consideration or mercy was shown to him, and now that he was under lock and key all sorts of claims and accusations were made against him.⁠[219] To add to his trouble he, who for thirty years at least had been looked upon as a wealthy merchant, was found to be well-nigh penniless. Philip was always a bad paymaster, and the 500 ducats a year he allowed to Guaras had been embargoed or stopped in Spain for some time previously. The great sum of 20,000 crowns, promised to him for his services in negotiating the reopening of trade, was never paid to him, though for the rest of his life he was petitioning piteously for it. Damian Dela, his tailor-steward, was arrested at the same time as his master and lodged in Newgate, whereupon Recorder Fleetwood, examining him in November, he revealed the sad condition of Guaras’ finances: “I finde that he hath not a groat to bless him withal. His household stuff is not worth forty shillings. He is in my opinion Iro Pauperior, and were it not that libertie is sweet I know not where in his own country he should have like entertainment.” By Fleetwood Guaras sent beseeching messages for mercy to Burghley, “his only hope and trust”; but it was not the Cecil way to befriend fallen men, and Guaras appealed to his former crony in vain.

Slowly the act of accusation against Guaras was elaborated. Such portions of his letters as could be read were brought up against him,⁠[220] his servants, one and all, were interrogated, whilst he himself was almost driven crazy by threats of the rack and the scaffold. The questions administered to him in prison are amongst Lord Burghley’s papers and at Simancas, and show the charges brought against him: “What letters had passed between you and the Scots Queen?” “What do you know of their contents and of the negotiations between her and Don Juan?” “How far did Don Juan proceed in the marriage treaty with the Queen of Scots?” “In the cipher between you and Don Juan, who were intended by the numbers 82, 29, and 38?” “What practices have been intended for disquieting the realm, and who were the principal authors?”⁠[221] and many other questions of the same sort. In June, 1578, the case against him for conspiring against the State in favour of Mary Stuart was held to be proven, and the unfortunate man was lodged in the Tower, threatened now with death. To all interrogatories Guaras had answered haughtily that he was the diplomatic representative of the Catholic King, who would heavily avenge any injury done to him; but Philip had other cares to occupy him than to avenge a meddling merchant’s plots, of which he (Philip) had never approved.

It was more important now than ever that Elizabeth should be conciliated. Don Juan, in despair at his hateful position and at the cold irresponsiveness of his brother, had in February, 1578, cast all considerations to the winds, had fortified himself in Namur, and had defied the States to do their worst. Philip, by the rash impetuosity of his brother, thus found it necessary to fight not only for the maintenance of orthodoxy in his Netherlands dominions, but for his sovereignty. The Archduke Mathias, one of his own kin, had been invited by the Flemings to accept the Catholic Crown of Flanders, and on his failure to unite the country, Alençon, the French Prince, had bidden for the prize. If Elizabeth could be won over by Orange to help or co-operate with the French in Flanders, then nothing could save Philip’s sovereignty; and so, until the great Alexander Farnese, Don Juan’s successor, with warcraft and diplomacy combined, was able gradually to separate the Catholic Flemings from the Protestant Dutchmen, it behoved Philip at any sacrifice to win again the good graces of Elizabeth, to arouse her jealousy of French interference in Flanders, and hold her, notwithstanding all that had passed, to the traditional alliance with his House with the ancient object. Nor was Elizabeth loath to meet her brother-in-law half-way this time, for a French domination in Flanders she could never allow, and whilst on the one hand she conjured the danger by befooling Alençon into the firm belief that she would marry him if he would obey her, on the other she held out her hand to Philip. Wilkes, the Clerk of the Privy Council, was sent off to Spain to vindicate the Queen’s action in Flanders: to say how hard she had tried to bring about peace, notwithstanding Don Juan’s impracticability, to beg for Don Juan’s recall,⁠[222] and to urge that some sort of peace should be brought about with the States on the basis that Don Juan had violated, failing which she will be obliged, as before, to aid those who are battling for freedom of conscience.

It was a bitter pill for Philip that he should have to brook Elizabeth’s interference between his rebel subjects and himself, and he treated Wilkes in very high and mighty fashion, on the pretext that his rank was inadequate for such a mission. But he made amends by sending to England, hard upon Wilkes’ heels, a scion of one of the noblest houses in Spain as his ambassador. Soldier, author, diplomatist, and courtier, Don Bernardino de Mendoza, a man with the pride of Lucifer and the intolerance of St. Dominic, was entrusted with a mission of humility to the Queen of all the “heretics.” No apology had ever been sent by Elizabeth for the expulsion of de Spes, or for the seizure of the treasure; Guaras was a close prisoner, daily threatened with torture, and his claim to diplomatic privilege laughed at; yet the King of Spain was obliged to swallow his pride, and send an ambassador who was almost a suppliant to beg Elizabeth not to help his revolted subjects.

The change of position between the two sovereigns since the beginning of the Queen’s reign is nowhere so clearly seen as by a comparison of the instructions of Mendoza with the attitude of Feria and his master, described in the earlier pages of the present volume. Mendoza’s mission was piteously apologetic. Don Juan and the Spanish troops should be withdrawn. It was all a mistake about the abrogation of the edict of toleration. The States should have all they demanded if they would only be loyal and Catholic, and Elizabeth was appealed to earnestly not to aid rebellion in her good brother’s States. Mendoza was directed to “endeavour to keep her in a good humour, and convinced of our friendship, banishing the distrust of us which she now appears to entertain, and for which we have given her no good cause.” The English ministers were all to be heavily bribed, and at any cost, the new ambassador was instructed, English neutrality was to be secured.

Mendoza passed through Paris on his way to England in February, and found the French Court in dismay. Young Alençon had escaped his brother’s vigilance, and, with a force of Huguenots and German mercenaries, was on the Flemish frontier in full negotiation with the Prince of Orange and the Protestants to assume the sovereignty as a rival to Mathias, the nominee of the Catholics. Don Juan had just won the battle of Gembloux against the united rebel States, and was known to be intriguing with the Guises against Elizabeth, though not, as was thought in England, with Philip’s connivance; and the Queen of England found herself in perplexity between two fires. The Marquis d’Havrey, the Flemish Catholic noble representing the States, was assuring her that unless she sent an army over at once, under Leicester or his brother, to help them, they must hand themselves over to Alençon and the Frenchmen, which she was determined to prevent, cost what it might;⁠[223] whilst, on the other hand, she was told from all quarters that the Kings of Spain and France, with the Pope, Don Juan, and the Guises, were all united and determined to crush her for once and for all. Her problem was how to save Orange and the Protestants in Holland from being overwhelmed, without dragging England into a war with Philip; to prevent the French, even Huguenots, from gaining a footing in the Low Countries, and to avert a Catholic coalition against her. By what consummate diplomacy she contrived to attain her ends will be seen in the next chapter, which recounts her intercourse with Bernardino de Mendoza as Philip’s ambassador.

CHAPTER VIII 1578-1584

On the 16th March, 1578, Mendoza sat on a low stool by Elizabeth’s side, under the canopy in the Palace of Greenwich. He was a man already of mature age, of stately port, strong and masterful as became a dashing cavalry leader, but he spoke on this occasion, his first formal audience of Elizabeth, in silken tones, as he tried his best to excuse Don Juan’s breach of faith with the States. The Queen, on her side, had nothing but complaints and protests. Her aim was to be made a party to the new pacification, either as arbitrator or mediator, because, she said, that she would have to provide the financial guarantee offered by the States. But it was not Philip’s intention to allow her thus to come between him and his subjects, and this point was always evaded, cleverly as she urged it. But upon the main point she and Mendoza soon agreed. If Philip would make the concessions to the States that he now promised, and they refused to submit, she herself would help to punish them; and as for the French, she would take care they were never masters of Flanders, with or without Don Juan. It was noticed that as soon as the Queen said that she would help to punish the States if they did not accept the terms promised by Philip, Leicester hurriedly left the chamber, it was whispered to write by special courier to Flanders that Havrey should at once return to England and represent the rebel view of the situation.

“I am glad to see you again,”⁠[224] said the Queen, after the business talk was finished, “although I have been told that the real object of your coming is to plan many things to my injury; but even if you were not a minister of my good brother, I do not think that you would do me much harm.” Needless to say, Mendoza loudly proclaimed his devotion to her, and for a time all went harmoniously between them. Alençon from the frontier sent to Elizabeth lovelorn epistles of devotion, which she looked at for a time with some distrust, believing that this might be a trap whereby the French, as a nation, were endeavouring to gain a footing in Flanders to her prejudice. Of one thing she was quite determined, namely, that for every Frenchman who entered Flanders an Englishman should enter too; and to all Mendoza’s remonstrances at the aid in men and money that constantly flowed over to the Netherlands, Elizabeth had the answer ready that they went as much in Philip’s interest as her own, to prevent the country from falling into the hands of the French. To Orange, whom she constantly upbraided for welcoming French aid, her scolding reproaches meant little, for, as he said, he cared not whence came the help by means of which he could fight the Spaniards, and if he obtained, as he did, forces from Alençon and from Elizabeth too, he was willing to put up with the Englishwoman’s hard words.

She did not mince matters with Mendoza, either. “By God!” she shouted, “if the edict of toleration is not re-granted to the States I will help them against you whilst I have a man left in England.” Mendoza drily remarked that she was helping them pretty effectually already, “and that, grateful as I was for her kindness to me, I could not help telling her that your Majesty had very long arms, and that if need arose their strength would be felt in any country upon which they were placed. She swallowed this,” says Mendoza, “with rather a wry face, and said she did not consider these people to be rebels, as they were satisfied with what your Majesty had granted to them before, and she would not allow either the French to set foot in the States nor the Spaniards to oppress them.” Thus surely but slowly Elizabeth worked her way; but with the inevitable consequence of convincing Mendoza, as all other Spanish ambassadors in turn had been convinced, that force against Elizabeth was their only remedy, since in diplomacy she was more than a match for the cast-iron methods of their master.

To Mendoza’s intercession for the unhappy Guaras, with whom the new ambassador had little sympathy as a plebeian and bungler in State affairs, Elizabeth replied angrily that if he had been a subject of any other King but Philip she would have hanged him long ago, as he had been plotting against her with the Queen of Scots and English rebels. She would get rid of him, she said, by and by, when she had squeezed some more information from him. Once, in June, 1578, Guaras was brought out of prison and told by the Council that he would have to leave the country in ten days; but, instead of accepting the decision humbly, he raised an altercation, again claiming diplomatic privilege, with the result that he was promptly sent to solitary confinement in the Tower again, though both Mendoza and Don Juan had received money from Spain to be spent in bribes for his help and defence.⁠[225]⁠

Generally speaking, the parties in Elizabeth’s Court were now sharply divided in policy, and Mendoza promptly found who were his friends and who his foes. Cecil and Sussex, particularly, with Controller Crofts in a humbler way, were opposed to the open provocation of Spain by the support of the Flemish rebels; Leicester and Walsingham, whom Mendoza rarely mentions without the epithet “devilish heretic,” being determined, if possible, to bring matters to a crisis between Elizabeth and Philip whilst the war in the Netherlands paralysed the latter. Elizabeth herself leant now to one side, now to another, always balancing counsel against counsel. How suddenly and convincingly she could change is seen in her attitude towards Mendoza directly she heard that Alençon and his French force, mainly Huguenots, had crossed the frontier into Flanders early in July, 1578, at the request of the States, and had thrown themselves into Mons. Alençon had long been trying to convince the Queen that upon her alone, and not upon his brother the King of France, would he depend in everything, and his professions of love for her were unabated, but this alarmed her.

To some extent her distrust of Alençon had been overcome of late, particularly as a large number of English troops and Germans in her pay were in Flanders as an antidote to him; but only a few days after the startling news of Alençon’s invasion reached England, Mendoza writes (19th July, 1578): “The Queen has been very suspicious of me hitherto, as she has been assured that I had come to perform I know not what, nor what bad office; but she is beginning to be undeceived, and is turning her eyes now more towards his Majesty. Some of the ministers, too, have begun to get friendly with me, and I can assure you [Zayas] that if his Majesty wishes to retain their goodwill, I see a way of doing it.... God knows the trouble I have had in getting her and her ministers so far, as they always want to see something substantial beforehand,⁠[226] this being the natural character of the people. I am told by a person in the Palace that, even in the matter of giving me audience readily, the Queen has been considerably influenced by the presents of gloves and perfumes I gave her when I arrived.”

It is true that Elizabeth was a glutton for presents, and her Councillors had itching palms for Spanish gold, but there were other reasons just then besides self-interest that made them smile upon Philip’s ambassador. Not only was there a French army on Flemish soil, but from all sides there came to England alarming news of some great Catholic combination against Elizabeth; the Spaniards were known to be supporting the Desmond rebellion in Ireland;⁠[227] and at a day’s notice, until she had got Alençon completely under her thumb by the farcical marriage negotiations with him personally, she thought fit to smile upon Mendoza, and treat the moderate English Catholics with unwonted mildness. “I never see the Queen now,” writes Mendoza in September, 1578, “without her telling me how glad she is for me to be here. She gives me audience freely, and, thank God! I have her now in an excellent humour, whilst the Englishmen in general are not bad friends with me, as they think I shall not do anything against them in case of a disturbance.”

On another occasion in September, 1578, when Elizabeth was sounding Mendoza about sending an English ambassador to Spain, she said to him: “If you were a knave, you should not have stayed here so long; ... if you had been here years ago, things would not have reached such a condition as they did, by reason of Don Gerau de Spes”; and when he went to see her at Richmond on her return from an autumn progress, she became quite coquettish with him. She thought, she said, he must have run away and left her it was so long since she had seen him; and, though she was somewhat aggrieved that she was to have no part in the pending peace negotiations between Philip and the Flemings, she told him that “she liked his manner of procedure.” “I did not inspire her with suspicion; and if a favourable peace was made in the Netherlands by any means, she was quite content not to have been a mediator, being quite satisfied with my explanations.” Then, turning to him, she broached the subject really uppermost in her mind, namely, her much-talked-of marriage with the young French Prince. Did Mendoza think she ought to marry him? The courtly ambassador was sure she would act wisely in any case; but he knew, as she did, that all the French wished was to prevent her prosperity and quietude. “I hope when you see the end you will approve of it,” said Elizabeth, doubtless smiling in her sleeve; for she alone knew what she intended the end to be, though Philip himself shrewdly guessed that “it was all pastime, and she would never marry any man.”

But through all this amiability to the Spaniard, English aid still found its way abundantly across the North Sea to the Protestants in arms; and Hans Casinir, with 20,000 soldiers, was in Elizabeth’s pay in the States. Philip, much as his ambassador might humour Elizabeth and bribe her ministers, was no nearer than before to the complete control of English policy, which alone would serve his purpose. Don Juan had died brokenhearted at his miserable failure on 1st October, and this made matters somewhat easier for his brother Philip, as it removed the principal obstacle to the reconciliation of the Catholic Flemings to the Spanish rule. The absolute dissociation of the King of France from his brother Alençon’s eccentric vagaries in Flanders, and Elizabeth’s clever beguilement of the young man, also satisfied the King of Spain that once more affairs were reverting to the old groove, in which he would have against him not Catholics, but only the Protestant elements of which Elizabeth was the main supporter.

Again, therefore, he was able to face the problem of his “good sister’s” overthrow. All his attempts previously in this direction had been disastrous for his instruments and discomfiting for himself. He had subsidised Mary Stuart, before and since her incarceration; he had ineffectively supported the English Catholics to rebel; he had consented to Elizabeth’s murder preparatory to his armed intervention in England; he had countenanced Stukeley’s wild plans to capture Ireland, and supported the Desmond disaffection in Munster; he had tried to bring Elizabeth to her knees by stopping trade, with the result of nearly ruining his own subjects—but all these means had failed. Philip’s advisers for twenty years had never ceased to assure him that he must boldly carry the war into his enemy’s camp if he would succeed—that to win all he must risk something; but he had gone on still believing in the infallibility of his own methods, which always aimed at binding others whilst himself remaining vaguely pledged or not pledged at all. Philip would only play when he held all the winning cards, and, much as his ambassadors urged upon him a policy of force towards his sister-in-law, he was determined to wait until Fate had dealt them to him.

In August, 1578, only a few weeks before the death of Don Juan relieved him from his worst dilemma in Catholic Flanders, his rash young nephew, King Sebastian of Portugal, was killed in battle in Morocco. His heir was the old childless Cardinal Don Henrique, and amongst the many subsequent claimants Philip was the strongest. With the added power and great wealth of Portugal, the King of Spain might conquer heresy yet by force, and defy both England and France if needs be, for, with the harbours of Spain, Portugal, and the Islands closed to them, French and English ships would be unable to sail far from their own shores. The danger at once drew Catharine and Elizabeth together, but they could do nothing effectual yet, and all Philip’s plans were laid carefully to seize the throne of Portugal when the aged king should die. It was necessary, amongst other things, for him to provide that both Elizabeth and Catharine, when that event happened, should have their hands full at home, and the effect of his manœuvres is noticeable almost immediately.

Mendoza had been instructed to use the greatest caution in all approaches to him on behalf of the imprisoned Mary Stuart; but in January, 1579, Zayas wrote to him, saying that negotiations had been opened by Beton, Archbishop of Glasgow, Mary’s ambassador in Paris, and the Spanish ambassador there. “If,” he said, “Philip would provide enough money to raise four thousand troops, great things might be done for her and for the Catholic religion. His Majesty is very well disposed towards it; but nothing, as yet, has been decided, because, in good truth, the matter could only be undertaken on very safe grounds, and with the assurance that the effect would be produced, as otherwise it would be oleum et operam perdere. Send us your opinion on it.”⁠[228] The French intrigues in Scotland at this period (1579) had somewhat aroused the apprehensions both of Philip and Elizabeth, for Guise had sent young Lennox d’Aubigny, the Franco-Scot Stuart, to woo his cousin James, and he had succeeded beyond the wildest expectations. Philip was willing enough to foster Guise’s ambitions to the extent of setting him against Catharine and the Huguenots; but any attempt at Guisan interference in Great Britain without his direction always alarmed him, so Mendoza lost no opportunity of whispering to Elizabeth distrust of French aims in Scotland.

At the same time, still further to divert Elizabeth from interfering with his Portuguese plans, Philip allowed himself to be persuaded to help James Fitzmaurice and the Pope’s Nuncio, Dr. Sanders, to land a small Spanish and Italian force in Ireland in the summer of 1579. The expedition was routed and pursued, Dr. Sanders dying miserably of want and exposure; but when heartrending appeals from the Irish were sent to Philip for further aid, he dared not make open war upon England for their sake—that was no part of his plan yet. All he could consent to do was to join with the Pope in defraying the expenses of a formidable expedition, not under the Spanish but the Papal flag, sailing from a Spanish port, with eight thousand soldiers to invade Ireland, and hold the Catholic West for the Desmonds. The affair was mismanaged, and all the invaders were slaughtered at Smerwick, Dingle Bay (November, 1580); but Mendoza never heard the last of it from Elizabeth, who in future excused all her interference in Flanders by pointing to this kind act of her “good brother.” It was a hint to Elizabeth that she was vulnerable, not only in Scotland by French intrigue, but in Ireland also, and that it behoved her to look to her own safety before attacking others.

Mendoza had much cold water to throw upon the suggestion of Beton and the Spanish ambassador in Paris (with whom he was at feud) as to the subsidising of a rising of Catholics in favour of Mary Stuart. He, true Spaniard as he was, looked askance at any plan of the sort in which a Frenchman had a part. But early in 1580 the matter entered a new phase. Elizabeth, for the first time in her reign, found herself unpopular, in consequence of the general belief that she really intended to marry the young French Prince; the great Jesuit propaganda was busily making ready to spread through England the young missionaries, who in the true spirit of martyrdom had pledged their lives to bring back England and Scotland to the Faith; the power of Morton in Scotland was waning fast, and Lennox was in the ascendant. Everywhere the Catholic cause had taken new hope, thanks in great measure to the encouragement of Philip, in order that when the time came he might have a free hand in Portugal.

But whilst the King of Spain was quite ready to utilise these priestly and other auxiliaries for his ends, though most of them had no idea that politics had any part in their propaganda, he himself would make no move to capture England until he knew that he, and no one else, would enjoy the benefit of success if success were attained. So long as the Pope and Guise were the leaders of the movement, Philip gave it his blessing but no more, and on the 11th February, 1580, the old Archbishop of Glasgow, in Paris, seeing this, visited Vargas Mexia, the Spanish ambassador, and made a distinct step in advance. The Duke of Guise and he, he said, had persuaded Mary Stuart to place herself without reserve in the hands of his Catholic Majesty; and the Archbishop produced a letter from Mary to that effect, saying that she had arranged for her son to be captured and sent to Spain, that Philip might marry him to his liking. Guise himself came secretly to Vargas Mexia soon afterwards, and told him that he had everything arranged now by the aid of the Scottish Catholics to overthrow Elizabeth, and if Philip would subsidise the affair, he (Guise) would undertake to prevent any French national interference.⁠[229] As for Mary herself, said the Archbishop, “she was determined not to leave her prison until she left it to be Queen of England.” Philips attitude changed at once on hearing this; and when a Catholic Scot, Fernihurst, was sent to Madrid by the party, he gave him a cordial reply, leaving in Mary’s hands the arrangement for the capture and deportation of James. But before anything could be done, the overthrow of Morton in Scotland and the rise of Catholic Lennox d’Aubigny to supreme power gave a far wider scope to the plan.

