Mary Tudor (30 page)

[Simon Renard] London, 21st December.

[
Calendar of State Papers, Spanish
, xiii, no. 131. The original manuscript, in French, is at Besancon]

*
If the date on this letter is accurate this must refer to the bill rather than the Act, because the latter was not completed until it received the royal assent on 16 January. In the light of what he says later about controversy, it was presumably a draft.

†
De vera obedientia. This high profile performance escaped Henry Machyn’s notice altogether.

It must now have appeared to Philip that he had accomplished two, and those the most important, of his tasks in England. He had begotten an heir, and he had reconciled the Church. The opportunity for a propaganda coup was not to be missed, and in December and January a spate of pamphlets appeared celebrating his triumph. In English there was John Elder’s
Letter into Scotland
, in Italian
I successi d’Ingbilterra dopo la morte di Eduardo Sesto
[The Successes of England since the death of Edward VI], by Giulio Rossi (printed in Ferrara), and five tracts under the general heading
La partita del serenissimo Principe
[The Challenge of the Most Serene Prince] (printed in Rome). Similar but briefer accounts appeared in Spanish, Dutch and German.
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There was also an Italian account of the reconciliation alone, entitled
Il felicissimo ritorno
… [The Most Fortunate Return …]. The Spaniards, both in England and at home, temporarily forgot their complaints, and congratulated each other on
la bien aventurada
, which now seemed to be turning out so well. There is no doubt that the return of England to the Catholic fold was seen as a major achievement, and as the Emperor had hoped, his son got all the credit.
Te Deums
were sung, not only in Rome but throughout the Habsburg dominions. The sheep that was lost had been found.

However, in the midst of all this euphoria, Philip was uneasily aware that he was making uncertain progress in building up a party among the English aristocracy, and none at all in gaining more political power. The revels office put on a reasonably good show over Christmas, with one or two expensive masques and plays, the latter provided mainly by the gentlemen and choristers of the Chapel Royal. Mary danced and smiled and looked happy. On the other hand, an attempt to put on a display of a purely Spanish game,
juego da canas
(‘cane play’), fell flat on its face. The spectators, who liked meatier stuff, mocked the players for ‘hurling rods at one another’.
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The king himself, although slightly built and no jouster, was a reasonably adroit swordsman, and took part in more than one passage of arms between January and March of 1555. There were also several Anglo-Spanish ‘challenges’, which involved conventional tilts, and these on the whole were well received, both by the participants and the onlookers. ‘A great running at the tilt’, recorded the London chronicler Henry Machyn under the date ‘xxiiii Januarii’.
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Equally important was the religious pageantry, and that had the additional advantage that the queen took part as well. Mary never showed the slightest interest in her husband’s war games, and the thought that she might have presided as the ‘Queen of Faerie’ never seems to have crossed her literal and sober mind. Solemn festivals of the Church were much more to her taste, and then she did usually appear, although the processions that marked St Paul’s Day on 25 January seem to have been attended only by the king and the cardinal. It may have been the colour and glitter of these occasions that attracted the spectators rather than the significance of what was being celebrated: ‘all the crafts in their best liveries’ and ‘copes very rich with tissue and cloth of gold’ are examples of what contemporary observers noted. In addition to the dubious pleasure of seeing someone get hurt, the jousts attracted similar observations: ‘goodly jerkins of blue velvet and hose embroidered with silver’ were on display in the ‘great triumph at the court gate’ on 18 December.
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The king was gracious in a rather distant way, generous with his money, and willing to pander (up to a point) to the uncultivated tastes of his English subjects. However, whether all this added up to very much in terms of his political agenda is another matter.

Ruy Gomez, who seems to have had a streak of cheerful common sense in his make-up, believed that he was making progress. The council, as he had frequently observed, was divided, but now the division appeared to be between Mary’s men and Philip’s men. On the one side stood the lord chancellor, Gardiner and the ‘Framlingham councillors’, Mary’s old and trusted servants; and on the other Paget and the more military-minded peers, such as the Earl of Pembroke. The indications are that Philip involved himself actively but discreetly in English affairs, consulting with those members of the privy council in whom he had confidence. His name was conscientiously included in all commissions, and one or two from which it had been omitted were recalled and reissued.

However, in terms of what his Spanish courtiers had seen as sovereignty, all this did not add up to much, and it seems that the main source of Philip’s input into English government continued to come through his personal ascendancy over Mary. The queen’s apparent pregnancy was becoming more and more obvious, as was to be expected, and her active role proportionately less. Philip, however, did not push himself forward, and those who bore the face of the government in public were principally the officers of state. The Earl of Bedford, lord privy seal, died on 14 March, and was not immediately replaced. For the time being the functions of the office were discharged by Sir Robert Rochester, but he was not appointed to the post, and that may have been significant because his abilities were not much regarded by the king. In fact, by April Philip was becoming increasingly restless. He was consulting daily with his Spanish council, and the frustrations of his position in England were making him ever more anxious to leave. However, Mary’s health was giving cause for concern as early as January, and Renard, exploiting his position as the Emperor’s representative, read the king an unsolicited lecture upon his duty to stay in England until the queen was safely delivered.
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If she bore a healthy son – or even daughter – his position would be transformed. If she died in the attempt, he would have interests to protect. He stayed.