The great conspiracy of 1569-70 against Elizabeth had failed, owing to lack of complete co-operation of the various Catholic elements: the present attempt seemed to promise an organisation of greater ramifications and more intimate combination. This was owing in great part to a new feature now first introduced. Those who watched the debarkation at Dover of the passengers from a skiff that had arrived from Calais on the 12th June, 1580, saw leap upon the shore a swashbuckling young captain, such as many who came from the Flemish war. He was a man of five-and-thirty, clad in a buff military coat covered with gold lace, and had a great, clanking rapier hung upon his hip, whilst a fine feather flaunted in his wide-brimmed hat. With him came a soldier-servant of humbler mien, and, after being duly searched and coming through the ordeal successfully, the two travellers swaggered upon their way.⁠[230] The captain told the searcher who kindly procured him a horse that a friend of his, an English jeweller living at St. Omer, would follow him to England in a day or two. The jeweller, Mr. Edmunds, duly came, and also went on his road to Gravesend, and so by tilt-boat to London, there to be lost like his military forerunner in the crowds of the capital. The captain came not to rest from the wars against the Spaniards in Flanders, but to conquer England again for the Faith, for he was Father Robert Parsons the Jesuit, and the jeweller Edmunds, who followed, sold, not jewels alone, but his own life for the task to which he had been dedicated by the Church, for he was Edmund Campion.

These three young men were but the advance guard of an army of Jesuit missionaries who soon flocked over from the seminaries of Rheims and Rome to strengthen the resistance of the sorely tried Catholics of England and Scotland. Wherever these zealous clerics reached, the power of Elizabeth over her subjects was weakened. There were many Catholics who had grown tired of persecution, and were willing to purchase peace by open compliance with the Queen’s laws. More there were who would have been fully content with even limited toleration for their observance. But to these fiery young spirits toleration was a more deadly blow than persecution, and although up to this time the secular priests had been willing to concede to Catholics some appearance of outward conformity, the attendance at Protestant service was now forbidden to those of the old Faith. The result was almost at once a recrudescence of the persecutions against Catholics in a crueller form than ever, with the inevitable result of raising a stronger and more fanatical religious spirit than had existed amongst the Catholics in England since the early days of Elizabeth’s reign.

Needless to say, Mendoza soon got into touch with the new fighting element in the struggle against Elizabeth. The ambassador’s feigned politeness towards Elizabeth had been strained almost to breaking point by the news of Drake’s terrible depredations in the Pacific; and he had already fallen in his correspondence with his master into the same heated tone of indignation as his predecessors had done, urging the King to prompt reprisals upon these “insolent heretics.” When Drake himself arrived with his vast booty, and was effusively received by the Queen, Mendoza’s angry violence of word, and his open threats, earned for him exclusion from the Queen’s presence. He was offered, indeed, a bribe of 50,000 crowns to moderate his tone, but he replied in a rage, “that he would pay more than that sum himself to punish so great a thief as Drake.”⁠[231]⁠

Almost daily Mendoza’s indignation with Elizabeth became more heated. Amongst other causes of complaint was one that for the first time brought him into an acrimonious squabble with Elizabeth herself, though the occasion was a small one. The ambassador had been trapped into one of the usual bogus plots, ostensibly to betray Flushing, but really to cheat and betray him, and he had paid a large sum of money and given much information to certain Dutchmen for the purpose. One of the conspirators had left his son, a child, in Mendoza’s hands as a hostage, and when the fraud was complete, on the 4th June, 1581, during the ambassador’s absence, his house in the Strand was forcibly entered by London constables accompanied by the Secretary of the Prince of Orange, and the young hostage was taken from the custody of the Spaniards. The household drew their swords and attacked the authorities, but before the affray had proceeded far the ambassador himself appeared. Learning that the officers were acting under the authority of the Council, he ordered his servants to put up their weapons and angrily protested against this violation of his domicile.

Mendoza had avoided appearing at Court during the warm philandering with Alençon and the French that was going on, fearing that Elizabeth might, with her usual artfulness, get better terms from the French by pretending that the Spaniards were seeking her. But this new insult overcame all other considerations. In a violent temper Mendoza demanded immediate reparation from the Queen. She must receive him at once, he said, and apologise, or he would leave the country and lay the matter before his master for redress. Elizabeth was anxious not to have an altercation with him whilst the special French embassy as well as Alençon’s mignons filled her Court, and by flattery and cajolery she managed to defer the unpleasant interview until the French embassy had gone. On the 17th June, Elizabeth stood in the gallery of Whitehall overlooking the river, when Mendoza, who had landed at the private stairs, was led to her by Hatton, the captain of the guard. Fearing that the Spaniard might use angry words, she took him into a window embrasure out of earshot of the only two persons in the gallery, Sussex and Hatton, and at once anticipated him by complaining bitterly that King Philip had helped these knaves of Irish rebels by sending a large body of soldiers to them. Mendoza said he must leave that subject for another time, and launched into angry invective of the treatment to which he had been subjected. He had, he said, been denied rights recognised even amongst savages to the ambassadors of kings. He had expected to hear that she had hanged the constables the next morning; but as she had not done so, he supposed they had told the truth when they said they acted in her name.

Calling Sussex and Leicester to her, she ordered that inquiry should be made in the matter, and then once more started her Irish grievance, again forcing Mendoza to take the defensive. He made the best of matters, and retorted with Drake’s plunder and her constant aid to the Netherlanders, ending by a scarcely veiled threat that unless she mended her behaviour towards his master, especially in her attitude towards Portugal, his vengeance would fall upon her. Elizabeth was rather cowed at this, and said she did not want to quarrel with her good brother; the King of France had done more harm in the matter of Portugal than she had. To this Mendoza retorted curtly that if the King of France did evil that was no reason why she should. Mendoza afterwards snubbed and hectored Cecil and the Council, and left the Palace in no very pacific frame of mind. “If I had not shown spirit,” he wrote to the King, in giving him an account of the interview, “which is the thing that moves the Queen and her ministers most, such is their insolence that probably I should never have been able to get conference with them. This attitude alone has enabled me to hold my own with them until now, thus gaining time for matters to develop themselves.”⁠[232] Notwithstanding his self-satisfaction, it is clear that Mendoza got the worst of the interview with the Queen, for although she was compliant on the unimportant point of the violation of domicile, the boy was never restored, and she assumed the position of the injured party about Ireland, as well as preventing Mendoza from making a formal reclamation about Drake’s plunder.

But soon there came a new grievance to exacerbate the irritation of the Spaniards. Alba had been summoned from his retirement to conquer Portugal for Philip on the death of the old Cardinal King. The many claimants to the Crown were mostly timid and unready, whilst Philip’s power was irresistible, and Alba marched through Portugal, with the King in his wake, brushing aside such slight attempts as were made to stay him in the interests of the only Portuguese claimant who showed fight at all—the doubtfully legitimate Don Antonio, Prior of Ocrato, who had at first been accepted by his countrymen as their Sovereign. He had fled before Alba’s advance, and had been a fugitive for months past—some said in Brazil, some in Azores, and some in France. Wherever he was, he carried with him jewels of inestimable value, and such a man in the hands of Philip’s enemies might be made a powerful weapon against the King of Spain. Rumour was busy as to Don Antonio’s movements, and Mendoza’s spies had much to tell, most of which was untrue. But it was noticed at the end of June, 1581, that Elizabeth’s Portuguese-Jew physician, Lopez, was very busy and important, posting backwards and forwards between London and Dover, and soon Mendoza learnt that a party of Portuguese had landed there, amongst whom one was treated with marked respect and consideration. He was described as being “under the middle height, very dark and thin, with a spare face, a grizzled beard, and greenish-grey eyes.”

This man Mendoza, from the description, at once recognised as Don Antonio, the so-called King of Portugal, proclaimed by Philip a rebel with a heavy price upon his head. Before even he had had time to verify his suspicions, Mendoza peremptorily demanded audience of Elizabeth to complain of her thus sheltering the Pretender. The Queen’s ministers, through the Earl of Sussex, flatly refused him access to their mistress for any such purpose unless he brought fresh special letters from Philip; and as, he says, he was determined to have no more pros and cons with intermediaries who simply talk nonsense and then repudiate what they say, blaming the messengers, he wrote a haughty letter to Elizabeth herself, threatening to leave England instantly unless audience was accorded to him. Elizabeth was hunting at Eltham when the letter was handed to her, and as she read it she changed countenance. Through Hatton, who was by her side, she replied to the bearer, “that if the ambassador, for reasons of health or other private causes, wished for his passports he could have them; but that the Queen had not the slightest desire that he should leave her Court, or that she should break with the King of Spain.”

Two or three days afterwards, however, thanks to Cecil, Mendoza was led up a secret stair into the Queen’s private chamber, where she was with Leicester, Sussex, Hatton, and Walsingham. “I suppose,” began Elizabeth as soon as she saw him, “you have come to give me some satisfaction about Ireland.” “That, your Majesty,” he replied, “as I told you before, is a matter concerning the Pope, not my master.” She had, he continued, refused to receive him for nearly a year, pending her investigation of the case. Elizabeth angrily swore that she had never sent him such a message. Until he could bring her a fresh letter from Philip excusing this Irish business, she would have no more to say to him; and she thought that he had done his master a poor service in giving her the answer he had done. “If I have done ill to my master, madam,” he replied, “I have a head to pay for it; and although as the King’s minister I am bound to render an account to him of my acts, I thank God that He has granted me such a noble ancestry as alone would prevent me from failing in my duty to my Sovereign, if for no other reason but to leave unsullied the scutcheon of Mendoza.”⁠[233] “She screamed out louder than before at this, saying that I was to blame for everything that had happened, to which I replied smilingly that she was speaking as a lady, those of her sex usually displaying most annoyance at the things that were done in their interest. It was no small service I had done her, I said, in patiently awaiting her pleasure so long.”

In the heated altercation that ensued, Mendoza seized an opportunity of mentioning the real object of his visit, namely, the arrival of Don Antonio. She prevaricated for a long time, and finally retorted that if Don Antonio was in England, the rebel Earl of Westmorland was not only in King Philip’s dominions but enjoyed a pension from him. She had not made up her mind yet, she said, whether she should help the Portuguese or not, but she was determined not to surrender any one to be killed; and if she did not choose to give him up it would not be she, but Philip, who had first violated the old treaties. Upon this Mendoza made a formal demand for the surrender of Don Antonio in accordance with the international agreement, and was curtly refused.

Thus every day the breach between Elizabeth and her brother-in-law grew wider, and Mendoza followed in the footsteps of de Spes and Guaras. Don Antonio was welcomed at Court with royal honours, and was very soon borrowing money on his jewels to fit out expeditions to the Azores, which still held out in his favour. The Queen herself blew hot and cold. If Antonio succeeded in capturing the throne of Portugal again, she wished him to be beholden to her for it and not to the French, whilst she was determined not to be drawn into open war with Philip for him unless she could manœuvre the King of France into the same position. Philip wrote to Elizabeth himself, begging her to expel or surrender the rebel Pretender, and Mendoza continued to press her, often intemperately, on the subject; but she always countered with Ireland, the refugee Desmonds, Ridolfi, and the Earl of Westmorland; and usually succeeded in getting up a wrangle with the heated ambassador, which placed him at a disadvantage. To prevent Philip from proceeding to extremities against her, and to keep the King of France from breaking away, the marriage dealings with Alençon were carried by her to a point from which all observers believed she could never extricate herself. But her tactics, risky as they really were at this time, were successful in their main object, namely, in weakening Philip’s power on every hand, and making it impracticable for him to avenge himself by force.

The English Catholic party had already felt the cruel consequences of the renewed Jesuit activity. Campion, the most fearless of the young missionaries, with two brethren, suffered cruel martyrdom with unshaken constancy in December, 1581, and scores of other priests and laymen were under sentence of death,⁠[234] whilst throughout the country recusants were hunted with merciless vigour, not, of course, for religion, said Elizabeth’s officers, but as disobedient and disloyal subjects. Most of the active Catholic nobles were now in exile, and it was clear that no armed rising in England against the Queen’s Government was now possible, except with very powerful help from abroad. But in Scotland matters were entirely different. Morton had fallen, and the half-French Lennox d’Aubigny, a Catholic, was the most powerful force in the country. His French ancestry had caused the Spaniards to look askance at him for a time; but the declaration of Guise to the Spanish ambassador in Paris, that Mary Stuart in future would look alone to Philip for direction, somewhat disarmed Mendoza, and, despairing of striking at Elizabeth by other means, the ambassador turned to this quarter to aid him in his vengeance.

Philip had commanded him to continue to console and encourage the imprisoned Mary, and in September, 1581, referring to his correspondence with her, the ambassador opens a new chapter in his activities in England. He has, he says, been trying in every way—of course, through the Jesuit missionaries mainly—to convince the Scots how advantageous it would be for King James if Scotland were formally to return to the Catholic Church; but for fear of driving Elizabeth into the arms of the French, if she knew it, he has had, he says, to work very cautiously and secretly. He then goes on to say that he had just held a private meeting with some leading English Catholics, especially the brothers Tresham, and had urged upon them that the best way to cause trouble to Elizabeth would be for Scotland to submit to the Holy See. Even if Philip’s other cares allowed of his sending a large force to England, such a course would be impossible owing to French jealousy. Yes, admitted the Treshams sorrowfully, the English Catholics were now so downhearted and crushed that a rising in England was impossible unless King Philip sent a great fleet and army fit to conquer the country, which they saw he could not do. The Irish, too, were not to be depended upon, and they agreed that the only way to gain England now was by winning Scotland first for the Church.

The idea took root, and a meeting of six English Catholic peers and several gentlemen thereupon took a joint oath of fidelity to devote all their means and energies to this end. The confederates, with Mendoza’s approval, despatched one of the senior Jesuit missioners, Father Creighton, to Scotland to broach the matter to Lennox d’Aubigny, saying that if James would embrace the Church the English Catholics would rise, have him proclaimed heir of England, and release his mother, but if he refused they promised to adopt another candidate as Elizabeth’s successor. D’Aubigny was to be entertained with the notion that help would be forthcoming from France and the Pope, as well as from Philip; but this was only intended to be a blind, for Mendoza specially warned the plotters that nothing should be said to Frenchmen about it, “in order to prevent it from being hindered by the fear that it is a plan of your Majesty alone.” “They agree with me in this, as they are all Spanish and Catholic at heart, and do not wish to have anything to do with France.”

Creighton went on his way to Scotland in disguise, and in the meanwhile the relations between Elizabeth and Mendoza became more strained than ever. Philip had instructed him in October to address the Queen strongly about the unconcealed encouragement she was giving to Don Antonio. For some time Mendoza asked for audience in vain. Elizabeth was at Nonsuch, and all sorts of excuses were given for her declining to receive him. Mendoza, chafing under what he calls “her insolent and outrageous” treatment of him, at last sent a servant of his to Burghley, positively to demand audience of the Queen when she arrived at Richmond. The reply brought back in Burghley’s words was ominous. “Sir, I must tell you the truth; the Queen is at present alone, unattended by Councillors, and as Don Bernardino is to bring letters to the Queen from so great an enemy of hers as his master, it is meet that he should be received accordingly.”

They kept Mendoza fuming for several days longer before he was received; and when he entered the presence chamber at Richmond, boiling over with wounded pride, he found the Queen no longer the smiling coquette she had formerly been with him. Seated upon a tabouret under the canopy, with Sussex and Lord Admiral Clinton standing by her, she refrained from rising and advancing to receive him, as was her wont, and welcoming him with a greeting in Italian. Instead of that she sat frowning as he bowed low before her, the first words she said being to complain that she was suffering from a pain in her hip. Mendoza expressed his sorrow that he should have to trouble her with business in such circumstances, but she made no reply, and left him standing uncovered. “How about the letter you say you have from the King?” she snapped at last, and he handed her the King’s demand for Don Antonio’s surrender, which she read with a clouded brow. “You know very well,” she said, “that Don Antonio has left England; but I can tell you that if I had chosen to help him your King’s fleets from the Indies would not be where they are now, and Portugal, perchance, would not be so tranquil”—all this, as Mendoza says, with much browbeating and vociferation.

“What else have you to say?” asked the Queen tartly; and in answer Mendoza, in high and mighty strain, began to talk about the power of his master’s fleets, and how those who dared to attack them would get well trounced. She had helped the rebel Antonio, he said, she had called him “King,” she had let him sail from the Thames with English ships and arms from the Tower to attack his sovereign, the London merchants had lent him money on his jewels, and much more to the same effect. His King, already offended by the way she had helped the Flemish rebels, was doubly resentful now. What more could she do, asked Mendoza, even if she were at open war? To all of which Elizabeth replied boldly. As for Don Antonio, she had helped him and still would do so; but she knew not what the ambassador meant by his other complaints. “This was said,” continues Mendoza, “with the most terrible insolence; and as I saw her evil intent, I replied that I had been here for over three and a half years; but as it appears she had heard nothing in all this time of the complaints I had constantly been making, and would find no remedy for them, it would be necessary to see whether cannon would not make her hear better.” In answer to this Elizabeth, for a wonder, replied calmly and in a low voice that he need not think to threaten or frighten her, or she would put him into a place where he could not say a word. In future he might negotiate with her Council, but as she had no ambassador in Spain she would not receive him herself.

Mendoza thought probably that he had gone too far, as he certainly had; for Philip, as we shall see later, had no intention, or indeed ability, at this time (October, 1581) to attempt the conquest of England. He did not desire to threaten, Mendoza said; he was in her power and of course she could do as she liked with him, but whatever she did, thank God! King Philip would avenge him. Elizabeth then ordered every one out of the room but the two Councillors, to whom in angry tones she repeated Mendoza’s threat about cannon, and her reply. “I smiled to hear her relate this with so much fury and agitation, and remarked that I would not waste time on that point. Monarchs, I knew, were never afraid of private individuals, and above all she, who was a lady so beautiful that even lions would crouch before her. She is so vain and flighty that her anger was at once soothed on hearing this, and she began to relate how thankful your Majesty ought to be to her for having refused help to the Flemish rebels. All she had done was to prevent the French from taking possession of your territory.” Thenceforward to the end of the long interview Elizabeth played off the Spanish support of the Irish rebels, the subsidising of the northern rebellion, and the intrigues of de Spes, against Mendoza’s complaints of her help to Orange, the depredations of Drake, and the reception of Don Antonio; and the exchange of grievances ended by Elizabeth coldly saying that she would receive the ambassador no more until the King sent her some satisfaction, to which he retorted by saying that he would prefer to do business with the Council. As he turned to go and was already some paces from the Queen he heard her heave a deep sigh, and say in Italian, evidently intended to reach his ear, “I would to God that each one had his own and was at peace.”⁠[235] Mendoza, humiliated and embittered at the course of events, which he ascribed entirely to Leicester and Hatton, thenceforward became a more virulent enemy of Elizabeth than ever de Spes had been. In the next letter after the interview just described he prayed Philip to avenge himself by seizing all English property in his dominions; but the King had tried that game before to his cost, and dared not run the risk again, nor would he listen to Mendoza’s earnest prayers to anticipate the intrigues of Leicester to have him expelled from England by recalling him himself.

When, therefore, Father Creighton returned, in October, 1581, from his mission to Scotland, Mendoza was ripe for any plan which promised injury to Elizabeth. The Jesuit told him how he had been secretly conveyed across the Scottish border, and had conferred with Lennox, Eglinton, Huntly, Caithness, and Seton, who had warmly consented to Catholic missioners being sent—“on condition that they brought money for their own maintenance.” They would have King James approached, too, and told that his one hope of obtaining the English succession would be for him to embrace Catholicism and make friends with Spain. Neither Lennox nor the King was to be frightened with the suggestion that the French were to be thrown over: but Seton, who appears to have known James’s character well, proposed that his greed and ambition might be worked upon by his being shown how much more effectual a friend Spain would be to him than France. Father Parsons was in London when Creighton arrived, and he and his colleague Heywood were long closeted with Mendoza to discuss who should be the pioneer missioners to Scotland. Creighton thought that Father Parsons, himself, and Heywood should go, “as they would need to be very learned and virtuous men.” Parsons, still in his captain’s garb, ran over to Rheims to consult the Principal of the English Seminary, Dr. Allen; and at Mendoza’s instance it was agreed that Parsons could not well be spared from England, and that Dr. Allen should appoint fresh men for the Scottish mission.

The six English Catholic lords who had first arranged the matter with Mendoza were now in prison: Catholics were being savagely persecuted everywhere, and it was evident that the scheme for upsetting Elizabeth by means of a Catholic movement in Scotland must be managed by Spanish agents in France and Dr. Allen, “as the Queen and her heretics are served here by such a multitude of spies that the Queen of Scots herself is in great alarm.” But above all, says Mendoza, though the affair must be managed in France, “the French must have no suspicion that your Majesty has anything to do with it.” As may be supposed, Mary Stuart was a keen participant in the scheme. In April, 1581, six months previously, she had sent a message through Archbishop Beton to the new Spanish ambassador in Paris, Tassis. “Things,” she said, “were never in better form in Scotland than now for a return to ancient conditions, so that English affairs could be dealt with afterwards from there. Her son was determined to be a Catholic, and inclined to break with Elizabeth as soon as he could be sure of substantial help.” This help Mary earnestly begged of Philip through Tassis, and asked that it should be landed first in Ireland, ready to cross to Scotland as soon as the treaty was signed.

For some reason or another Mary conceived some distrust of Tassis, the Spanish ambassador in Paris, and of Beton; and as soon as she heard of the result of Father Creighton’s mission to Scotland, she wrote direct to Mendoza to tell him that she had partly consented to join her son with herself in the sovereignty of Scotland, which course had been urged upon her by the French, but that she was still determined in all things to follow the direction of the King of Spain in her affairs. She had understood from the first that from France, divided as it was, she had nothing effective to hope for. Her son and the Catholic Scots might desire to keep alive the ancient alliance with France, but Mary wanted more than that: she needed rescue from England, and this could only be effected by a Power that was willing to go to war with England if necessary for her sake, which she knew France, with its powerful Huguenot element and Catharine de Medici at the helm, would never do. Mary was suspicious, and grew even more so, of Guise’s interference in her affairs, which she saw was not occasioned by the desire to benefit her personally, but to increase his power by keeping hold of Scotland. Mendoza, of course, threw cold water upon the suggestion that Mary should recognise James as King on the recommendation of France, and by gaining Mary’s entire confidence, gradually worked her affairs into his own hands.

The priests sent to Scotland were meeting with great success; and James himself told Creighton that, though out of policy he was obliged to appear in favour of the French, in his heart he would rather be Spanish. Parsons, whilst, fortunately for himself, he was abroad, though just about to embark for England, had been proclaimed a traitor and a price set upon his head; so that in future his sphere of activity was in Scotland and on the Continent, where he continued to direct English affairs with ever-increasing violence against the Queen and her faith. It is characteristic of Spanish methods that, though even Mary protested against it, all the priests sent by Dr. Allen to Scotland were to be Englishmen, because it was feared that Scotsmen might have other ends and incline to France. Above all, it was provided that the French should have no idea that Spain was behind this purely religious propaganda. Elizabeth’s Government, suspicious already of the Catholic régime in Scotland, was well aware that something was going on in which Mendoza was concerned,⁠[236] and keen vigilance was kept upon the Border. “So far as can be seen, this business is proceeding most hopefully,” writes Mendoza in December, 1581, “and is under God’s protection; for, whilst these two priests were on the English Border one night, a great search was made in every house in the neighbourhood, as the Queen had been informed that some English priests would endeavour to go to Scotland, but God ordained that they should escape almost by a miracle.”⁠[237] Tresham was in prison, but priests carried messages backwards and forwards between him and Mendoza, so that the plot was kept going; and the fortitude of the Catholic prisoners under torture in refusing to divulge the names of their associates had drawn into the new combination a large number of sympathisers, whilst Mary herself, gaining ever more confidence in Mendoza personally, was urging him to assure King Philip that the time was propitious for him to take some bold and decided action in her favour in Scotland.

This was the hopeful condition of affairs when Father Holt, a young Jesuit sent by Parsons and Creighton from Scotland, arrived in London. Tresham and the other English leaders being in prison, he had been directed to a disguised English priest in London, who would take him to the person who was to receive his message. Holt, like the rest of the rank and file of the Jesuit missioners, had no suspicion that a political object was behind their Scottish propaganda, and was astounded when he was led to the house of the Spanish ambassador to give his report. What he had to say was important. Everything, he reported, was going excellently in Scotland. The lords were trying by every means to convert the King; but they wished to obtain Queen Mary’s permission, if he remained obstinate, “to force the King to open his eyes and to see the truth.” Failing this, they would, if the Queen authorised them, depose or transport James until Mary’s arrival in her realm. But, continued Holt, they considered it necessary, if they were to succeed in their aim, to be able to count positively upon foreign armed assistance to subdue the heretics and provide against any interference from England. If they had two thousand soldiers from abroad they would be sufficient for the purpose. Where could they look, he asked, for such assistance? Not to France or to the Guises, for several reasons, and they hoped that Queen Mary would prevail upon the Pope and the King of Spain to send Spaniards or Italians. He begged that Mendoza would convey this to Mary and to Philip, and to have more English priests sent into Scotland for the propaganda, “only they must bring money for their own maintenance.”

To Mary Mendoza sent the message of the Scottish Catholics in a somewhat softened form, in order not to arouse her maternal solicitude for James; but to his own Sovereign, Philip, he wrote almost vehemently, praying him to seize the opportunity for striking a fatal blow at Elizabeth. “With the two thousand soldiers they ask for, he says, the Scots might defy this Queen ... and the whole North of England would be disturbed, the Catholics there being in a majority, and the opportunity would be taken by the Catholics in other parts of the country to rise when they knew that they had on their side the forces of a more powerful Prince than the King of Scotland.”⁠[238] There was no more concealment of Mendoza’s opinion beneath a veil of assumed humility: he not only urged Philip to ensure the victory of Scottish orthodoxy by force, but to aid a rising of English Catholics over the Scottish Border. The opportunity looked a tempting one, for it provided for the removal of the doubtful James, and the plan might be carried out (if the Scottish lords were to be depended upon) without giving to Elizabeth the legal right to interfere.

The experienced Cardinal de Granvelle, who was governing Spain in Philips absence in Portugal, was almost as enthusiastic in its advocacy as Mendoza himself. “The affair is so important,” he wrote to Philip, “both for the sake of religion and to restrain England, that no other can equal it. By keeping the Queen of England busy we shall be ensured against her helping Alençon (in Flanders) or daring to obstruct us elsewhere.”⁠[239] Mary Stuart was just as eager, but had wider views than Granvelle, seeing clearly with her great penetration, if she was to be Queen of Britain, the absolute need for organising the English Catholics, whilst keeping the French out of the affair and not arousing unduly the suspicions of Elizabeth. “In the event,” she wrote, “of the Scots having the support requested, and the Queen of England attempting to interfere, which might give an occasion for the English Catholics to rise, it would be necessary to have this latter part of the business arranged beforehand, but in such a way that they should not understand what is intended, or have any idea until everything was ready to burst forth.”

Holt went back to Scotland with a promise from Mendoza, which he certainly was not authorised by Philip to give, that the two thousand men asked for should be sent to their aid, and the English Catholics, or such of them as were still at liberty, were conciliated by means of Lord Henry Howard, who was very heavily bribed by Philip, and thenceforward became the principal Spanish agent at Elizabeth’s Court. The plot looked, indeed, a promising one under the sole guidance of Mendoza; and all were in high hopes that Mary Stuart’s fortune was at last to take a turn, when Father Creighton arrived in Paris directed to Tassis, the Spanish ambassador, with a letter from the Duke of Lennox. “Understanding,” he says, “from the missioners that the Pope and the King of Spain desire to make use of him for the design they have in hand to restore the Catholic faith in Scotland and release the Queen ... he is prepared to employ his life and estate in carrying out the same, on condition that he is supplied with all things set forth in the statement taken by Father Creighton.” This letter was dated early in March, 1582, and reached Tassis in May, having been brought to him by Creighton and Parsons.⁠[240] The plan was a perfectly new one to Tassis, as Mendoza in London had been the sole intermediary purposely chosen by Mary and the originators of the plot, in order to exclude any probability of French participation; and Philip, to his surprise, was now informed of the affair by his ambassador in Paris, as if for the first time. Why Lennox should have chosen to send his adhesion to Paris instead of to Mendoza is not quite clear; but, being naturally attached to Guisan interests, it is probable that he wished to ensure that his French patrons should not be excluded.

In any case, it does not need much knowledge of Philip’s character to foresee that such inept management as this would upset the whole business as far as he was concerned. The demands of Lennox, as stated by Creighton, were ridiculous. The Scottish Lords had promised Mendoza through Holt that if two thousand foreign troops landed they would be able to effect the revolution, and this was a number that Philip could have provided; but here was Lennox demanding twenty thousand men paid for eighteen months and a large quantity of munitions of war of all sorts. He must have, he says, twenty thousand crowns in money sent to Scotland immediately for fortifications, &c., and a further subsidy to raise Scottish troops; he asks that the troops should be of various nationalities and placed under his command, and if the attempt failed and he lost his Scottish estate in consequence, he wanted a guarantee from the Pope and Philip that an estate of equal value should be given to him elsewhere. He proposes himself to leave Scotland at the most critical juncture, and to go to Paris to make final arrangements, as soon as he hears that the Pope and the King of Spain are pledged to the enterprise.

Tassis, not unnaturally, remarked to the priests that Lennox was asking for a good deal, and he learned from them that the Duke of Guise had been consulted, and thought that fewer men would do. Parsons then took up the story, and was quite sure that the Catholics of England would rise immediately the Scottish affair began; and it was soon evident, even to Tassis, who had been previously quite in the dark about it, that not only Guise but many other people, clerical and lay, had been drawn into the business, since one of the Jesuits was to go to Madrid, others to Rouen and to Rome; and the Nuncio, Archbishop Beton, and Dr. Allen were also parties to the proposals. The idea that Lennox should be in supreme command, and that French troops were to be included, alone would have sufficed to render the plan abortive, apart from the other quite extravagant conditions he imposed. Lennox wrote a somewhat similarly foolish letter to Mary Stuart, saying that the Jesuit Creighton had promised him fifteen thousand men; and that he, Lennox, was to go to France to raise a large force of Frenchmen. Mary was furious at such impracticable nonsense, and wrote to Mendoza begging him to restrain the bungling priests, as she was trying to do, and once more to get the matter into his own hands. “I am advising Lennox,” she writes, “to stay in Scotland, and I disapprove entirely of his plan to raise men in France. You may inform these Jesuits, too, that I will not on any account allow anything concerning this matter to be done in my name ... and I do not approve of sending any one on my behalf to negotiate direct with the Pope and King Philip.”

Mendoza also was full of scorn for such muddling, and the whole scheme was thrown into confusion. Guise, as soon as he was informed by Lennox’s letter brought by Creighton, travelled from Eu to Paris and met Tassis secretly at Beton’s house. He, too, was full of far-reaching, ill-digested plans, his main object evidently being to prevent Spanish troops from being sent to Scotland, in order to avoid, as he says, French jealousy, but really because he feared Philip’s power. His plan was to raise a large mixed force to be sent by the Pope to Scotland, whilst he, Guise, was to make a descent upon the coast of Sussex with a French force. Philip met the new situation in his characteristic way. So far as he was concerned, the plan became impossible the moment that Guise and the French interest were included in it, and he wrote to Tassis, with vague sanctimonious sympathy, deprecating overzeal and ordering that nothing more should be done in the matter until further orders.⁠[241]⁠

Father Parsons, by far the cleverest of the Jesuits, went to Madrid and submitted Lennox’s foolish conditions to Cardinal de Granvelle and Sir Francis Englefield, Philip’s English secretary. They both agreed that the bases laid down by Mendoza and Mary were the only practical ones, and Granvelle incidentally in his report on the matter throws rather a curious light upon the diversity of views that we see now existed, although he probably did not know it, between Philip’s views with regard to England and his own. We shall see presently what was in Philip’s mind; but that of Granvelle is sufficiently revealed when, speaking of the fear of the Scots that the landing of foreign troops might endanger their liberties, he says: “This is not what his Majesty wants, nor do I approve of it; but that we should loyally help the King of Scots and his mother to maintain their rights, and, by promoting armed disturbance, keep the Queen of England and the French busy at small cost to ourselves in comparison with what she will have to spend, and so enable us to settle our own affairs better. If it had no other result this should suffice, but much more when we consider that it may lead to the re-establishment of the Catholic religion in those parts. When we strike there the Irish will pluck up courage; and it is advantageous that the matter should be taken in hand by the Duke of Guise, as it will ensure us from French obstruction. Since we cannot hope to hold the island for ourselves, Guise will not hand it over to the King of France to the detriment of his own kinswoman.” He also hints at the possibility of Elizabeth’s coming to terms with Spain and renewing the old alliance.

This was certainly not Philip’s view at this time (1582). He had now lost hope of conciliating England whilst Elizabeth was on the throne, and he was gradually being convinced that nothing but a great national conquest with purely Spanish arms would serve his turn. The policy of “loyally helping the King of Scots,” and, above all, with the co-operation of the French, would have been useless to him except as a means of gaining for him uncontrolled command of English foreign policy, which, with James an unknown factor and Guise as a confederate, was uncertain. The idea of attacking England through Scotland, which some of his advisers favoured, was one that never appealed very strongly to him after this first fiasco of Lennox, and it introduced an element in the situation which subsequently influenced him greatly, finally, indeed, deciding his policy. This was the jealousy felt by Englishmen of Scots, and a determination that nothing like a domination of England by a people whom they considered inferior should be allowed. Scotland and France, it must be recollected, had for centuries been looked upon by Englishmen as their joint enemies, whilst Spain and Flanders had been their friends, and it soon became a common saying amongst the English Catholics, of whom Parsons was the mouthpiece, that England would welcome a thousand times more a Spanish sovereign than a Scottish one. The first note of the feeling is struck in Granvelle’s memorandum quoted above, where he says that Englefield is very distrustful of the Archbishop of Glasgow, with whom he has ceased to correspond, and he wishes that he (Beton) should not be made cognisant with this business, “which he would immediately divulge to the French.”

Whilst these events were passing in France, the causes for irritation between Elizabeth and Philip were becoming daily more grave. The Queen, almost at her wits’ end, had managed to get rid of her importunate suitor Alençon, in February, 1582, by means of a solemn promise to marry which she never intended for a moment to keep. She had insisted upon Leicester accompanying him to Antwerp, where the Prince was to join Orange as the obedient servant of Elizabeth. To the Queen’s dismay, a few days afterwards she learnt that Leicester had sanctioned by his presence the investiture of the French Prince with Philip’s Crown of Duke of Brabant, and it seemed now, even to her, that the cup was full and that nothing could save her from the vengeance of the outraged Spaniard, especially as she found that the King of France ostentatiously disavowed her and his brother’s action. Elizabeth railed at Walsingham and Leicester like a very fury, summoned Burghley from a sick bed to counsel her, and ended by leaving her French lover in the lurch.

Far from seeking immediate vengeance, however, Philip’s own perplexity was such, in the face of this new dilemma, that he contemplated a step which up to that time he had always repudiated with scorn. Writing to Mendoza in May, 1582, he orders him to endeavour to exacerbate Elizabeth’s jealousy of the French in Flanders for the purpose of enlisting her aid as a mediator between his rebellious subjects and himself. Orange had just been dangerously wounded by a Spanish agent,⁠[242] and it may have appeared to Philip that the moment was a favourable one to bring about some settlement which, at all events, might save his sovereignty. “It will be well,” he writes, “for you to discover whether it is possible for the Queen herself to intervene for the purpose of reconciling me with my subjects.” He is not very sanguine, he says, of such an intermediary; “and she is much more likely to continue her usual arts to incense my subjects against me, but it is worth trying”; and to show how urgent was Philip’s need of a peaceful settlement, he sent the large sum of 40,000 crowns to Mendoza to bribe Elizabeth’s ministers to propose her mediation.⁠[243]⁠

The presence of Alençon in Flanders as sovereign, even under her own auspices, made Elizabeth anxious to learn at first hand what the Spaniards thought of this new provocation, and a hint was sent to Mendoza that she would receive him again with Philip’s Portuguese envoy, who had come to announce his accession to the Crown. She was, during the interview, very emphatic as to her perfect neutrality with regard to Portugal, “just,” says Mendoza, “as if it were true, instead of an evident lie.” Mendoza interposed by saying that no doubt that was her intention, but there were, at that moment, perhaps unknown to her, several ships being fitted and armed in the Thames for Don Antonio. What did he mean? Elizabeth asked, and the ambassador gave her full particulars. Up to this point Elizabeth had been polite, but when she found that no complaint was made about Alençon, she plucked up courage, and Hatton, a special enemy of Mendoza’s, who was behind him, seems to have made some sign to the Queen, for her tone suddenly changed. “This is no time to deal with that matter,” she cried angrily, and Mendoza retired more wrathful than ever, and more determined to work his revenge.

He had been praying for his recall for some time, for he was nearly blind with cataract, and his soul rebelled against the humiliations he had to suffer; but Philip had pressed him to stay on, for nobody could manage the great conspiracy against Elizabeth so wisely and stealthily as he. He would not abandon his post, moreover, until Mary Stuart had consented to deal with a fresh ambassador, and he urged Philip to send a special envoy, on the pretext of claiming the restoration of Drake’s plunder, but really to succeed him if Mary would show confidence in the new man. “If it be profitable that I should remain here I will willingly sacrifice myself for a matter so closely touching the service of God and the increase of His Church, as well as serving your Majesty, since two hundred priests are risking their lives in the same cause, in face of great hardships, hunger and poverty.” His stay in England, indeed, was a true martyrdom, only endured because of his hope that in union with Mary of Scotland he might be instrumental in overthrowing Elizabeth and her Protestant ministers. They, for their part, repaid his hatred with enmity as bitter. Leicester, Hatton, and Walsingham left no stone unturned to make his post in England untenable. There was no English ambassador in Spain, they said, and should be no Spanish ambassador in England: the man was only a spy and a conspirator. It was he, said his detractors, who had planned the assassination of the Prince of Orange, and was the abettor and provider of the flock of black Jesuit crows who were infesting England with their presence. Even the street boys in London pelted and hooted him as he passed,⁠[244] and he was practically excluded from Elizabeth’s Court. But for every fresh slight offered to him he became more ardent in his determination to make Mary Stuart Queen of Catholic Britain. The correspondence between them was close, for Mary refused to trust any other intermediary, and until the raid of Ruthven and the flight and death of Lennox finally upset the Catholic régime in Scotland, the hope of bringing back again into workable shape the plot that the priests and Lennox had embroiled was never abandoned by them.⁠[245]⁠

The fact of their correspondence was, of course, well known to Elizabeth’s Government, and this made the ambassador’s treatment the harder. Once, in May, 1582, he was driven, by orders from the anxious King, to demand audience of the Queen, who replied that she would receive him as a private person if he liked, but would see him no more as ambassador until he brought an apology from Philip for aiding the Irish rebels. To this he replied haughtily in a letter, threatening to leave England at once and let muskets speak for him. When Elizabeth read the letter she was perturbed, and softened somewhat. “God forbid,” she said, “that she should ever break with the King of Spain, to whom she bore nothing but goodwill, ... She hoped that Don Bernardino would not leave; he could communicate with her in writing until the King’s explanation of the Irish affair came.” Writing to Philip in November, 1582, Mendoza says: “I have tried every means, overt and covert, to get into relations with the Queen’s ministers, but they fly from me as if I were a rebel subject of hers, and things have reached such a point that no one will speak to me or even to my servants.” Even his heavily paid Court spies, Lord Henry Howard and Sir James Crofts, avoided communication with him, except when they needed money.

The efforts of Guise and Beton to keep the Scottish Catholic intrigue in their own hands also tended to isolate Mendoza. Both he and Philip, when the news of the raid of Ruthven and the flight of Lennox reached them, recognised that the enterprise through Scotland was hopeless for a time, and endeavoured to confine Guise’s energies in future to France. He was told how dangerous it would be for him to leave France with his enemies the Huguenots in possession, and was flattered and encouraged by Philip with the suggestion that the Crown of France might be his by Spanish aid, if Henry and his brother Alençon died childless, as seemed probable: “for it would be a public infamy if the most Christian Crown should fall, as may be feared, into the hands of a man who was not a Catholic [i.e., Henry of Navarre], besides the danger of this, it will be a standing disgrace to a true Catholic like Guise himself.” Guise was proud and delighted that so much deference was being paid him, but he could hardly be expected to look at Scottish affairs entirely from Philip’s point of view; and, whilst not losing sight of his vast ambitions in France, he still endeavoured through Beton, Tassis, and Parsons, to keep his hand on the realm of his cousin.

When Lennox passed through London in January, 1583, on his way to exile in France he sent his secretary to Mendoza—not daring to come himself—to give him an explanatory account of Lennox’s ignominious collapse, and to inform him of his plans to return to Scotland, with James’s full connivance, and for an invasion by foreign troops in the Catholic interest. In such plans both Mendoza and his master had now lost hope, and though Lennox soon afterwards died, Guise himself, undeterred by Philip’s flattering attempts at diversion, became the central pivot of the intrigue, abetted by Beton, Tassis, and the Jesuits, who were still curiously blind to the real trend of affairs. A new French ambassador, La Mothe, was sent to remonstrate with Ruthven and the Scottish Protestants for keeping their King in durance, and to warn Elizabeth not to interfere in Scotland; and with him went young de Maineville on a separate mission from Guise to the Scottish Catholics, for the purpose of reviving the plot for landing a foreign force in Scotland. Beton and Tassis were, of course, parties to the arrangement, much to the annoyance of Mary and Mendoza, who thus saw all their carefully planned schemes thrown into confusion. James in Scotland, as usual, lied to everybody, and the Scottish Catholic party was disunited, so that Guise’s agent, de Maineville, promptly saw that any present attempt to invade Scotland in Mary’s interest would end in failure, and Guise changed all his plans.

On the 4th May, 1583, Tassis wrote to Philip that Guise, in view of the changed position in Scotland, had decided to negotiate with the English Catholics for a rising in England. “He has already carried the matter so far that he expects to have it put into execution very shortly, and intends to be present in person.” He asked for 100,000 crowns from the Pope and Philip, to be ready in Paris when he wanted it, though Tassis says that he does not expect that his Holiness will send much. He needed this large sum, it appears, principally “for one object which I dare not venture to mention here, but which, if it be effected, will make a noise in the world.” This object was no other than the murder of Elizabeth, which was to be the prelude of the revolution to place Mary on the throne. Two days before this letter to Philip was written by Tassis the Nuncio in Paris wrote to the Papal Secretary of State, the Cardinal of Como, much more plainly. Guise and his brother Mayenne, he says, had arranged for the murder of the Queen by one of her courtiers, secretly a Catholic, who owed her a grudge for executing certain of his relations. This man had made the proposal to Mary, and she had refused to entertain it, but the Duke of Guise was less scrupulous and had promised the assassin 100,000 francs for the work. He did not ask the Pope’s aid for this, but for the invasion of the South of England, which he, Guise, intended to effect immediately after the Queen had been killed. Neither the Nuncio nor the Cardinal, nor even his Holiness, had anything but praise for this saintly plan, and readily promised one-quarter of the sum needed if Philip would find the other three-quarters.

Guise’s ideas, as usual, were vague and scattered. Simultaneously with this plan for murdering Elizabeth and invading Sussex, with the connivance of the English Catholics, an utterly impracticable scheme, he tried to keep the Scottish Catholics in hand by heavy bribes and to convert James. All this sinister activity could not be quite hidden from Elizabeth, who made a counter move by proposing terms for Mary’s release, which in future would render her harmless. Mary at once asked the advice of Mendoza, who was quite shocked at the idea, and wrote to her, as he says, “with all possible artifice,” by all means to refuse her liberty; but he tells Philip his real reason: “Nothing could be more injurious to your Majesty’s interest and hopes of converting this island than that the French should get their fingers into the matter through the Queen of Scotland and turn it to their own ends.”⁠[246] Philip agreed that it would be best to keep Mary where they could lay hands upon her at any moment; but, perhaps influenced by the opinion of Granvelle, quoted in an earlier page, he asks for Mendoza’s further opinion on the association of Guise in the contemplated revolution. Since he was a near relation of Mary’s, and had the confidence of the Scottish Catholics and the Pope, would his co-operation, in the opinion of Mendoza, be open to the same objections as that of Frenchmen generally? To this Mendoza gave a cautious, sagacious reply. There was no objection to Guise pulling the chestnuts out of the fire, if he depended entirely upon Spain, but above all Mary Stuart must be kept in England.

Philip professed himself willing to provide a part of the money required for Guise’s murderous attempt, but bargained for a larger contribution from the Pope.⁠[247] Before anything could be decided, however, the ill-knit plan fell to pieces. Father Allen and most of the English Catholic exiles were in deadly earnest, and thought that “all this talk and intricacy was mere fencing.” The feeling, also, of national jealousy of the Scots began to manifest itself strongly amongst them. “They suspected a tendency on the part of the Scots to claim a controlling influence in the new Empire, and, as the Scots are naturally inclined to the French, they would rather see the affair carried through with but a few Spaniards, whilst the English hate this idea, as their country is the principal one, and they say that it should not lose its predominance.”⁠[248] This tendency of the English exiles gradually worked upon Philip and his ministers, until French co-operation in the plans to subjugate Britain, even under the auspices of the Guises, was eliminated from the schemes, so far as Spain and the English exiles could influence them.

Not many weeks elapsed before this vague plot of Guise to murder Elizabeth simultaneously with an invasion of Sussex had fallen through. On the 30th May, 1583, the Nuncio in Paris wrote to the Cardinal of Como, “I believe that the design upon the person of the Queen of England will come to nothing”; and three weeks later Tassis wrote to Philip that the murder plot “is, I see, for the present, quite at an end, and nothing more is being said about it, so the funds referred to will therefore not be required.”⁠[249] The English Catholic exiles, led by Dr. Allen and Father Parsons, soon tired of such an unbusinesslike conspirator as Guise, and they came to Tassis, in Paris, with a scheme of their own. They were already jealous of French and Scottish intervention in English affairs. “They have received so much favour from your Majesty, that they would rather have the help of Spaniards.” Dr. Allen and his followers therefore stood aloof somewhat now from the Guise proposals, and “convinced that they must look for a remedy only to the feeling of England, they have made up their minds that they are simply wasting time in depending upon what is arranged here in France, and they have decided to lay the real condition of England before your Majesty, and beg you to extend your pity to the poor, afflicted, distressed Catholics there.”

Tassis was much impressed by Dr. Allen’s earnestness. Scotland was in no condition, he said, to co-operate at present, even if it were advisable for her to do so, which the English thought it was not. The King was a mere boy, notably unstable and in the hands of heretics, though he pretended to be secretly favourable to Guise’s plans; and the Catholics of the North of England were ready to rise on their own account if Philip would aid them with money and a few troops to be landed in Yorkshire or Lancashire. “They are so confident of success, with the blessing of God, in whose service the attempt will be made, that it is impossible for any one to hear them without being convinced.” In this scheme the exiled Earl of Westmorland and Lord Dacre were to join, and Dr. Allen was to accompany the expedition as Bishop of Durham. The time fixed by Allen and his friends for the attempt was in September or October of that year, 1583, in the hope that Philip’s fleet would by that time have defeated Don Antonio’s expedition off the Azores, and be free to co-operate with an English Catholic rising. Even an extreme Catholic party in Scotland were desirous of working independently of France and the Guises, and sent Lord Seton’s brother to Spain to appeal to Philip, avoiding all communication with Guise and Beton.

The Duke of Guise, determined not to lose hold of the business if he could help it, tried to graft a plan of his own upon that of the English Catholics, who were in such dead earnest and had no object in view but the conversion of England. He was willing to abate his demands considerably, and Tassis thought that if he were flattered enough he would agree to whatever Philip ordered. Guise eventually managed to upset the businesslike plans of Dr. Allen and his friends by forcing upon them his undesired and impractical co-operation. Father Parsons, who had recently returned from Spain, was to go to Madrid (July, 1583) to represent to Philip the English view of the case and to crave Spanish support; but before he left Paris in August, Guise managed to enlist him as an advocate of his new combined plan, which he was to submit, not to Philip, but to the Pope. Parsons travelled under the name of Melino—one of his many aliases—and was instructed by Guise to say that if Philip would send 4,000 good soldiers and contribute money to raise and pay 10,000 more, with arms for 5,000 Englishmen, the affair could be carried through successfully. Parsons was to go to Rome first and earnestly beg the Pope in Guise’s name to provide money liberally, and to leave the whole management of the affair to the King of Spain. Ports, he was to assure the Pope, had already been secured, especially that of Fouldrey, on the Lancashire coast, and troops could be sent from Flanders to join Guise’s force of 6,000 men to land in the South of England. The whole of the North of England and Catholic Scotland was ready to rise, the nobles prepared, and even James of Scotland had now freed himself from the custody of the Ruthvens and smiled upon the enterprise. The Pope was to be asked to issue a Bull approving of the expedition, giving indulgences to all who aided it, and to appoint Dr. Allen Nuncio and Bishop of Durham.

This was the message that Parsons, under the name of Melino, took to Rome; and to any one who knows Philip’s methods it spells failure on the face of it. When the King heard that Parsons had in Guise’s name settled with the Pope what Rome’s contribution was to be, without reference to him, he expressed his annoyance with unwonted energy, for he had no intention of allowing his hands to be forced by priestly meddling or French interference. He had, indeed, by this time, as we shall see presently, gradually allowed himself to entertain the vast project for the conquest and domination of England on his own account, towards which he intended the Pope to contribute, not the comparative trifle demanded by Guise, but the lion’s share of the expense.

At the same time as Parsons went on his way to Rome, Guise despatched to England Charles Paget, who, with Thomas Morgan, had been sent by Mary Stuart to serve as assistants or secretaries to Beton, his mission being to ascertain from the English Catholics what force they could join to Guise’s invading army. Paget, although an Englishman, was ostensibly a devout Guisan, but in strong opposition to the interference of Parsons and the Jesuits in political affairs.⁠[250] From the first he had been a spy in Walsingham’s pay, and to him was owing the perfect knowledge possessed by Elizabeth’s Government of the whole of the present intrigue. The instructions given to him by Guise display more clearly than any other document the utter incompatibility of the views respectively of Philip and Guise with regard to England, and of themselves are sufficient to account for the subsequent exclusion of Guise from all the Spanish plans relating to it. Paget is instructed to discover which port will be most convenient for Guise’s landing, and what strength will join him there. Guise would come with 4,000 or 6,000 men, and desired a port within fifty leagues of Dover. He wished to know what provisions and arms would be ready for him, and much other information was sought. To all of this Philip scattered on the margin when he read the dispatch satirical exclamations at the unreadiness and uncertainty that these inquiries demonstrated; but what finally convinced Philip that Guise was no fit confederate for him was the concluding portion of Paget’s instructions. “Assure the English Catholics, on the faith and honour of Hercules [i.e., Guise], that the enterprise is being undertaken with no other object or intention than to re-establish the Catholic religion in England, and to place the Queen of Scotland peacefully on the English throne, which of right belongs to her. When this is effected the foreigners will immediately retire from the country, and if anyone attempts to frustrate this intention, Hercules [Guise] promises that he and his forces will join the people of the country to compel the foreigners to withdraw.”⁠[251] No wonder that Philip underscored these lines, and that he thenceforward found the whole plan insufficiently matured. Once more he primly deprecated undue haste, and gently put the plan aside with vague professions of sympathy.

Mendoza in England was less cautious than his master. His position, as we have seen, was a humiliating one, as Elizabeth persisted in her refusal to receive him as ambassador, and he was exposed to daily slights from those who took their tone from the Queen. When Charles Paget went to England on Guise’s errand in August-September, 1583, he was directed to Francis Throckmorton for the purpose of obtaining the information he sought; this man being probably the person referred to in the correspondence already quoted, as having been willing to kill Elizabeth a few months previously at Guise’s bidding. However that may be, Throckmorton was an intimate of Mendoza, who had been informed of all that had been discussed in Paris, and both he and Charles Paget, whilst he was in England, were closely watched. Through his numerous spies Walsingham was perfectly aware of all that had been so incautiously handled by Guise; the whole of the invasion project had been known to Elizabeth’s Government for months, and though Charles Paget, who was a spy, was allowed to get clear away to France, no sooner was he gone than the blow fell upon those in England with whom he had conferred.

Francis Throckmorton was arrested, as was the new Earl of Northumberland and his son, whilst the Earl of Arundel was summoned before the Privy Council, and Lord Paget and Charles Arundell (of Wardour) fled to France. Mendoza was deeply concerned at the arrest of his friend Throckmorton, and wrote to Philip an account of it, cautiously worded, but sufficiently inculpatory: “The Catholics are quite cowed.... Only one paper was found upon Throckmorton, containing a list of the principal ports in England, and particulars with regard to them, and the chief gentlemen and Catholics resident in them. For this they carried him at once to the Tower, and it is feared that his life is in danger, although he informed me by a cipher note, written on a playing-card and thrown out of the window, that he denies that the document is in his handwriting, the hand being a disguised one. He told them that some person had thrown it into his house for the purpose of injuring him, and he assures me that he will endure a thousand deaths rather than accuse any one, which message he begs me to convey to his Catholic friends.... I have written to the lady in prison [i.e., Mary Stuart], encouraging her, and begging her not to grieve over the matter to the detriment of her health, but the business, it may be feared, may imperil her life if the negotiations in France are entirely discovered.”⁠[252]⁠

Tassis in Paris was even more despondent, and he feared, what proved to be true, that the rack would soon draw from the prisoner all he knew. Time after time Throckmorton was tormented, as were his brother-in-law and two other relatives, and sufficient was torn from them, together with the known correspondence, to furnish a good pretext at last for expelling Mendoza from England with ignominy. On the 19th January, 1584, a formal summons for him to appear before the Council was handed to him. “If these gentlemen wish to see me in my private capacity,” he replied to Beal, the Secretary, “let them come to my house as I went to theirs when I wanted to see them. But if they are sitting in Council, I would wait upon them, as an ambassador should; but I warn them that if I open my ears to what they have to say, I shall not shut my mouth to answer them, as the service of my master may demand.” He says he gave this answer because he knew the intention was to expel him, and on the Councillors answering that they wished to see him officially, he went to the Lord Chancellor’s house to meet them.

Walsingham spoke Italian better than the rest, and formulated the Queen’s complaint. Mendoza, he said, had conspired with Guise to liberate the Queen of Scots; he was known to be in communication with Mary, with the French plotters, and with Throckmorton, and he must leave the country within fifteen days. “It is strange,” sneered Mendoza, “that the Queen should have summoned them and himself for such a trifle as this. What you tell me are mere dreams, hardly worthy of an answer. These general accusations are absurd, mainly extorted by the rack, and unsupported by details.” Very different were the charges he brought against the Queen of trying to injure his master, King Philip: and he launched out his usual string of complaints, from the seizure of the Spanish treasure fifteen years before to the present helping of Don Antonio against his rightful sovereign. As for his leaving England, that, as his hearers well knew, would delight him, and he would go the moment his master instructed him to do so in answer to a despatch sent by the Queen requesting his recall. The Councillors rose angrily at this and said that nothing of the sort would be done: he must leave England at once: “and they explained their past acts with impertinences that I dare not repeat to your Majesty, the least of them being that I ought to be very thankful that the Queen had not ordered me to be punished for what I had done.”

The blood of the proud Mendozas, the noblest family in Spain, flared out at this: “To my King alone in the world belongs the right of correcting me, and to him alone under heaven am I responsible: so, say no more on that point, unless ye are prepared to fight.” As for the Queen of England punishing him, he laughed at the idea. He would be overjoyed to be gone as soon as a passport was sent to him. She was a lady, and, as such, the least grateful to those who served her best; but, as he had failed to satisfy her as a minister of peace she would in future force him to try whether he would succeed better as a minister of war. Thus Mendoza flung down the gage to England and the Reformation. He had been unpopular in London before, but now the rumour spread through England that he had plotted to kill the Queen, and his life was in the greatest danger from the popular indignation against him. He himself, seeing that the Government refused him the aid of English ships to get away, and the Dutch privateers still swarmed in the narrow seas, was convinced that mischief was meant to him. But he held his head high and boasted more than ever, as slight followed slight from Elizabeth’s ministers, of the overwhelming greatness and power of his master, King Philip, who would avenge with interest all the injuries inflicted upon him and Spain. “Don Bernardino de Mendoza was not born to disturb countries, but to conquer them,” he said in one of his messages to Elizabeth; whilst to Philip himself he passionately wrote with a back-handed reproach: “All their behaviour is on a par with this; and if God had not made you so clement and God-fearing a prince, surely no vassal of yours would consent to serve you in England, seeing the way in which the English treat us: for so powerful an empire as that which God has granted to your Majesty cannot endure such ill-treatment as this for any earthly reward.”⁠[253]⁠

To add to his trouble, he was almost without money, for Philip was the worst paymaster in the world, and he had to bring away with him from England, not only his own great household but the English spies and intermediaries who had served him. “The insolence of these people [i.e., Elizabeth’s Government] has brought me to a state, in which my only desire to live is for the purpose of revenging myself upon them; and I pray that God may let it be soon, and will give me grace to be His instrument of wrath, even though I have to walk barefoot across the world to beg for it. I am sure his Majesty will give such an answer as their insolence merits.”⁠[254]⁠

And so, cursing and reviled, the proud ambassador, with rage in his heart, was hustled out of England, and once more King Philip was face to face with the apparently unsolvable problem of how to gain control of English policy. Five ministers of his had begun hopefully with methods of suave diplomacy, and one after the other had become dangerous conspirators and promoters of treason. Elizabeth and her Government, timidly at first and with many gyrations, had through a long series of years injured with impunity the dearest interests of Spain. The seizure of the treasure had caused the failure of Alba; the constant aid of the Netherlands revolt had prevented the pacification of Flanders; the sheltering of the pirates and privateers in English ports had almost cut off communication between Spain and the Flemish dominions by sea; the depredations of Drake, afloat and ashore, had well-nigh ruined Spain and demonstrated her impotence to the world; whilst the assistance and asylum given to the Portuguese Pretender had rendered incomplete Philip’s hold over the new conquest upon which he based such great hopes.

For five-and-twenty years Philip, against the impatient advice of many of his ministers, had persisted in the belief that his own slow, cautious, diplomatic methods would succeed in conciliating Elizabeth or in substituting for her an instrument more amenable to his hand. The expulsion of Mendoza, in January, 1584, marks the conclusion of the era of peaceful effort. The ambassador left England breathing threats of war and vengeance, and when Philip received the reports of his doings he had no words but those of praise and approbation for them. “You have acted with the same good sense and courage in the manner of your departure as in all else that has happened during your stay in the country. I am entirely satisfied with you, and with your good services, and will take care that they are duly remembered.”

Philip at last had made up his mind: henceforward it must be war to the knife between himself and Elizabeth, and no keener instrument to work the destruction of his enemy could be found than Mendoza, with a bitter personal injury of his own to avenge. From his new post in Paris the ambassador worked incessantly to compass the ruin of the régime in England that had wounded his pride; and for the rest of his active life, until, blind and heartbroken with failure, the brilliant soldier, diplomatist, and historian was shrouded in a monk’s gabardine, Elizabeth had no enemy so indefatigable and rancorous as Don Bernardino de Mendoza. Plans and plots for revolution in England, for the murder of Elizabeth, and for the overthrow by treachery of the Protestant power in favour of Mary Stuart, were the means upon which Mendoza mainly depended.

Philip was willing, in his cool, cautious way, to smile upon such attempts, when he could do so without committing himself prematurely or too far. They might turn out well by chance, and he might reap the harvest where others had sown the grain and nourished it with their blood. But through it all thenceforward there was slowly maturing in Philip’s mind, and preparing in his chancelleries, the great enterprise to which he had been forced by the logic of events—the conquest and domination of England by his own arms and for his own benefit. Such a scheme necessitated patient plotting in every capital in Europe before the material preparations could be even commenced. Of the secret preliminaries, the laborious concentration, and the final disaster of the great Armada in which Philip’s ambitions were wrecked the next chapter will tell.

CHAPTER IX 1584-1588

When the news came of the arrest of Francis Throckmorton and his friends, and the expulsion of Mendoza, in January, 1584, Allen and Parsons were at Tournay busily discussing and arranging with Alexander Farnese, Philip’s viceroy in Flanders, the details of the proposed invasion of England in conjunction with Guise and a rising of English Catholics. At first the English priests affected to believe that the arrests would have no serious effects upon their plans. “If,” they wrote to Philip, “these men had been cast into prison in consequence of our great business, they would, as usual, have been put into the Tower of London; and we feel sure, therefore, that up to the present our adversaries have not discovered any particulars of our plans.”⁠[255] On the contrary, they continue, what has happened should only have the effect of encouraging his Majesty to carry the matter through with greater celerity. “It is nothing short of a miracle that a business known to so many friends for two years past should have remained undiscovered so long; but it cannot remain hidden much longer, so that unless aid comes from abroad at once the Catholics in the island will be utterly ruined. We therefore cast ourselves at the feet of his Majesty, and cry unto him for the love of Jesus Christ that he will not abandon so many suffering souls, who with their hands raised to heaven are looking eagerly for his help. The time is favourable, and every day’s delay is filled with danger.”

Alas! the zealous Churchmen, who were still at this time acting in concert with the Duke of Guise, did not even yet understand the character and aims of Philip. The King, keener sighted than the priests, knew full well that the arrest of the English Catholics and the expulsion of Mendoza meant not only the failure of the loosely-knit plan of invasion with Scottish-Guisan co-operation, but a remodelling of the whole scheme for subduing England to his will. He faced the new problem cautiously and speciously, as was his wont, for he could not afford to alienate the Papacy by avowing political ends, nor dared he at first openly to fly in the face of Guise. Mendoza was summoned to Spain to confer with his master, for Mendoza was always haughtily oblivious to any but purely Spanish means and ends, and to him was confided the entire direction of the English enterprise from the Spanish embassy in Paris, to which he was appointed. But ere he arrived at his post the English Jesuits, recognising, at last, that the Scottish-Guisan plan was really frustrated, had trimmed their sails in the direction most likely to attain the ends they aimed at—namely, that which would best please their Spanish paymaster.

The Vatican, always jealous of Spanish overreaching, still clung to the inclusion of Guise and the attack upon England across the Scottish border;⁠[256] and Beton and other Scottish Catholics naturally followed a lead which offered such prospects for the aggrandisement of their country. But Allen and Parsons were already undeceived, for they had been in close touch with Spanish feeling in Flanders; and when the former was summoned to Paris by Beton and Guise in April, 1584, in order that they might convince him that the Scottish plan was the best, they came to high words, and Allen penned a vigorous defence of his own and the Spanish view. The English Catholics, he said, would never rise and join a force coming from Scotland, owing to the hatred and jealousy between the peoples; the King of Scots’ religion being more than doubtful, moreover, will make people believe that he is trying to conquer England for himself rather than for the Church, and the very Catholics will fight against him and his foreign Catholic allies. A landing in Scotland also, said Allen, would give Elizabeth and her Government time to prepare and mass their forces on the Border, whilst a descent on the Welsh or northern English coasts would find the people ready to welcome their deliverers and secure their footing before the Queen could organise resistance.⁠[257]⁠

Before he surrendered his post to his successor, Mendoza, Tassis, the outgoing Spanish ambassador in Paris, also wrote a weighty memorandum to Philip enforcing the same view, whilst recommending him to send money to the King of Scots to keep him in hand;⁠[258] and thus not many weeks passed from the failure of the combined Guisan and Jesuit plan before the English Jesuit and Spanish elements perfectly understood each other, and agreed that Spain must act alone in England. In May, 1584, Tassis wrote to Philip that Allen and Parsons were both in Paris: “Still of opinion that the enterprise should be directed against England itself, and on no account should it be attempted elsewhere.... Scotsmen here, impatient at the delay, are discussing the possibility of carrying through the business by other aid than that of your Majesty; and, although Allen and Parsons are trying to keep in with them as much as possible, they [i.e., Allen and Parsons] say that the English need no other patron than your Majesty, and they not only look to you for a remedy, but they say that even if you make the Queen of Scotland their Sovereign they hope you will not leave them hastily, or until everything is settled permanently. They also say they would be glad for your Majesty to keep some [English] ports in your hands, the better to assure matters.”⁠[259] This was the thin end of the wedge; and, knowingly or not, the ideas of Allen and Parsons must even thus early have agreed with Philip’s humour at the time.

James Stuart, by his tergiversation, had made himself quite impossible, from Philip’s point of view, as a successor to his mother on the throne of Catholic England. Philip’s own descent from John of Gaunt was undoubted, and already had been quietly mentioned as giving him a claim to succeed to the Crown in default of other Catholic heirs. If England had to be conquered by sheer force and by Spanish arms, Philip was determined to make a complete job of it, and to suffer no more backsliding such as had happened after the death of his wife Mary; so that the suggestion of the Jesuits that the attack should be a frontal one on England itself, and that the Spaniards should retain their hold upon the country even after Mary Stuart had been substituted for Elizabeth, met a ready but cautious echo from the King himself.

Some months before this, when, in August, 1583, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, the great Alvaro de Bazan, had scattered off the Azores the mercenary French and English fleet in the service of the unfortunate Portuguese Pretender, Don Antonio, and the Spanish squadrons, flushed with victory, were ready for more fighting, the famous admiral wrote in exalted strains to the King, praying for his permission to make him King of England. “Your Majesty,” he wrote, “is now so well prepared, and with an army so victorious, that I supplicate you not to miss this chance; for believe me, sire, I have the will to make you King of England and of other realms as well, whence you might with confidence hope to subdue Flanders.” Philip was hardly ready for the step yet; for he had the hard task before him of hoodwinking the Vatican as well as parrying French opposition and Guisan interference, but he wrote to his great admiral: “These are things of which we can hardly speak just yet, for they must depend upon time and circumstances; but in any case I will order the preparations you propose to be made, biscuits to be provided, the building of galleons hastened, and men sent to Flanders to be ready.”⁠[260]⁠

The first necessary step was to secure the financial support of the Pope without letting him know the real object of the proposed invasion. Gregory XIII. was cautious and unambitious, though not unwilling to signalise his pontificate by some great effort against heresy, but, like most Italians, with no desire to aggrandise Spain politically. He was surrounded by Cardinals representing different interests: Medici, D’Este, Gonzaga, Rusticucci, Santorio, and others favouring the French view, which looked with hope towards the conversion of James Stuart and an arrangement with Elizabeth to recognise him as her heir, the real object being, of course, the exclusion of Spanish influence from England. Cardinal Sanzio watched the interests of the House of Guise, while the Secretary of State, Caraffa, Sirleto, Como, Dr. Allen (somewhat later), and the Spanish ambassador, the Count of Olivares, worked craftily and incessantly to forward Philip’s wishes. It will be recollected that when Father Parsons, under the name of Melino, went to Rome at the instance of Guise in the autumn of 1583, to beg the Pope’s assistance in money for the combined Anglo-Scottish project, Gregory XIII. had readily promised what was asked of him, much to Philip’s annoyance. When, therefore, Olivares, in Philip’s name in the spring of the following year, 1584, sounded the Pope upon the much vaster project of invading England with a great force direct, the Pontiff blandly replied that he would contribute what he had promised to Guise through Parsons, and at the same time recommended to Philip the Guisan plan of an invasion of Scotland as a preliminary of the conquest of England for the faith.

It was not so easy, replied Philip, to liberate the King of Scotland, nor was it safe for the Duke of Guise to stir from his house in France unless in great force. If he were to try the Scottish plan he would probably be lost, which would be an irreparable blow to the Catholic cause in France. Then Philip gently pushed James Stuart into the background. He shall be helped with money, of course, and the English Catholics shall be kept in good heart, but the affair is a great one, and will take time and much money if it is to be done with a certainty of success; above all, the Pope must “contribute very largely, and must find ways and means, through his holy zeal, to do much more than any one has yet imagined.”⁠[261]⁠

The stars seemed to favour the Spanish plan. Young Alençon died in June, 1584, and the next heir to the Crown of France was the Huguenot Henry of Navarre. Guise, with his high hopes and the people of Paris at his bidding, was thenceforward more easily brought into obedience to Philip; for upon Spanish forces alone could he depend to aid the French Catholics to resist the accession of a Protestant sovereign. Civil war, indeed, loomed up in France, and from it the Duke of Guise might hope to emerge a king; and in December, 1584, the Catholic league of Philip and Guise was signed at Joinville, by which the King of Spain was left a free hand in English affairs in return for his support of Guise in the rapidly approaching struggle in France. Philip was thus assured, first, that the Huguenots would be too busy to help Elizabeth in her hour of need, and, secondly, that Guise would be too full of his own ambitions in France to interfere with his in England.

The death of Gregory XIII. and the accession of Felice Peretti as Pope Sixtus V. also seemed to favour the Spanish objects. Sixtus was full of vast projects for the spread of orthodox Christianity; he was a man of great ability and boundless ambition, who had waited long for his chance and was determined to make the most of it now it had come, so that Olivares had in future a more ready listener than before to his exhortations on behalf of the Catholic King. But though Sixtus yearned to do great things for the Church, he was determined, as his predecessor had been, not to work for purely Spanish aims to the prejudice of France; and for the next two years a keen war of wits was waged between Olivares and the Pope, the Spaniard seeking to obtain the million ducats subsidy to the English enterprise without pledging his master to any definite course in England after the conquest.

In the meanwhile the long delay was driving Mary Stuart and the English Catholics to desperation. The Queen had been taken from the mild custody of Lord Shrewsbury, and was now kept a close prisoner in the hands of very different gaolers. Her one hope was in Philip and Mendoza; but as month followed month whilst her treatment became harsher and no succour came—for the vast plans of Philip could only be carried out, if at all, with infinite preliminaries—the unhappy woman became almost vehement in her prayers that the movement should be made before it was too late. In November, 1584, she wrote to Mendoza: “Let the end be what it may, and whatever becomes of me, no matter what change may be made in my condition, pray use all diligence in forwarding the execution of the great enterprise without any regard for the personal danger I may incur. I shall look upon my life as well spent if by its sacrifice I can help to relieve the multitude of oppressed children of the Holy Catholic Church.” Both she and Mendoza believed at this time that her life was in danger unless the Spanish attack was delivered in time to avert the supposed evil intention, and the ambassador, writing to Philip, added his own supplications to those of the Queen that no more time should be lost.

What Mendoza dreaded even more than Mary’s murder by the English, was the possibility of her escape by their means, as she would then owe her life to heretics, and would thereafter presumably be an untrustworthy instrument against them. “If, on the contrary, she perish, as may be feared, it cannot fail to bring scandal and reproach upon your Majesty, because as you are, after her, the nearest Catholic heir of the blood royal of England, some false suspicion might be aroused at your having abandoned the good Queen to be ruined by the heretics, in order to open the door to your Majesty’s own advantage.”⁠[262] This idea of Philip’s claim to the English succession was industriously kept alive by Allen, Parsons, and Hugh Owen, who had been appointed a committee to advise the Duke of Parma in Flanders with regard to the English enterprise, until the breaking out of the civil war in France, and the open support given to the Dutch rebels and Huguenots by Elizabeth, changed the centre of intrigue from Flanders to Rome; and Allen and Parsons were sent thither to work in favour of the Spanish plans.

For the scheme was surely growing now into a vast expedition, ostensibly to place Mary Stuart upon the throne of England, but really to make Philip master of the country, with or without the nominal sovereignty. Deeply though France was plunged in civil war, with Guise in arms tyrannising over the King, the French interest was still strong, and, both at Rome and elsewhere, would struggle its hardest against anything like a Spanish domination of England. Nor were the Italians in love with the idea of a conquest that would make Philip supreme in Europe, and consequently all the skill, boldness, and cunning of Spanish diplomacy was concentrated in Rome to obtain by false pretences from the Church the vast sums required for the conquest of England. With the weak attempts of the French Government itself to avert the danger Philip could easily deal. The French ministers proposed to Mendoza in June, 1585, that Spain and France jointly should invade England in favour of Mary Stuart. Philip understood the object at once, and in his usual way, with much sanctimonious verbiage, asked for a multitude of pledges and particulars, as if he entertained the proposal, whilst he continued his own stealthy preliminaries in Rome for the purely Spanish enterprise, for which others might pay but he alone must direct.⁠[263] When the leader of the French party in the Vatican, Cardinal D’Este, soon after this tried to persuade the Pope that the best and safest course for the Church would be to aid Guise to direct the English enterprise and make James Stuart King of Britain after his mother’s death, another line had to be taken by Philip. Then Olivares boldly told the Pope that D’Este, like so many of his house, was a bad Catholic, who sought to bring about the victory of heresy in France and the consequent downfall of the Guises. Let the Pope secure the triumph of Guise and the faith in France first, urged Olivares, and the English enterprise could be undertaken afterwards.

Sixtus V. was willing, nay anxious, to allow the conquest to be undertaken by Spain alone, recognising that the French Catholics could not now safely be allowed to exhaust their strength in a foreign war; but he always hoped that James’s constant assurances of Catholic sympathies might be sincere, and that Mary Stuart might be duly succeeded by her son under Catholic auspices. Guise also was constantly plied with arguments by Mendoza on Philip’s orders, directed to divert him from all ideas of England. “Warn him [Guise] against making any agreement with his enemies,” wrote Philip, on the 17th August, 1585, “and open his eyes with regard to the English enterprise. Point out to him the danger he runs if he allows himself to be cajoled into leaving his home and country before he has humbled his rivals and converted or expelled the heretics, and how much deceived he might find himself when he wished to return to France from such an attempt.... Tell the French first to put an end to the heretics in their own country, and afterwards we can deal with them elsewhere.”⁠[264]⁠

The sinister activity of Philip’s agents in Rome and the vapouring of the English Catholic refugees in Spanish Flanders, had in the meanwhile aroused the distrust of Elizabeth and her Government. Ever since Philip had captured Portugal and obtained thus the command of the Atlantic, the Puritan element in the English Court, led by Leicester and Walsingham, had promoted attempts, through Don Antonio and otherwise, to strike a crushing blow at the Spanish naval power in Europe. Drake’s depredations in the Pacific had been a terrible loss to Spain, both in a moral and material sense, and the English seamen were eager to return to the charge, in order to anticipate and frustrate the evil which most of them believed was being plotted against their country by the quiet, stealthy little elderly man far away in the mountains of Castile. Elizabeth and Cecil detested to face responsibility; and although the Queen was willing to accept the benefit of accomplished facts, she usually set her face against assuming an attitude of open hostility to Spain when she could avoid it. Leicester had at last, in the autumn of 1585, induced her to accept, with much misgiving, the practical protection of the rebel Dutch States, and this was naturally assumed by Philip as an act of open war. Thenceforward any means for injuring the English were considered legitimate by the King of Spain.

In the spring of 1585 a large number of English ships had been induced, on a promise of immunity from molestation, to carry cargoes of grain to the northern ports of Spain, where famine was impending. One of these ships, the Primrose, was discharging her cargo off Portugalete, near Bilbao, when, as the English sailors averred, the Lieutenant-Governor of Biscay and a force of men disguised as merchants boarded the ship and suddenly called upon the Englishmen to surrender. Though taken by surprise, the crew turned upon the intruders and threw them all overboard, though some were subsequently rescued by the English, amongst them the Lieutenant-Governor himself; whereupon the Primrose, carrying her prisoners with her, immediately set sail to England, with the news of the treachery, the official orders found upon the person of the half-drowned Lieutenant-Governor being to the effect that the ships were all to be captured to help the expedition contemplated for the invasion of England. At all events, the rest of the English ships were captured, Philip’s own pretext for the act being that it was in reprisal for the daring abduction by the Primrose of the Lieutenant-Governor.⁠[265]⁠

No sooner did the news reach England than the country burst into a chorus of indignation, and the sailors and Puritans, who had so long urged an active policy against Spain on the sea, found that all Englishmen were now with them.⁠[266] It was no longer to be a timid support of the Portuguese Pretender, or a surreptitious sheltering of Dutch and Huguenot privateers, but an avowed public movement, and London and the western ports of England came openly with subscriptions, to which the Queen contributed largely, for a joint-stock fleet under Drake, to avenge the capture of English ships, and to injure Spanish shipping wherever it could be found. This was open war; and through the summer and autumn of 1585 Philip’s spies in England continued to send him alarming news of the great preparations for a naval expedition against him under the dreaded Drake. Sometimes it was said to be another attempt to place Don Antonio on the Portuguese throne, sometimes it was the Spanish silver fleet that was to be met and plundered on its way home, and so forth; but whatever it was it boded ill to Philip’s ships, with Drake in command of his foes. Retaliatory embargoes were placed once more on Spanish property in England, and the two countries thenceforward were practically at war.

The enthusiasm in England knew no bounds; and when Drake and his sea-dogs Fenner, Wynter, and Frobisher sailed out of Plymouth with twenty-one stout craft and many pinnaces well armed, on the 14th September, 1585, every one in England knew that Philip’s secret plotting was to be met by open action. Capturing the Spanish ships, they met, Drake and his company in a few days, came to anchor off the Bayona Isles in Galicia, and landed a force of men. “What want ye here,” asked the terrified townsmen, far from succour. “We come,” said Drake, “for the Englishmen ye have in your prisons, and for the English merchandise ye have stolen.” The people could only give them fair words and presents of country produce, for the English ships had not been captured there. Burning a chapel and its contents, the English force then sailed to the great harbour of Vigo, where they looted all they could lay their hands upon. Here again the people came to parley, and Frobisher, who spoke good Spanish, was the spokesman of the English. “We want our countrymen and our stolen goods restored to us,” he said; and the Spaniards were ready to promise this or anything if the valuables just seized by the English were returned. Banquets and palavers followed, but they were full of distrust, and nothing came of them; for Drake saw that his enemies were but delaying until help should arrive. So, capturing all he could catch in Vigo Bay, he sailed away on his West India voyage, intending to assail the Spanish colonial power in its three principal western centres. Philip was astounded at the boldness of the attack, the first upon Spanish soil itself, not, as he was careful to explain, because of the material damage suffered, which was small, but for the “insolence” of the thing; but withal, it took six months of frenzied effort before Alvaro de Bazan could muster a Spanish fleet fit to pursue the bold Devonshire sailor, who was devastating the West Indies.

The departure of Leicester and a strong English army to Holland, at the end of 1585, finally brought England and Spain nationally face to face in the field. We have witnessed the slow process by which Philip and Elizabeth, both haters of war, had been drawn into this position. For the former it was vital that England should be amenable to his direction in foreign policy, or the cause for which he lived was doomed, and the decadence of Spain as a dominant power in Europe was certain; and, with his patient, inflexible belief in the fated triumph of his methods, he had striven through twenty-eight years to secure his object by peaceful means. He had failed, and it was to be war after all. Not now against a Queen whose throne was unstable, but against a popular sovereign and a nation which, since he had seen it, had been born to a new sense of power, a consciousness of potential grandeur, and a determination to live its own life without interference from its neighbours. But though Philip’s plans were thus changed late in the struggle and he saw himself faced by new forces, he, at least, never doubted of the result. For him the idea of failure, in a cause that in his eyes was that of God Himself, was impossible. With a limited mental scope, which shut out all views but one, he was incapable of understanding that there were two sides to every question, or that Elizabeth was actuated in her resistance to his advances by anything else than an impious desire to do evil for evil’s sake. A small spice of imagination would have enabled him to see that she was fighting for her own and her country’s life and greatness, as surely as he was fighting for his; and perchance the knowledge might have made harmony, or at least neutrality, possible. But, given Philip’s character and Elizabeth’s circumstances, it was inevitable, after the autumn of 1585, that the antagonists should come to close grip, and that one or the other should be reduced to impotence for harm.

Philip was convinced of this at last, and with his leaden-footed deliberation he set about making success as certain as he knew how to make it. He was laborious, unsparing of himself and others, a man of great personal ability, sagacious and wise within his limitations; but his ingrained distrust of other men—part of his father’s teaching—led him to take upon himself the care of every detail in all his enterprises and deprived his officers of initiative and independence. From his cell in the Escorial, far away and difficult of access from the coast, he insisted upon pulling the wires which controlled the smallest actions of his subordinates, and we shall see how in the crowning effort of his life these fatal characteristics cast a blight over the vast enterprise, upon which depended the fate of Christendom for centuries.

There were many difficulties to overcome before the material preparations could even be commenced. First there was Sixtus to persuade, which was not an easy task. Olivares and Allen worked hard in Rome to convince him that Philip was moved solely by religious zeal, and not by a desire for revenge or aggrandisement, in projecting the expedition. “I have plied him,” wrote Olivares, “with every argument ... but in addition to his natural tenacity and his buckler of precedents, I have been much hampered with the news of your Majesty’s preparations which pour in from all quarters.” The Guisan and Italian Cardinals, too, were for ever undoing one day what Olivares and Allen with Caraffa had effected the day before. The Scottish and Welsh Catholic clergy in Rome, too, especially Dr. Owen Lewis, Bishop of Cassano, and even many of the English secular clergy, were strongly opposed to what they feared would mean a Spanish domination of the island; and between the opposing factions and his disinclination to part with the vast sum of money demanded of him, Sixtus was not easy to bend to Philip’s will. At length, after much friction and many quarrels, Olivares was obliged to be content with the Pope’s promise of a million ducats towards the subjection of England; but no persuasion or pressure could move Sixtus to provide any part of this sum until after the Spanish army had secured a footing on the island. A more delicate matter even than this was the question of the sovereignty of England after the death of Mary Stuart. Sixtus now usually agreed—though he often wavered on the point—that James Stuart was not to be trusted; and in compliance with Philip’s argument that a successor to Mary should be chosen before she was placed upon the English throne, in order to prevent her from forcing her son as her heir afterwards, the Pope was at length brought to agree to leave the choice of the future Sovereign of England to the King of Spain, though he pleaded hard that the person chosen should be an Englishman.⁠[267]⁠

Whilst Olivares in Rome, with imperious boldness, was managing the Pope, Mendoza in Paris, with equal skill, was keeping Guise in hand, pointing out the great destiny that awaited him in France, and the shame of allowing a heretic King to succeed to the “most Christian” Crown. At the same time he maintained a close correspondence with Mary Stuart and the disaffected section of English Catholics who were represented as yearning for the coming of King Philip’s liberating fleet. Mary was sore and angry at what she thought an unjustifiable delay on the part of Philip, and was incessant in her prayers, through Mendoza, that she should be liberated before it was too late. Most of her intermediaries were false, and her secret correspondence was known to Walsingham and Elizabeth, but with Mary’s unhappy trustfulness she never failed to seize upon any chance, however dangerous, by which her great ambition might, perhaps, be served.

In the middle of May, 1586, Charles Paget, who was still one of Mary’s agents in Paris, came to Mendoza, bringing with him an English priest named Ballard, who had been sent by a number of Catholics, especially in Lancashire and the North, to represent to him that: “God had infused more courage than ever into them, and had convinced them that no time was so opportune as the present to shake off the oppression of the Queen and the yoke of heresy that weighs upon them, as most of the strongest heretics are now absent in Zeeland. They say that I have never deceived them, and they beg me to tell them whether your Majesty had determined to help them to take up arms when they decided to do so.”⁠[268] Mendoza had but a general expression of sympathy to reply to this; for though the great fleet of conquest projected in Spain was already the talk of Europe, to Philip’s officers it was still supposed to be an inviolate secret. This inquiry of the English Catholics, however, was not John Ballard’s real reason for coming to see Mendoza. He handed him a letter from four English Catholics who had access to Elizabeth’s Court, in which they promised to kill the Queen either by poison or by steel if they were assured of Philip’s help after the deed was done. Mendoza ciphered the letter himself and sent it to Philip’s secretary, but as John Ballard did not broach the subject verbally Mendoza’s disinclination to give any pledges kept Ballard in Paris beating about the bush in doubt for many weeks. Parsons, who was a good hater, asserted ten years afterwards⁠[269] that the whole scheme of Ballard and Gifford was promoted by Paget and Morgan, Mary Stuart’s correspondents in Paris, for the purpose of frustrating the purely Spanish attack upon England, to which they are represented as being bitterly hostile, and that Walsingham was informed of the plot with the same object. Paget was, and continued to be, a pensioner of Spain, and Morgan, who was entirely trusted by Mary, was also richly rewarded by Philip, at her request; but there is no reason to doubt the positive assertions of Parsons that both of them belonged to the anti-Jesuit party, to which, indeed, most English as well as the Scottish and Welsh Catholics adhered; and that by every means they endeavoured to frustrate what Allen and the Jesuits tried so hard to promote—a Spanish domination of England.

Whilst Ballard waited in Paris the reply of Mendoza, the latter received important letters from Mary Stuart, who at last had been able, by Morgan’s contrivance, to reopen correspondence with the outer world, little dreaming, poor soul, that the facilities provided were only a trap of her enemies. This was the first time she had communicated with Mendoza since his arrival in Paris a year before, and William Paget, the brother of Charles, was her messenger. He was to make certain proposals to him for Philip’s aid to “our designs”; but by far the most important part of the message came afterwards. The continued heresy of her son James had, she said, well-nigh broken her heart, and in order to secure the triumph of the Church “I will cede and make over by will to the King your master my right to the succession of the English Crown, and ask him to take me in future entirely under his protection, and also the affairs of this country. For the discharge of my own conscience I could not hope to place them in the hands of a Prince more zealous in our Catholic faith or more capable in all respects of re-establishing it in this country.... I am obliged in this matter to prefer the public welfare of the Church to the aggrandisement of my posterity.”

Thus Mary finally embraced the Jesuit view which looked forward to a Spanish sovereignty over England to the detriment of her son and Scotland, and in opposition to many of her friends and adherents in England and France.⁠[270] To the King of Spain this renunciation of her son by Mary was of profound significance. His own English descent had never been lost sight of, but here his claim was rendered legitimate apart from his ancestry; and Mendoza, though when he received Mary’s letter he had just been couched for cataract and was temporarily blind, caused a reply to be written to the Queen warmly commending her saintly resolution. She saw, he said, how evil her son was disposed, and the French had done little enough for her, whereas Philip had always befriended her. “Moreover,” he wrote to Philip, “failing the Queen of Scots and her son, your Majesty is the direct legitimate heir to the Crown of England. Cecil, the Lord Treasurer, was in the habit of saying that the Duchy of Lancaster had been unlawfully usurped from your Majesty.”⁠[271] No wonder that Philip replied to this in what was for him an unusually effusive strain: “She [Mary Stuart] has greatly risen in my estimation in consequence of what she says, and has much increased the devotion I have always felt for her interests, not so much because of what she says in my favour, though I am very grateful for that also, as because she postpones her love for her son, which might be expected to lead her astray, for the service of our Lord, the good of Christendom, and the salvation of England. Tell her all this from me, and assure her that if she perseveres in the good path she has chosen I hope that God will bless her by placing her in possession of her own. You will add that I shall be happy to undertake the protection of her person and interests as she requests.”⁠[272]⁠

This move of Mary’s made it necessary for Philip to handle the question of the succession with more caution than ever in Rome, for if once the French and Italian Churchmen thought that he meant to seize the Crown of England for himself, half Europe would have been ready to oppose him. So Olivares was ordered to “keep constantly before the eyes of his Holiness the advisability of choosing some firm Catholic, who on the exclusion of the King of Scots should take his place, and it is equally important to keep his Holiness to the point, binding him to agree to my nomination of a fit successor to the Queen of Scots in England.” The reply from Philip gave Mary new hope. She had been deeply discouraged at the repeated failures of attempts to rescue her and overthrow Elizabeth, and the long delay of any effective aid from Philip had well-nigh driven her to despair. But now, surely, a new era of success was opening to her. Rumours reached even her in her prison of the great preparations being made in the Spanish and Portuguese ports for some vast naval enterprise; whilst the open war between Elizabeth’s troops and the Spaniards in Zeeland seemed to Mary to make certain and near the hour when Philip’s arms should avenge the injuries done to him by finally crushing the heretic Queen and substituting Mary for her. Many times in the last six months, she wrote to Mendoza, she had turned a deaf ear to proposals of English Catholics for her deliverance: “But now that I hear of the good intentions of the Catholic King towards us I have written to the principal leaders of the Catholics here a full statement of my views on all points of the execution of the enterprise. To save time I have ordered them to send to you with all speed one of their number, fully instructed to treat with you, in accordance with the promises given to you in general terms, and to lay before you all the requests they wish to make to the King. I assure you, on their faithful promise given to me, that they will carry out their undertakings, even at the risk of their lives. I therefore beg you to give full credit to their messenger as if I had sent him myself. He will tell you the means they have for getting me away from here, which I will attempt to effect on my own account if I am assured of armed aid.”⁠[273]⁠

Almost simultaneously with this the group of English Catholics who had sent Ballard to Mendoza in May were able to supply the ambassador with the details and assurances he had requested to prove the seriousness of their intention. Their envoy on this occasion was Gilbert Gifford, brother of the Dean of Lille, and, according to Parsons, a strong opponent of the Spanish-Jesuit party. He unfolded to Mendoza the existence of a vast conspiracy in England, in which most of the Catholic nobles were implicated. The Earl of Arundel, son of the late Duke of Norfolk, and most of his kinsmen, with a score or so of other noblemen and gentry whose names Mendoza sent to Philip, were ready to rise in force whenever they were advised that the Spanish fleet was approaching. Sir William Stanley, in command of a large body of Irishmen intended for Flanders, would delay his departure if possible, revolt against the Queen, and join the invaders; the English force in Ireland under Bele would do likewise, whilst Claude Hamilton and a force of Scots would join the Catholics of the North on the signal being given. The very heretics themselves, they said, were ripe for revolution, tired of the burden of taxation; but, above all, a young man named Babington and some six confederates⁠[274] had determined to kill Queen Elizabeth, in accordance with the suggestion previously made by them through Ballard. They only asked that Spain should support them when the deed was done. No Frenchmen should be concerned in the business, but promptitude was now vital, for every hour increased the risk of discovery; and they prayed Philip to let them know at once what he would do to rescue England.

Mendoza jumped at all these proposals, for, according to Gifford, the greatest men in England were pledged to the rising—as apart from Babington’s murder plot; even the moderate Catholics being pledged to it. Two letters went off at once from the Spaniard to the heads of the enterprise, “praising the proposal as it deserved, as it was so Christian, just, and advantageous to our holy faith and to your Majesty’s service, worthy of spirits so Catholic as theirs and of the ancient valour of Englishmen.” If they succeeded in killing the Queen, promised Mendoza without authority, they should have the assistance they required from the Netherlands, and the assurance that King Philip would succour them. “I promised them this on my faith and word, urging them to hasten the execution.” Directly they had despatched the Queen, wrote Mendoza to them, let them seize Don Antonio and the Portuguese with him and lodge him in the Tower; get Sir William Stanley to seize the Queen’s fleet, unless Lord Admiral Howard was a trustworthy party to the plot, and let them be sure to kill Cecil, Walsingham, Hunsdon, Knollys, and Beal at the same time as the Queen.

Mendoza’s hatred of Elizabeth outran his discretion, and in conveying all this to Philip he wrote: “Of all the plots they have hatched these many years past none have been apparently so serious as this. They have never before proposed to make away with the Queen, which is now the first step they intend to take. As she so richly deserves her punishment, it may be believed that God has heard the groans of the afflicted Catholics and desires to bring it upon her thus swiftly. Let Him dispose as He will; but if, for our sins, He shall ordain that it do not succeed there will be much Catholic blood shed in England. Up to the present your Majesty is pledged no further than the risk of 100,000 crowns, which have been given to the priests sent thither, and if secrecy be kept we need only watch what comes of it. If the Queen falls the country will submit without bloodshed, and the Netherlands war will be at an end.”

Philip was horrified when he received this letter, and scribbled upon its margin, in that appalling scrawl of his, scornful comments which showed that his cold, secretive nature rebelled against the rash enthusiasm of his usually discreet Mendoza. How could such a secret be kept, he asked, if all these people were chattering about it? How could the schismatics, or outwardly conforming Catholics, be trusted? They were mere heretics and no better; and how imprudent of Mendoza, his ambassador, to send to the conspirators two such compromising letters as those mentioned! Philip had heard too often in the past of such plots as this, and he had thrown away already too much money in subsidising such adventures. Nothing but conquest, he was convinced, would serve his turn now; and to that end he was bending all his energies night and day, penning the Pope closer into the corner, inflaming more than ever the French ambitions of Guise, and fomenting trouble in France; and, above all, collecting stores, arms, and ships from all his vast dominions to crush Elizabeth for good and for all in the interests of the Church and Spain.

But, withal, Philip was not a man to throw away a chance if he could gain it with a minimum of responsibility, and he blended his somewhat caustic remarks upon the lack of secrecy and caution displayed with saintly approval of the plan to murder his sister-in-law. “As the affair is so much in God’s service,” he wrote to Mendoza on the 5th September, “it certainly deserves to be supported, and we hope that our Lord will prosper it, unless our sins are an impediment thereto. It appears to be based upon a solid foundation and to have the support of many Catholics, but it is difficult to keep a secret entrusted to so many people, and it causes me anxiety that it should be so widespread, and even schismatics let into the secret.... But the importance of the matter is great, and perhaps the time has arrived when God will strike for His own cause.” Philip left in no doubt his own attitude with regard to the matter. The Spanish aid should be ready, but should not be sent until the murder of Elizabeth had been effected. Let the “principal executions” be done, he urged, without a moment’s delay. “Everything depends upon the one act which is to be the commencement. When this is done they may with one voice acclaim it, and the way will be clear, whilst if the intention is discovered before its execution each one will be destroyed separately and union will be impossible. As all hangs upon this, and the cause is God’s own, we must hope that He will prosper it.”

Gifford was sent on his way to England with the King’s message, and soon the heavy hand of Walsingham fell upon the conspirators, who had all through been living in a fool’s paradise, betrayed, as was Mary herself, by the instruments they thought so trusty and faithful. Philip had been right in his distrust; once more conspiracy subsidised by Spanish intrigue and money had failed, more disastrously this time than ever before; and the King of Spain, whilst deploring in conventional terms the dire fate of most of those upon whom he had depended for an auxiliary movement in England on the approach of his fleet, accepted the reverse with stolid philosophy. In one respect, indeed, it was to some extent a relief to him. There is no doubt that he greatly esteemed Mary Stuart for her steadfast Catholicism, and would have placed her upon the throne of England if his attempt at conquest had been successful during her life; but there was always lurking in the background the fear that after her accession she might be drawn by French intrigue or maternal solicitude to adopt her son as her heir, in which case Philip’s vast efforts and expenditure might have been in vain. But with Mary a condemned prisoner, whose head might fall at any moment, it was the present rather than the future sovereignty of England that was now to be decided, and slowly, with the aid of Parsons and Allen, the claims of Philip to the English succession were advanced tentatively even in England itself, though not, as we shall presently see, with any intention of his personally assuming the sovereignty after Elizabeth was disposed of.

The question of Mary Stuart’s complicity in Babington’s murder-project is one that does not directly concern us here, but there can be but little doubt that, even though it was not conveyed to her in so many words, she was well aware of the whole plan.⁠[275] At least Mendoza, who should have known, believed that she was; for on the collapse of the conspiracy he wrote to Philip: “I am of opinion that the Queen of Scotland must be well acquainted with the whole affair, to judge by the contents of a letter she has written to me.... Doubtless it is God’s will to give England to your Majesty by the strong arm only, since He has allowed so much Catholic blood to be lost, as will be shed by the discovery of this business. Nothing has been said yet about my letters, but even if they were discovered and printed they are so worded that another construction could be placed upon them.” Mendoza was too sanguine in this respect. His letters were read and his conversations with the messengers repeated. There was no need on the part of Elizabeth and Walsingham to go out of their way to put harmless constructions upon his words, which, indeed, were plain enough, and a shout of execration went up all over England at an ambassador who thus connived at the murder of a sovereign and a lady.

Already the alarming reports of spies had aroused the worst fears of Elizabeth and her people. The Queen, particularly, dreaded the vengeance which seemed hanging over her. For years she had defied Philip and had beaten him in the game of diplomacy, depending for her immunity upon the continued war in the Netherlands and upon Philip’s distrust of France. But she saw that France could not help her now, whatever her extremity, for the Guises were in arms and the wretched fribble upon the throne was but a straw borne hither and thither upon the tempest, whilst the Huguenots were grimly awaiting the hour when they themselves would have to fight for freedom and for life. The war in Zeeland, moreover, was now only maintained by English help, and when the dreaded Spanish descent upon England was made Elizabeth would have to abandon the Dutch Protestants to their fate, and the last bulwark of Reform would be submerged by the flood of Spanish popery.

Once more Elizabeth played the outworn game that had served her turn so often before. Andrea de Loo and many other intermediaries hurried backwards and forwards at the instance of Burghley between London and Flanders, impressing upon the Duke of Parma the English Queen’s earnest desire to come to terms with her “good brother.” Let the Pacification of Ghent, which had been accepted in the time of Don Juan, be re-enacted and all might be settled; let a conference meet, in which mutual grievances might be arranged, and England and Spain should live happy together ever after. But Parma for a time gave stiff answers to all this, much as he knew that Flanders needed peace, for Philip kept him in the dark as to his real intentions, and he dared not act without precise instructions from the King. Other attempts were made to reopen the trade negotiations through Portuguese agents with a view to a general agreement, but Philip was irresponsive now; for after half a lifetime of hesitation he had finally made up his mind. England must be conquered by the sword wielded by his hand alone; and although he might feign to talk of peace to suit his purpose, there was in his slow-moving, inflexible mind thenceforward no peace possible with England until Elizabeth and her Government had been crushed.

Another spirited attempt was made by Elizabeth to reach Philip direct. Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, the famous explorer and Governor of Patagonia, had been captured at sea by one of Raleigh’s ships. Usually such men were held for heavy ransom, but Sarmiento was received by the Queen at Windsor with every witchery she knew how to exert, and was impressed with her sorrow that such unhappy relations existed—God knew from no fault of hers—between her people and the Spaniards. Would Sarmiento convey a letter to his King, accepting his liberation as a reward for his doing so? Naturally nothing would suit Sarmiento better, and Raleigh carried him with all distinction to Durham House as his honoured guest, plying him with assurances of Sir Walter’s desire to serve the King of Spain by putting a stop to all this piracy, of which the Queen herself and Lord Treasurer Burghley disapproved. Besides this, he (Raleigh) would sell a fine ship of his to Philip for 5,000 crowns, would prevent any more aid being given to Don Antonio, and would, indeed, become Philip’s humble servant in England. This was, doubtless, nothing but one of the usual mystifications to divert Philip; but the Queen herself gave a cordial verbal message to Sarmiento for the King, saying that she was really anxious to let bygones be bygones and make a durable peace. Sarmiento left London in November, 1586, and gave his message to Mendoza in Paris, but on his way to Spain was unlucky enough to be captured again, by Huguenots this time, near the Pyrenean frontier, and all Elizabeth’s and Raleigh’s influence was exerted to secure his prompt release. By all means accept Raleigh’s offer to prevent further aid being given to Don Antonio and to stop piracy, wrote Philip; but to the suggestions for direct peace negotiations he made no reply.

In the meanwhile the arsenals and harbours of Philip’s realms were ringing with preparations for the great enterprise. The peace conference so much desired by Elizabeth might meet in Flanders and talk, but no pause was made in the feverish activity in the Spanish preliminaries for war. Old Santa Cruz had waited patiently after the King’s gentle rebuff to him in 1583,⁠[276] until the circumstances detailed in the foregoing pages had rendered war with England inevitable early in 1586, when he wrote to the King from Lisbon a letter full of fiery zeal, recalling his former offer to conquer England when his victorious fleet was ready, and deploring the shame that had fallen upon Spain since by reason of the continued insults and injuries inflicted upon it by the heretics, much to the material gain and moral prestige of the Queen of England. They had, he said, plundered a million and a half of ducats in the last five months, and had defied the King of Spain successfully at all points. Everything was now propitious, urged the admiral, for dealing a final blow at these daring heretics, and he prayed the King to arise in his wrath and smite his enemy before the occasion passed. “I am not moved to this,” he proudly added, “by a desire for fresh battles or the ambition for new victories, but by no other motive than the service of God and your Majesty.”

This time the hero’s appeal found the King ready, for all his peaceful diplomacy had failed to bring England to his side; and Santa Cruz was requested to submit to the King a plan for carrying out the enterprise he proposed. It took Santa Cruz two months, as he says, to draw up from his papers and the experience of forty years at sea a complete scheme for the irresistible descent upon England; and the estimate with which he furnished Philip stands to-day, after three centuries and a quarter, an unexampled monument of foresight, skill, and boldness. Nothing was forgotten in this prodigious estimate: naval and military requisites, arms, stores, clothing and material, down to the minutest detail, are set forth, with estimates of price and with surprising clearness; the salaries to be paid to men of every rank are given; the weight and bulk of every article, the best place where it may be obtained, the rations to be provided, and the discipline to be observed on land and sea, are all written in due order, and to such a lover of formal papers as Philip the estimate of Santa Cruz must have been a pure delight from the bureaucratic point of view.

Not so, however, with regard to the concentrated magnitude of the demands, greater than had ever been made for such an enterprise before. Santa Cruz wanted for the invasion of England 150 great ships, 40 store hulks, 320 small craft of 50 to 80 tons burden, 40 galleys and 6 galleasses, or 556 sail in all, besides 40 skiffs and 200 landing rafts. There were needed 30,000 sailors and nearly 64,000 soldiers, with 1,600 cavalry horses, all to be shipped from Spain, and this enormous multitude was to be provisioned beforehand for eight months with food and water. Deducting the ordinary cost of armaments in Spain, the extra estimated expense to be incurred by the enterprise was placed by Santa Cruz at 3,800,000 ducats.⁠[277] The sum in money was much greater than Philip had ever had to provide in Spain for any one enterprise before, and it took him aback now. The Pope, it is true, had promised a million ducats, but not a soldo would he pay beforehand, and the Italian States might be coerced into contributing; but the bulk of this vast sum in ready money had to be wrung somehow out of already exhausted Castile, and, anxious as Philip was to make assurance doubly sure, he knew that this was impossible; so Santa Cruz’s estimates had to be modified.

The opportunity for the invasion, nevertheless, was one that could hardly be expected to recur. The cup of Elizabeth’s provocations was full to the brim, and her anxiety to open peace negotiations proved her own apprehensions. France, for almost the first time, was paralysed and could not interfere. Leicester’s ineptitude in Holland had even turned the feeling of the Dutch against their protectors, whilst many of the English troops and their leaders, such as Roland York, Sir W. Stanley, and Colonel Semple had deserted to the Spanish side and had delivered to Parma the fortresses occupied by them. The Turk, moreover, was for the time harmless, and Don Antonio was already a discredited and waning force. So, although Philip did not approve of Santa Cruz’s plan that the whole army should be embarked in Spain, he gave orders that the arsenals and dockyards should work night and day, and through Spain and Portugal, Sicily, Naples, and Lombardy there rang the echoes of warlike preparations such as they had never known before; whilst the recluse of the Escorial, shutting himself away from all other tasks, took counsel how he might effect his purpose with the means at his disposal.

It is not to be supposed that the French and Scottish faction would sit tamely by and see without an effort the whole enterprise of England fall into the hands of Spain. The conversion of James Stuart was still a fervent hope with many who dreaded to see a Spanish king supreme in Britain; and the English Jesuit faction had to fight hard against the Welsh, Scottish, French, and many English Catholics at home and abroad. James Stuart himself and the Scottish Catholic nobles were fully alive to the danger that threatened. The Scottish nobles, with the secret connivance of James, made a bold attempt to associate themselves with Philip’s invasion, and to bring Guise again into the combination. Huntly, Morton, Claude Hamilton, Crawford, and Montrose, in the summer of 1586, sent one Robert Bruce with three blank signed papers to the Duke of Guise in Paris, where the letters over the signatures were written at Guise’s dictation and addressed to Philip,⁠[278] begging him to listen to the verbal proposals of their envoy, Bruce. Guise and Beton introduced Bruce to Mendoza, and the gist of the proposals was that Philip should send to the Scottish Catholics 150,000 crowns to raise and arm soldiers, whom they would maintain for a year, and they also asked that a foreign force of 6,000 men should be sent to Scotland to secure the triumph of the Catholics, in consideration of which they promised to place at his disposal one or more ports in the south of Scotland to serve as a shelter and a base of operations against England. Mendoza understood, as indeed did all experienced fighting-men, the immense importance of the latter suggestion; for Santa Cruz from the first had insisted upon the need of seizing harbours in the Channel in case of contrary weather; and Bruce was sped on his way to see Philip with all the support that the ambassador could give him.

But Philip had had enough of Guisan meddling, and he had no intention of allowing the supreme effort he was making to be used for the benefit of any one but himself, and least of all for that of shuffling James Stuart. As usual, he did not say no plainly, for he had no wish to alienate the Scottish Catholics, or to arouse suspicions of his motives anywhere. So, gently suggesting doubts and difficulties, he referred the question to Mendoza and Parma for report, sending Bruce back to Paris with “fair words” and a letter to Guise “praising the zeal which moves you to strive so sincerely for the promotion of our holy Catholic faith.” Mendoza was directed to keep the Scots in hand, to suggest that they should ask the Pope for the money they needed, and to flatter Guise as much as he thought necessary; all of which meant that Philip would not bind himself to Scot or Frenchman in the execution of his project, though, if on their own account and at their own risk they cared to divert his enemy, he had, of course, no objection to their doing so. But the offer of one or two safe ports in Scotland near the English border was one not lightly to be refused—its acceptance, indeed, might have changed the whole course of history—and Mendoza, an experienced soldier, wrote in October, 1586, to Parma strongly urging that the offer of the Scottish Catholics should be sympathetically entertained, in order that a diversion might thus be effected in the North simultaneously with the Spanish invasion of the South of England; though here commended that full inquiries should be first made to ascertain to what extent Huntly and his friends could carry out their pledges.

Parma, however, was almost as cautious as his uncle. He was, in fact, resentful that Philip was keeping him in the dark as to his ultimate plans, and was determined not to move a step in any direction beyond his written orders until he knew what the King was really aiming at; whether to frighten Elizabeth into peace, which Parma more than suspected, or to crush her finally by war. So to Mendoza’s almost vehement advocacy of the Scottish diversion Parma replied coolly, saying that the proposal would fail unless it formed part of the combined plan and was executed in co-operation simultaneously with the invasion. Mendoza grew more and more in love with Bruce’s proposal, which would, he said, give harbours of refuge for the Spaniards in the North Sea and divide the Queen of England’s forces; and here began the first whispers of Parma’s half-hearted loyalty,⁠[279] which amongst the vanquished officers of the Armada afterwards swelled into a tempest of indignant recrimination.

Mendoza’s inquiries of Bruce had satisfied all his doubts, and to Philip he wrote beseechingly on the 24th December, 1586, in favour of the scheme. Some of the passages in his extremely able letter,⁠[280] read by the knowledge of the subsequent disaster of the Armada, sound almost prophetic. “It is of advantage to the English,” he wrote, “that they should be attacked by a force which needs great sea fleets for its transport and maintenance, both on account of the immense sums of money which must be spent upon such an expedition, and the vast quantities of material and the length of time necessary for preparation, as well as the many opportunities which occur during this delay for impeding the progress of such armaments. Such expeditions, moreover, are liable to much greater disasters than land armies, for in most cases the mere death of the leader suffices to frustrate them ... and in the event of the loss of a great fleet the owner is deprived at one blow of forces, ships, and guns—things difficult to replace readily.” It is clear now, with our later knowledge, that the old warrior-diplomatist—the last of the disciples of Alba, as he calls himself—was right in his appreciations, and that Philip made a fatal mistake in not following the advice of such men, instead of indulging in his fatal itch for retaining in his own hands all executive monopoly and all ultimate profit in his plans.

But the advances of Huntly were not entirely rejected, for not only Mendoza, but Parma too, as time went on, saw their importance, and although the idea of invading England over the Scottish border was again vetoed, Bruce was sent back to Scotland after many months of impatient waiting in France and Flanders, carrying with him ten thousand crowns to freight ships in Scotland ostensibly for Dantzig, but really for Flanders, to embark there an auxiliary force to aid the Scottish Catholics in their intended rising.⁠[281] Bruce went on his way late in the summer of 1586, with his doublet padded with gold, but when he arrived in Scotland the whole scheme was embroiled and frustrated with the usual ineptitude. It was too late in the season for the ships to be obtained. James Stuart was also consulted by the Scottish lords as to his joining the Spanish attack upon England to avenge his mother, with the result that was to be expected. Bruce and his companion, Foster, turned traitors when the plan was seen to be impracticable, and once more, and for the last time, Philip settled down to the inevitability of conquering England by himself alone, and for himself alone.

It was more important now than ever it had been that he should succeed in doing it, for Henry III. of France was without a son, and was in bad health. If Henry of Navarre, a Huguenot, became King, and France ceased to be a Catholic country and in alliance with Protestant England, the Catholic domination of Europe would be at an end, and the sun of Spain must sink rapidly. The conquest of England, indeed, must be effected, and the country made Catholic before Henry III. died, or all, it seemed, would be lost; and Philip, after thirty years of paltering, was now in a desperate hurry. There was still another reason why Philip’s zeal for the conquest of England should be further inflamed at this time. Mary Stuart was condemned to death, and in the bitterness of her heart she wrote the beautiful letter⁠[282] to Mendoza (23rd November, 1586), in which she entrusted to Philip alone the task of avenging her and the cause for which she died, of providing for her servants, and, above all, of inheriting her rights to the succession of the Crown of England, which bequest she afterwards confirmed by a formal will. There was no longer any legal bar between Philip and the sovereignty, and no further fear of a doubtfully Catholic successor being adopted by Mary after her accession. With the fall of the head of the Queen of Scots the spirits of the English Jesuit party rose, for they knew now that James and his countrymen would not be allowed to lord over Englishmen if once Philip held the country in his grasp.

The subtle web of intrigue that had been spun for so many years past, the threads of which we have to some small extent endeavoured to unravel, had so far been favourable to Philip. He had patiently suffered numberless indignities and injuries at the hands of Elizabeth and her people; he had seen England and his own Dutch provinces drift ever further away from him; but he had never ceased to plot patiently in order to dispose affairs aptly for his vengeance when the propitious hour should strike. The Guises had been alternately flattered and frowned at, until their great ambitions in France seemed to hang upon Philip’s will, and they dared not stir without his countenance. Henry III. had been by the same means rendered equally powerless to help England or to hinder Spain. The Scottish Catholics had been subsidised and cajoled, as had James Stuart himself, into a benevolent neutrality towards Philip with blended hopes and fears of the English succession. Mary Stuart had been so handled as to lead her to make Philip by will the heir to the English Crown; and gradually all the strings which were intended to pull down the edifice of the Reformation were gathered into the hands of the gouty old monastic monarch in his granite cloister-palace on the bleak Castilian sierra. Each interest, as we have seen, had been silently and separately dealt with, and tricked into the position that best suited Philip’s ends; for he would take no risks that he could avoid, and aspired to imitate natural forces in the slow, insensible accumulation of power, which at the supreme moment might be launched by the master with irresistible effect.

When, at length, the stealthy plotting had reached fruition, and Elizabeth saw herself isolated, with Henry III. and James VI. paralysed; when the Pope and the Cardinals understood that the Church and its cherished hoards were to be instruments of Spanish political ends; when the Guises found that they and their kin were to be excluded from all share in the great prize of England; and even the English Catholics of the more patriotic and moderate sort awoke to the knowledge that their religion and their scorn of the Scots were being used to forward a conspiracy against the independence of their country; then each separate interest struggled as best it might to free itself from the toils in which the diplomacy of Philip had involved it. Allen, with his seminary, and the English Jesuits under Parsons, had gone over to the Spanish side bag and baggage, but the English Carthusians and seculars under Dr. Owen Lewis, and the large Scottish Catholic element in Rome under the Bishop of Dunblane, aided the Guisan Cardinals in combating the idea of a purely Spanish domination of England, and the contest went on bitterly and without cessation, especially after the death of Mary Stuart had made the fears more imminent.

Before that had happened, Philip had instructed Olivares to sound the Pope cautiously, and, if possible, to obtain a brief from him, declaring Philip entitled to the throne of England after the Queen of Scots, “as I cannot make war upon England for the purpose merely of placing upon the throne a young heretic like the King of Scots.” The Pope’s fears were to be lulled by the declaration that Philip had no intention of annexing England to the Crown of Spain, but of passing the sovereignty to some suitable Catholic candidate, perhaps to his daughter, the Infanta Isabel. Olivares, Allen, and Parsons knew at this time (January, 1587) that the Vatican was uneasy about the whole business, and they prayed the King to say nothing about his own claim openly until the Armada had been successful. But when, a month or two later, the news of Mary’s death came, Philip was obliged to some extent to show his hand to the Pope, and the brief was ordered to be secretly asked for as a measure of precaution. Above all, Philip urged, not a word must be said about his claims to Guise or the Frenchmen.

Unfortunately, much had already been said about them, even by Mendoza; and Guise and Catharine de Medici, and James of Scotland himself, were all trying their utmost to prove how very Catholic the latter was, and what an excellent King of England he would make. Philip ordered that his claims upon England were only to be broached with the utmost caution to the English Catholics. In May, 1587, the King wrote to Mendoza: “You must only speak of my rights to well-disposed native Englishmen in order that they may be informed of the truth, and convey it to others of their nationality, that it may thus spread and gain ground amongst them. But do not mention the matter to Frenchmen and others, who will only take it up for the purpose of frustrating it.”⁠[283] To add to his authority in the matter, Philip urged successfully that Allen should be made a Cardinal, and he was well primed by instructions from Spain how to push the succession question with the Pope. Religion, of course, was to be the pretext. The King of Scots was a heretic, and unfit to succeed. For the good of the Church a Catholic of unquestionable orthodoxy should be chosen, and he must be powerful enough to keep England in the straight path. All this, of course, could only tend to the conclusion that Philip or his daughter alone would serve; and very gradually and cautiously this view was made familiar to Catholics, to be struggled against fiercely by all those who were not absolutely under the Jesuit and Spanish influence. Parsons was indefatigable in writing letters, addresses, and memoranda in favour of this view, and the absolute quiescence of the moderate English Catholics when at last the Armada appeared in the Channel, and their loyalty through the crisis, was largely due to the unwise forcing of the idea of a Spanish Sovereign over England by the Jesuit propaganda.

Elizabeth was no less active than the other threatened interests in her efforts to escape from the position in which she found herself. Still hoping against hope that the old policy of advance and retire might again be successful, she and Burghley strove heroically to arrange some form of peace congress with Parma through Andrea de Loo. It was not easy, for neither side was in a yielding mood in matters of procedure; but Philip said that he saw no harm in entertaining the advances, which he knew from the first he did not intend to have any result other than to lull Elizabeth into a false security, whilst his preparations advanced. The Burghley party in Elizabeth’s Court had all the Puritans against them, and, more strongly still, the blue water school of sailors, who for years past had shown by their deeds that the Spaniards were no match for them at sea. “Why wait to be attacked on our own coasts,” was their constant argument, “when we can go and crush our enemies before even they can leave port?”

The English ships had finer lines and lower bows than the Spaniards. They could sail several points nearer the wind; and the need for ocean attack and defence had developed an entirely new school of seamanship, depending upon celerity of movement, broadside armament low down, by which the hulls of the enemy might be riddled between wind and water, whereas the Spanish ships depended still largely upon bulk, needful for the carriage of cargoes from the Indies, and the old tradition descended from the Mediterranean galleys of heavy armaments fore and aft. The attack in the Spanish system consisted only in grappling with the foe and pouring soldiers on board of him, the vessel being less of a fighting entity than a conveyance to bring the fighting-men on each side into contact, as galleys had been. Under Drake the English sailors had developed an ideal entirely distinct from this, namely, to avoid grappling, and by superior handiness of the craft to cripple the hulls of the enemy, and make them unseaworthy and incapable of manœuvring. Again and again the English sailors had proved that the new methods were effective; and whenever there was a chance of meeting the Spaniards at sea, they eagerly sought it.

It was this combination of sailors and the Puritans or Liberals, led by Leicester, that sought once more to force Elizabeth’s hand in the midst of the negotiations for the peace conference with Parma early in the spring of 1587. The Portuguese spies in England continued to report to Mendoza the great preparations being made for a naval expedition, by Drake, in Plymouth and the Thames. Elizabeth and Burghley deeply distrusted a policy of daring aggression, and hesitated much to allow an attack upon Spain, though Leicester’s influence and Drake’s confidence ultimately carried the day. The secret of the destination of Drake’s fleet was well kept. The pretence was cleverly maintained to the last that it was one more attempt to aid Don Antonio—this time, it was said, to go to the Indies; and Mendoza, who reported almost daily to Philip what he heard, was hoodwinked all through. Drake arrived in Plymouth from the Thames on the 23rd March, in a hurry to get away, for fear the Queen would alter her mind and order him back. He had obtained her commission—“to prevent or withstand any enterprise against her Highness’s dominions, and especially to prevent the concentration of the King of Spain’s squadrons”—and he was authorised to “distress the ships as much as possible, both in the havens and on the high seas.” Drake knew that as soon as he left Court attempts by the moderate party would be made to spoil and hamper his plans, for his Vice-Admiral, Borough, a Queen’s officer, had been sent with him only to serve as a clog upon his actions, and Elizabeth was still full of faith in the insincere peace negotiations. Sure enough, only a few hours after he hurriedly sailed from Plymouth, a royal order came thither from London, happily too late, “to forbear to enter forcibly any of the said King’s ports or havens, or to offer any violence to his towns or ships in harbour, or to do any act of hostility on land.” Drake took very good care that these timid orders never reached him until too late to stay his hand, and went on his way as usual, in defiance of Borough’s warning.

Slowly, and with infinite difficulty, stores, arms, and material were being collected in Spain. The roads were bad, communications laborious, and Philip’s centralising methods clogged the wheels of progress. Old Santa Cruz was labouring early and late, in Lisbon, making ready such great ships as could be collected in the Tagus; whilst in the ports of Andalusia the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the great magnate of the Province, had seized for the King all the merchant ships and stores; and was actively getting ready to sail from Cadiz and join Santa Cruz in Lisbon in the early summer, and, together with other vessels expected from Italy and the Biscay ports, attempt the conquest of England. Thus matters stood in April, 1587. Santa Cruz was almost in despair, for he profoundly disliked the modification of his plans adopted by Philip, by which the bulk of the army under Parma was to cross in small boats to England when the Armada should arrive off the North Foreland to protect its passage from Dunkirk to the Thames, and the command was to be divided, Santa Cruz to be supreme at sea and Parma on land. The ships in Lisbon were still unready, and the crews and soldiers were joining in mere driblets from distant parts of Spain. The provisions, too, for all his host came in slowly, and much of the stores rotted before they could be used. The ships from the eastern ports of Spain and from Naples and Messina were lagging; for delay was inevitable when every detail had to be directed by one overworked old man far away.

Then suddenly, on the 18th April, 1587, the people of Cadiz saw in the offing a fleet of thirty white sail. “Some contingent of the Armada,” thought the Duke of Medina Sidonia, busy with his stores inside the harbour. It was nothing so welcome as that; for it was the terrible Drake himself, with his stout ships, bent upon mischief, notwithstanding Elizabeth’s timid wavering and her Admiral Borough’s warning. Looking up the harbour of Cadiz, Drake could see a forest of masts, many a tall ship, he knew, that was intended for the subjugation of his country. They were, for the most part, store ships, nearly a hundred of them altogether; and though they were crammed with provisions and material, neither their guns nor their crews were on board. Into the harbour dashed Drake, sinking the big galleon at the entrance that served as a guardship, and disdaining the fire of the protecting forts, and soon he had all the harbour at his mercy. The very name of Drake appalled the Spaniards, and without impeachment he turned adrift and set on fire some twenty-five of the principal ships. Soon the great crowd of galleons was a blazing ruin, and in the three weeks that followed Drake deliberately annihilated in the harbour of Cadiz the results of a year’s work and vast expenditure. Then, on the 1st May, 1587, he leisurely sailed away, secure in the knowledge that, come what might, no invasion of England by Spanish ships was possible for that summer.

In the Tagus, at Lisbon, there still lay the fifty great galleons, under Santa Cruz, which were to form the principal fighting force of the Armada, and as Drake stood off the mouth of the river, they looked tempting. He was more than half inclined to sail in and serve them as he had served the Cadiz ships; but he did not know whether they had their great guns on board or not. Whilst he was ascertaining this by his spies the peremptory orders came to him from the Queen that he was to provoke the King of Spain no more: the great fighting ships of Spain, with no crews or guns on board, were left unattacked, to Drake’s abiding regret, and the chance of making the invasion of England by Spain impossible altogether was missed through Elizabeth’s belief that by her usual methods she might avoid war, even at this eleventh hour. The damage done by Drake was in great part irreparable. Not only were many stores and ships destroyed in Cadiz, but for weeks afterwards the English fleet lay off the coast of Portugal, capturing great numbers of vessels loaded with pipe staves,⁠[284] for the water and wine casks of the Armada. These could not be quickly replaced, and their loss led to the short and bad water supply in the fleet, which was one of its worst calamities. When Drake sailed away, Spain was crippled for a time; and the capture of the rich Indies galleon, San Felipe, completed the discomfiture of King Philip, who had no alternative now but to order Santa Cruz to make ready his ships in Lisbon, in a hurry, not now to invade England, but to prevent Drake from intercepting and plundering the silver fleet, whose safe arrival in Spain would alone enable Philip to proceed with his plan of invasion in the following year. The injury inflicted by Drake’s raid was a terrible one to Philip, but he plodded on, still convinced of the goodness of his methods and the ultimate certain victory of his cause.

To Parma, in Flanders, the news of Drake’s attack brought anguish and discouragement beyond words, for he was less blinded by fervour than his uncle was, and was brought nearer to his practical difficulties. He was a great commander and saw plainly the weak points of Philip’s scheme for the Armada, so far as it was communicated to him. A divided command and strictly limited authority were repugnant to him, a sovereign Prince and practically supreme in Spanish Flanders; and from the first he was determined that no blame for the failure which he feared would attend the attempt should be laid at his doors in consequence of his exceeding the strict letter of the King’s written instructions. He had strained every nerve to muster and equip his troops to be ready for the expected arrival of Santa Cruz with his fleet in the summer of 1587, and now he found himself with a large force of men, and short of money, provisions, and stores for their maintenance. But he was a general of resource, and utilised his army to capture the Sluys and invest Ostend and so improve his position before the English Peace Commissioners, the Earls of Derby and Hertford, Lord Cobham, Sir James Crofts, and Drs. Dale and Herbert, went over in the autumn of 1587, in the chimerical hope of making peace with Philip. Leicester, Walsingham, and the sailors wondered aloud how her Majesty could be so blind as to believe that peace with Philip was possible now. Exhortations and prayers reached Elizabeth, from those who knew Philip’s intentions well, that she would allow another bold stroke to be dealt upon the enemy’s heart; but her parsimony and belief in her methods made her turn a deaf ear to all such urging, and England still stood unready in the face of danger so imminent and dire.

Whilst Parma was still spinning matters out with the English Peace Commissioners on fine-drawn points of etiquette and procedure, in order to give time for really illuminating instructions to reach him from Philip, and Elizabeth was living still in her fool’s paradise, the plan of the Armada was finally settled; for Philip, dead against the advice of his seamen, had determined to send out the expedition at all risks, in the autumn of 1587, as soon as Santa Cruz returned from convoying the silver fleet. The letter in which he conveyed his plan to Parma on the 4th September, 1587, is worth quoting at some length.⁠[285] The Armada, under Santa Cruz, was to sail up the Channel, avoiding, if possible, any decisive engagement, until it had reached the Straits of Dover and had joined hands with Parma. “We calculate that by the time you have invested Ostend you will have 30,000 men ready for the main business, whilst 16,000 Spanish infantry, a part of them veterans, will go in the Armada from here, the whole force of soldiers and sailors in the fleet reaching 22,000 men. I have decided that as soon as the Marquis of Santa Cruz returns with the flotillas to Cape St. Vincent ... he shall leave them in charge of the galleys, and himself go straight to Lisbon, where he will take command of the fleet which will there await him, and, with God’s blessing, sail direct for the English Channel. On his arrival he will anchor off Margate, having given notice to you at Dunkirk of his approach. You in the meanwhile will be quite ready, and when you see the passage assured by the arrival of the fleet off Margate or at the mouth of the Thames, you will, if the weather permits, immediately cross over in the boats you will have ready. You and the Marquis will then co-operate, you being in command on land, and he at sea; and, with the help of God, will carry through the main business successfully. Until you have crossed, the Marquis is not to be diverted by anything from assuring your passage. His taking possession of Margate will cut the communications of the enemy, and prevent him to some extent from concentrating his forces. When you have landed (the Marquis giving you six thousand selected Spanish infantry as ordered),⁠[286] I am inclined to leave to the Marquis’s discretion what he should do with the fleet, whether to stay and ensure the passage of our people from Flanders to England and intercept any foreign aid that might be sent to the English, or to go and capture some port and divert the enemy’s strength; or else he might go and seize English ships lying in various ports, to deprive them of maritime forces, upon which their strength mainly depends. You will settle this point between you, the Marquis carrying out your joint decision, whilst you will hasten to the front to conduct the enterprise on the lines laid down. I trust to God, in whose service it is done, that success may attend the enterprise, and that yours may be the hand to execute it.”

The advice of all his best soldiers and sailors had failed to move Philip on one point because he knew that it meant delay, and he was ready now to risk everything rather than wait any longer. “We are quite aware of the risk incurred by sending a heavy fleet in the winter through the Channel without a sure harbour; but the various reasons which render this course necessary are sufficient to counterbalance the objections. As it is all for His good cause, God send good weather. The most important of all things is that you should be so completely ready when the Marquis arrives at Margate that you may be able to do your part at once without delay. You will see the danger of any tardiness, the Armada having to wait there with you unready; as until your passage is effected they will have no harbour for shelter, whereas when you have crossed he will have the safe, spacious river Thames. Otherwise he will be at the mercy of the weather, and if, which God forbid, any misfortune should happen to him you will understand what a state it would put us into. All will be assured, please God, by your good understanding; but do not forget that the forces collected and the vast monetary responsibility incurred make it extremely difficult for any such expedition to be organised again, if they [the English] escape us this time; whilst the obstacles and divisions which may, and certainly will, arise next summer, force us to carry through the enterprise this year or fail altogether. I hope this will not occur, but that great success may attend us by God’s grace, since you are to be the instrument, and I have bountifully supplied you with money. I have told you how all our prestige is now at stake, and how entirely my tranquillity depends upon success being achieved, and I now once more earnestly enjoin you to justify the trust I place in you. Pray send me word that there shall be no shortcomings in this respect, as I shall be full of anxiety till I hear from you.”

Thus, like a desperate gambler, Philip at last, after all these years of waiting and planning, was ready to stake everything—fleet, army, resources, prestige, and the cause for which he had lived—with the chances of success and the warnings of experience dead against him. For years past his expert advisers had been telling him how much superior in staunchness and seaworthiness the English ships were to his, that the new naval construction and armament, by which the artillery fire was delivered low and from the broadside, gave an enormous advantage to the handy English craft, which, by reason of their finer lines and weatherly qualities, could avoid fighting at close quarters. Santa Cruz, Parma, and Mendoza had pointed out to him the rashness of taking a vast, unwieldy fleet in the late autumn, the worst period of the year, up the Channel without a harbour of refuge in case of contrary winds or tempest; again and again he had been told that his ships were still unready, his stores and arms unconcentrated, and his army but partially mustered in various provinces of Spain and Italy. All this he knew, and yet in the face of disorganisation, incapacity, and corruption in his administration, of almost insuperable material difficulties in collecting and supplying such an enormous fleet as that contemplated, the growing alarm and the opposition of all Christendom to his designs, he trusted, in the absence of all the mundane elements of success, to the special intervention of Providence in his favour. Patience and diplomacy had brought the possibility of success within his reach, but patience and diplomacy can be worked by the methods of a chess-player in a monastic cell, whilst armies and fleets must be raised, organised, and led by practical men on the spot, and this was where Philip failed. All power and initiative must be his, whilst he sat upon his office chair, annotating, checking, and dictating from morn till night, but never coming within hundreds of miles of executive action.

In obedience to Philip’s fervent exhortations Parma did his best, keeping his army of German, Italian, and Walloon mercenaries in good heart and readiness whilst the sham peace preliminaries went on. Most of the English Commissioners themselves were soon satisfied that nothing would come of their mission, for months were wasted in discussing and wrangling over such questions as the place of meeting, the sufficiency of powers, and the points to be discussed, though Croft, representing the moderate Catholic party in England, strained his loyalty to the utmost to conciliate Parma.⁠[287] But still the Armada came not, though the winter of 1587 wore on and Parma’s painfully gathered thirty thousand men-at-arms were rapidly melting away, demoralised by short commons and dying by thousands of the plague. Not even Parma’s extremity could move Santa Cruz to take a course that he knew would end in disaster. When he returned to Lisbon from convoying the silver fleet, he told Philip flatly that it would be certain disaster to take the Armada out at such a season of the year, the ships and men, moreover, being unready. Scorn and derision were poured upon the old admiral by the nobles and soldiers, as well as by the bureaucrats who were at the King’s elbow, though the sailors who had met the English on many seas knew that Santa Cruz was right. “Once let us grapple with the heretics,” cried the vapouring men-at-arms, “and all will be well; the sailorman’s task is but to bring us face to face with the foe and we shall know how to deal with him.” Philip rarely reproached those who served him, but even his almost inexhaustible patience gave way, and his curt, cold words of reproach to Santa Cruz for his tardiness in serving him broke the old hero’s heart, and in February, 1588, there passed to his grave the one man in Spain who perchance might have rescued from otherwise inevitable catastrophe the Armada and the mighty freight of hopes it bore.

Philip was, indeed, nearly at his wits’ end, though personally he never lost faith in ultimate success. Sixtus was growing more and more sarcastic, and unwilling to pledge himself further to a policy which he now understood was making religion the stalking-horse of politics. Olivares might rail insolently at the Pontiff as a garrulous old curmudgeon, Cardinal Allen and Father Parsons, by word and pen, might, and did, urge with bland eloquence the saintliness of the enterprise and the holy aims of the Catholic King; but all Europe now was aware and apprehensive of Philip’s overwhelming schemes—not against England alone, it was feared, but against all those who questioned the political supremacy of Spain. By every courier went frantic appeals and remonstrances from Parma to Philip, as week after week passed and no Armada appeared in the Straits of Dover. The army was getting out of hand, he said, and, what with plague and discontent, would soon disappear altogether, whilst of money he had none, and even his credit was exhausted.

In December, 1587, Philip, apparently in desperation, thought that Parma, failing the coming of the Armada, might have made a dash across the Straits on his own account, and have captured England by a coup-de-main, whilst the peace preliminaries were being discussed. Parma, who was a practical soldier, was furious at such a suggestion, as well he might be. Writing to the King on the 31st January, 1588, he asks how could he be expected to do what he had the King’s strict orders to avoid doing. He had laid down clearly, he said, the necessary conditions of success; namely, that the flat boats and skiffs, too small for fighting and unfit to weather a freshet, much less a storm, should be ensured an absolutely unimpeded passage across, whilst the French should be kept busy at home, and the Dutch rebels rendered powerless for harm. “Your Majesty ordered me to undertake this business, and be fully prepared, though the time given to me was short and my resources were limited. I have done my best to perform the impossible in order to please you and carry out my duty.... Affairs have been unduly drawn out, both men and money have been delayed beyond the time indicated, and particularly the Spanish troops, who are the sinew of the whole business, and who have, after all, come in less number than agreed upon, and so dilapidated and maltreated as to look unfit for service for some time to come. The Italians and Germans have dwindled in consequence of having to march quickly in very bad weather, and they are so badly housed to keep them near the ports that many are missing; and our men are dying and falling away rapidly. I have strained every nerve to keep them near the coast to be ready for the arrival of Santa Cruz with the Armada ... and now I see that everything has turned out wrong and contrary to my hopes. Secrecy, which was of the utmost importance, has not been maintained. From Spain, Italy, and elsewhere come full details of the expedition. The King of France, as well as the League, has raised enormous forces, and they, being Frenchmen, are certainly not likely to be in our favour. Holland and Zeeland have armed as promptly as usual, and have prevented the few ships of our fleet in Antwerp from getting out, whilst the English themselves are preparing for their defence with great energy.... If the Marquis had come in good time the crossing might then have been easily effected, by God’s help, as neither the English nor the Hollanders and Zeelanders were then ready.”

Then Parma passionately protests against Philip’s attitude. Let the King, he says, tell him plainly what he wishes him to do. He will do it at all risks and at any cost; but to give him orders to do one thing and expect him to do another in quite impossible circumstances is unfair. The position has changed, he continues, and the force brought by the Armada must be an overwhelming one to clear the seas or the troops from Flanders cannot cross. “The delay in the coming of the Armada is causing the total ruin of Flanders, and is hardly less disastrous to the rest of the States. The country can bear the burden but a short time longer. The greatest trouble of all is my lack of money. The cost of maintaining the boats, the keep of the soldiers, the subsidy to Guise and Lorraine, and the contract with the German mercenaries, is all so great that your Majesty must provide me with a great sum of money. If I run short, as indeed I am doing, your Majesty may be certain that evil will befall and all the past expenditure and effort will be wasted.”⁠[288]⁠

Two months after this, when the death of Santa Cruz had cast a still deeper gloom over the prospects of the Armada, Parma, now quite disillusioned, and convinced that the great enterprise would fail, urged Philip earnestly to allow him to turn the feigned negotiations for peace into real ones. “I should fail in my duty,” he wrote, “if I did not tell your Majesty that the general opinion is that if the English are proceeding straightforwardly, as they profess, and their alarm at your Majesty’s preparations and great power really inclines them towards you, it would be better to conclude peace with them. We should thus end the misery and calamity of these afflicted States, the Catholic religion would be established in them, and your ancient dominion restored. Besides this, we should not jeopardise the great fleet which your Majesty has raised, and we should escape the danger of some disaster causing you to fail in the conquest of England whilst losing your hold of the Netherlands. It is thought that it would be much best to try to settle and pacify everything during your own happy reign, so that all might prosper by the grace of God and your Majesty’s goodness. Nothing more honourable and beneficent could happen to us, no step would be more heartily welcomed by your vassals, or more effectually check your rivals, especially the heretics, than a good and honourable peace. We should thus avoid the danger of disaster. If the enterprise were in the condition we expected it to be, and secrecy had been kept, we might, with God’s blessing, have looked more confidently for a successful issue. But things are not as we intended. The English have had time to arm by land and sea, and form alliances with the Danes and the German Protestants.... They are well aware of our plans, and we shall have plenty of work to do in effecting a landing and advancing afterwards, especially if our force is inadequate.”⁠[289]⁠

And thus, point by point, the greatest soldier of his time lays bare in letter after letter the weakness of Philip’s position and the hopelessness of success in the circumstances. But to all Parma’s remonstrances and advice the King had but one cold, precise reply. The expedition was to go in God’s own service, and it would be duly carried through by His help. That being the case, Parma could only stand more stiffly than ever upon the absolute fulfilment of his conditions, without which he knew that failure and disgrace would befall him. The sea must be kept clear of enemies before he would embark a man for England, and he must have six thousand Spanish veterans from the Armada or he would not undertake the conquest. To Philip’s embarrassments there seemed no end. His greatest military officer thus predicted disaster, and would take no responsibility beyond the letter of his instructions, and Santa Cruz, his greatest seaman, had assumed the same attitude for similar reasons.

But the death of Santa Cruz in February plunged the King into deeper difficulty than ever; for although it allowed him to control the details of the command more completely than Santa Cruz would have allowed him to do, he had no officer of sufficient rank, authority, and experience to replace the dead admiral. Seamen he had, many of them fine mariners from the Biscay coast, who had commanded the great flotillas from the Indies, and had faced with varied fortune the English plundering craft any time these twenty years; but the tradition lingered that the seaman was a mere drudge to carry the nobler soldier into the fight, and the quarrelsome, haughty soldier nobles scorned to serve under a man who was a seaman only. The men in nominal command of the great ships were nearly always military officers whose orders the shipmasters obeyed. So although Oquendo, Bertondona, and Recalde, with a half score of others, were as splendid sailors as ever ploughed the seas, the supreme command of the Armada could not be given to such as they. The Spanish nobles were jealous of each other, each standing upon his dignity in a way that to modern men looks ridiculous, but which to them was a matter of the first concern in life.

The man to be appointed to command, since the King himself could not go, must be of rank so exalted as to overtop the rest, and yet so amenable to Philip’s control as to allow the fleet to be commanded practically by the King from his writing-table. The only man in Spain who seemed to unite in himself these two qualities was appointed by Philip to lead the fleet upon which depended the fate of Spain and Catholic Christendom, and he was of all men the least fit to carry to success such a forlorn hope as the Armada—the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the magnate and admiral of Andalusia, who had been so busy collecting ships and stores in Cadiz and his other ports. He was a dignified noble of early middle age, well meaning and not without administrative ability in normal circumstances, though utterly unequal to deal with critical conditions. His high rank was sufficient to ensure the obedient respect of the other nobles and to hold the sailor commanders in awe. But, as he plaintively protested to the King, in dismay, when he was first informed of his appointment, he was utterly inexperienced in practical warfare both on land and sea. He knew nothing of navigation, he was always wretchedly seasick as soon as he lost sight of land, and he was quite unable to bear the expense which such a command entailed. His wife and friends were more emphatic still, and ridiculed the idea that such a poor creature as this should assume a responsibility so tremendous. Perhaps Philip was not sorry to have a weak and timid commander who would not dare to depart a hair’s breadth from his orders. At all events, his mind was made up; and Medina Sidonia, with a shrinking heart and unwilling spirit, was forced to go to Lisbon to replace the great Santa Cruz as the Captain-General of the Invincible Armada.⁠[290]⁠

The Tagus was crowded with ships when, in March, 1588, Medina Sidonia took command. Eleven huge galleons, contributed by Portugal, headed by the flagship San Martin, was to be the squadron of the high admiral. The Andalusian squadron of fifteen vessels was to be led by Don Pedro de Valdés; and the famous Biscay seamen Oquendo and Martinez de Recalde were to lead other squadrons, and Diego Flores yet another. There were thirty-one armed store-ships, all carrying their quota of fighting-men as well as sailors, seven-and-twenty pinnaces and sloops, and four armed galleys, such as in the Mediterranean formed the Spanish fighting force. In all 114 ships lay there before the white city of Lisbon on its amphitheatre of hills. Gallant and strong they looked with their carved and gilded prows, their fluttering silken banners, and the soaring crucifix upon the highest pinnacle of their bows. But, alas! the dry-rot of Philip’s system was at the very heart of the enterprise. The soldiers came still in driblets and unwillingly. Arms were accumulating in one part of Spain, whilst the men to bear them were mustered in another. Stores went astray or remained bogged and derelict many miles from their destination; wine ran short and water went bad upon the ships. The long delay had caused the bottoms to foul and the seams to gape; and the overburdened Duke of Medina Sidonia could but clamour more piteously than Santa Cruz had done for more supplies, more men, more arms, more money, more everything, unless disaster were to fall upon the expedition. The Irish and English Catholics on the quays of Lisbon, and the priests and friars who flocked everywhere, made light of difficulties. Was it not God’s own fleet, going upon His errand, and could He be beaten? Was not England tired to death of their heretic Queen and her ministers? and was not a whole nation waiting with open arms to welcome those who came as friends and deliverers? And the haughty, confident Spanish nobles, courtiers, and soldiers, fretting in idleness, scoffed and reviled the timid councils of the Duke of Medina Sidonia. But the sailormen shook their heads sadly. They knew that Biscay storms and Channel gales could not be controlled by swords and pikes, and that at sea Drake and the West-country ships could sail several points closer to the wind than could their lumbering round-bowed galleons that looked so mighty.

No day passed without some fresh demand from Medina Sidonia; and at last Philip himself, long-suffering as he was, began to lose patience, for the spring was wearing on, and Parma, in despair, was, as we have seen, praying him either to abandon the enterprise or send him means for keeping together his dwindling army. At length, in April, it was impossible to hide any longer the open complaints of the soldier nobles. Medina Sidonia’s insatiable demands, they said, were prompted by sheer cowardice, with a view to preventing the sailing of the expedition altogether. Already he had under his command the strongest force that ever sailed the seas—130 vessels of an aggregate tonnage of 58,000 tons, 2,431 cannon, and 30,000 men, between soldiers and sailors. All was ready. The orders to the fleet had been given long since—orders that prescribed a code of conduct for the rough seamen and men-at-arms such as would have befitted a convent school. There was to be no bad language or loose talk, no dicing or card-playing, no evil living. Prayers and Masses were to be sung daily, and every man, high and low, was to be confessed and absolved; for all were going on a sacred crusade against the foes of God and the faith. The friars and priests, both on the ships and ashore, exhorted ceaselessly all these reckless soldiers and half-savage sailors, until, with hearts aflame, they too began to scowl at the tardy Duke, who alone seemed to hold them back from their heaven-sent mission.

At length, at the end of April, peremptory command came from Philip that the Armada must sail at once. The old orders to Santa Cruz were repeated. The fleet must go straight up the Channel to the North Foreland, avoiding an engagement if possible, until the main body of the English fleet should be met, as he thought it would, off Margate, where it was to be defeated or held in check, and then Parma and his army were to be protected on their way across to the Thames. All difficulties and dangers in such a plan were ignored or smoothed over by Philip. The warnings of years had been lost upon him. He still counted upon his big ships outmanœuvring and gaining the wind of the English craft; he still believed that the old grappling tactics were possible, in the face of Drake’s new strategy and the superior build of the English ships. And he broke faith with Parma too. Parma had never wavered in his condition. He would not cross the sea until he was reinforced by six thousand Spanish veterans from the Armada; and yet in these last instructions to Medina Sidonia it was left to his discretion whether these veterans should be sent. Thus all the elements of discord existed before the great fleet sailed. An almost monkish discipline was enjoined on the fleet by the King, and it is clear that Philip himself had worked his spirit into a state of fervour which made him believe that sanctimoniousness would compensate for the absence of practical provisions for success. Saints’ names alone formed the watchwords, Jesus for Sunday, the Holy Ghost for Monday, the Holy Trinity for Tuesday, and so on; whilst the ships’ boys were to chant the Salve and good-morrow at daybreak and the Ave Maria at sunset on every vessel.

On the 25th April, 1588, the sacred banner was delivered to the Duke by Philip’s Viceroy, the Archduke Albert, in Lisbon Cathedral; and thence with raised crosses, swinging censers, flaming candles, and chanting priests it was borne before the whole kneeling hosts of the Armada in the great square of the city. And then, sped by prayers and psalms of rogation, the Armada, with its cargo of hopes and fears, tried for a month in vain to get out of the Tagus, with a boisterous westerly gale blowing full into the mouth of the river. But at length, at the end of May, 1588, the fleet got clear out to sea; the Duke complaining to the last of his subordinates and of his ships to the King, and praying that God would avert disaster. Contrary winds still held the fleet back for a fortnight more on the coast, and then, on the 19th June, a great storm came and scattered the ships like chaff. Some, with the Duke, fled in dire danger to shelter in Corunna, some even were blown within sight of the Scilly Isles, and many ran into the Biscay and Galician ports. Confusion, utter and complete, overcame the host. Many of the ships were crippled, spars broken, sails split, and planks started. Provisions were spoilt; the long delay had consumed stores and water; and again Medina Sidonia appealed to the King to abandon an enterprise which seemed so ill-starred, and again he clamoured for more stores, more men, more money, more arms.

On the 24th June, in despair, he wrote to the King as follows: “When your Majesty ordered me to take command of this fleet I gave many reasons why I ought not to undertake it.... I saw that it was going against a powerful nation, which had the help of its neighbours, and that the task would require a much larger force than that collected at Lisbon; I therefore declined the command.... Since then the ships have suffered much, and the fleet is now greatly inferior to that of the English; the crews are weakened by sickness, and numbers fall ill daily in consequence of bad food.... The provisions are rotten, the water is stinking, and our stores will not last two months under the most favourable conditions.”⁠[291] Then he goes on to say that all the power of Spain, all the King’s hopes, credit, and prestige, are entrusted to this Armada, and its loss would mean irretrievable ruin. “It would be unwise,” he says, “to run such a risk even with equal forces, but much more so with such an inferior force as we have now, the men inexperienced, and the officers, on my conscience I assure your Majesty, hardly any of them knowing or capable of doing their duty.... Believe me, your Majesty, we are very weak; pray do not allow any one to persuade you otherwise.” The timid Duke was full of forebodings, but Don Pedro de Valdés and other officers were writing at the same time to the King, impatiently scoffing at the delay, and Philip sternly, almost angrily, ordered Medina Sidonia to carry out his instructions without further parley—to patch up and collect his vessels again and sail up the Channel, with God’s blessing, to conquer the heretics who were holding the fair land of England.

And thus Philip the Prudent cast to the winds all the dictates of prudence. Parma, at all events, could not be accused either of ineptitude or of cowardice, and yet he had twice solemnly warned his uncle to abandon his plan, now that all Europe knew of it and was prepared to frustrate it. If Philip had determined (as indeed he had) to run all risks and depend upon the special interposition of Providence in his favour, it was surely the height of folly to entrust the task, upon the success of which the whole future of his cause depended, to two unwilling commanders, both of whom deliberately foretold failure. It was, perhaps, impossible for him to dismiss Parma at short notice; but the letter from Medina Sidonia quoted above would amply have justified either his recall or the abandonment of the enterprise for which he, the commander, foretold defeat. Like Villeneuve at Trafalgar, Medina Sidonia was a beaten man before he met his enemy; but Philip, blind to all worldly considerations and steadfast in his faith in himself and his cause, elected to strike his supreme blow against Elizabeth with an obsolete and faulty weapon wielded by a feeble hand.

With plentiful prayers and the blessings of Churchmen, with abundant copies of Father Parsons’s allocutions to his countrymen on the blessings of Spanish rule, and Cardinal Allen’s exhortations in favour of the old faith, the Armada sailed. The victuals were scanty and bad, the water was putrid, the craft overcrowded and fever-haunted; the admiral was faint-hearted and prophesied disaster; but the crank ships, with strained spars and gaping seams, though they looked so brave and loomed so high, sailed out of Corunna on the 12th July, 1588, doomed beforehand to disaster, which only a miracle from on high could avert from them. How the disaster fell there is no space here to relate; but a week’s running fight up the Channel, and one hopeless battle at bay, struck the first irreparable blow at the fable of Philip’s irresistible power, and the prestige that clung still around the name of the Emperor and his son.

We have followed the process by which circumstances and the personal character of the chief actors in the great drama had driven Philip, after thirty years of diplomacy in trying to win England to his side without any concessions on his part, into a violent course at last. The result of his over-caution for so many years had been that he was forced to be reckless after all or fail entirely; the outcome of his fatal desire to win all for himself without risking anything was that when the crisis came he had to risk everything on a losing hazard. Elizabeth was more fortunate in the issue than her brother-in-law, but hardly more wise. Almost to the day when the Armada sighted her coasts she was beguiled into a belief that her negotiations with Parma might avert war, though Walsingham and the sailors were almost in despair at what they saw was the terrible risk she ran. She was far more hard-fisted and parsimonious than Philip, too, when once it was brought home to her that she and her people would have to fight for the independence of England. Her men, unlike those at the bidding of Philip, were full of initiative and boldness, though they had to cope with material obstacles almost as great as his. All was unready in England when the peril loomed near, and even if the Queen had been as liberal as she was stingy, sufficient stores could not in the circumstances have been improvised and concentrated.

But every one in England, high and low, did his best. There was but little of the vapouring self-confidence that led the Spanish soldiers into the disillusionment which destroyed their nation’s potency; but the predictions and assurances with regard to England of Parsons and the English Jesuits and Spanish pensioners, were all signally falsified. The moderate English Catholics, who quite conceivably might have welcomed the adoption of an English Catholic successor to Elizabeth under Spanish patronage, were indignant at the Jesuit-Spanish plan to foist Philip’s daughter upon the throne after deposing Elizabeth and submitting the country to conquest. The treatment meted out to Englishmen in Spain by the Inquisition had given even to Catholics no desire to live under a rule which made such an institution a branch of Government. So, when the time of trial came, the Howards, Catholics though they were, and often as they had been parties to Philip’s plans, fought against him as stoutly as the veriest Puritan of them all. A generation had passed away since Philip had personally felt the pulse of England. Allen, Englefield, and Parsons had not, for many years before the Armada sailed, seen with their own eyes the growing spirit of patriotism which under Elizabeth was binding Englishmen as such together, independent of their creeds; and the Jesuit Churchmen and pensioned laymen who advised Philip that the English people would welcome the men on the Armada with open arms as liberators were as the blind leading the blind, for they were not in touch with nor understood the England that had arisen since their time.

For the rest of Philip’s life, ten years, a more pressing task even than that of winning England by finesse or force claimed his every effort. The murder of Henry III. made a Protestant King of France; and to prevent the country from joining the Reformation Philip and Spain would have to fight until the last dollar was spent and the last Spanish soldier was dead. Again, the Infanta was his candidate for the Crown of all or a portion of her mother’s land; and, as in the case of England, the forces of patriotism in the end overrode the differences of creed, and all Frenchmen coalesced to oppose foreign aggression. Henry IV. “went to Mass,” it is true, and that France remained a Catholic country through his efforts was the only great triumph of Philip’s strenuous life.

From the time when the Armada, or such of the ships as escaped the wild Atlantic gales, crept home, plague-stricken, battered wrecks, and the cry of mortal anguish went up from all Spanish hearts at the cruel disappointment of their hopes, Philip, it is true, continued to strive against the woman who had beaten him. These efforts I have described elsewhere: but with no hope of conquering England by frontal attack was one little expedition after another with infinite difficulty and friction fitted out thenceforward in Corunna. For that Philip knew well the time had passed, notwithstanding the continued exhortations of the Churchmen and pensioned refugees. Thenceforward it was his plan to incite Irish Catholics to revolt, to render Elizabeth unsafe and uneasy, in order to prevent her from aiding Henry of Navarre in France; to look forward to the time when her death, by natural or unnatural means, should give him a chance of manœuvring a sovereign apt for his purpose upon the throne of England. With the failure of Philip’s thirty-five years’ struggle to gain the control of England for his ends under two sister Queens, the downfall of his own system and the decay of Spain were absolutely inevitable, though the tradition of its potency died hard and was maintained long after its reality had fled.

It is bootless to consider what would have been the result if Philip’s methods had been less rigid, and if he could have fought his enemies with their own weapons; for if such had been the case he would not have been Philip, and the situation that made the long struggle incumbent upon him would never have been created. But, though on his agonising death-bed in his poor cell at the Escorial, in the autumn of 1598, he knew that Elizabeth still defied him, and the Dutch Protestants repudiated his rule, that wherever the yoke of Rome was shaken off it could be imposed no more, he still held firmly to his faith beyond all earthly evidence, that God in His good way and time would send triumphant victory to the cause for which He and Philip had fought in partnership—the supremacy of Catholicism and the preponderance of Spain amongst the nations.

FOOTNOTES

INDEX