On 20 April Mary withdrew into the customary female seclusion, but still Philip’s role did not noticeably increase. An air of anticipation settled upon the court. At that point the birth was expected to take place about 9 May, and Renard was concerned that some statement should be made about the succession. Little as he liked the idea, he believed that Elizabeth should be recognised.
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Nobody was much influenced by the once-powerful ambassador’s opinion, but the princess was transferred from Woodstock to Hampton Court – more to keep her under close surveillance than for any more positive reason. Gardiner was still anxious to have her lawfully excluded, but his proposals made no progress either. On 22 May Ruy Gomez confided to Eraso that he could see no sign of an imminent birth, and anticipation began to turn to unease.
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Philip, meanwhile, was becoming worried about an entirely different development. Gardiner and Pole began to move against the Protestants as soon as Parliament was dissolved on 16 January. On the 22nd the lord chancellor had summoned the preachers who had been imprisoned to his house at St Mary Overy, and given them an ultimatum. Submit and receive the queen’s mercy, or be proceeded against by the newly restored laws and jurisdiction. They all refused, and on the 28th Gardiner and several other bishops sat judicially in the Church of St Mary Overy by virtue of Pole’s legatine commission. John Hooper, John Rogers and John Cardmaker were arraigned for heresy. The following day Cardmaker submitted, but the others refused and were condemned.
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On the 30th Rowland Taylor, Lawrence Saunders and John Bradford were similarly condemned, and on 4 February John Rogers was burned at Smithfield. He publicly refused the queen’s pardon, and died with great courage.
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On 9 February John Hooper was burned at Gloucester, and Rowland Taylor at Hadley in Suffolk.

This was totally unexpected, at least by the government. Gardiner had firmly believed that the threat of fire would send all these rats scurrying for cover, and when his bluff was called, he was taken aback. For the time being, however, he had no option but to press on with the trials, and to hope that something would give. Up to a point he was justified, because although John Foxe, the Protestant historian/martyrologist, is cagey on the subject, Cardmaker was not the only one to recant. Hooper died, and John Ponet fled into exile, but several of Edward’s bishops submitted, and even retained their sees, as Thomas Thirlby did.
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Others, like Robert Holgate of York, were deprived of their bishoprics, but later sought reconciliation. Nevertheless, the number remaining defiant was far larger than anyone in authority had expected. Gardiner had gone for the leadership – not Cranmer, whose position was complicated by his canonical status, but leading preachers and other respected figures, on the assumption that their surrender would dishearten the rank and file so that the problem would disappear. In some places, like Norwich, that is actually what happened,
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but at the national level and in London such expectations were disappointed. Within a few months, in Foxe’s words, ‘seeing that cruelty in this case would not serve’, the lord chancellor ‘gave over as utterly discouraged’. He ceased to sit in judgement, and vainly tried to persuade Mary to adopt a less spectacular form of coercion. Every burning was a defeat, and although the crowds were not necessarily as sympathetic to the victims as Foxe later made them appear, there is plenty of evidence that the burnings were unpopular. The Venetian ambassador, Giovanni Michieli, also reported hostile demonstrations, and Renard observed a worrying tendency for these crowds to blame Philip for what was happening. The loyal pamphleteer Miles Huggarde observed the same phenomenon. Religion, he declared, was simply being used as a pretext for the seditious undermining of authority:

Cursed speakers also in using their tongues after a most vile sort, not only against the church, the spouse of Christ, but also against our princes … And how abominab[ly] they have from time to time ill said of the king’s majesty, reverence and shame constraineth silence …
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Philip was not squeamish about burning heretics, but for him, as for Gardiner, it was a policy intended to suppress dissent – not encourage it. As early as 10 February (the day after Hooper and Taylor had suffered) Philip’s confessor, Alonso a Castro, preached at the court advocating a different course of action. Castro had no personal aversion to persecution (he had written a book on the subject), and he was clearly expressing Philip’s reservations.

No one seems to have been listening. Gardiner came round to Philip’s point of view some months later, but neither Pole nor Mary were moved. Opinion among the king’s Spanish advisers seems to have been divided. What Castro really thought we do not know, but Bartolome Carranza, who was close to Pole, was on the whole supportive of the action that was being taken.
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As anxiety over Mary’s condition began to mount in June 1555, the persecution began to spread, and to move away from the leaders to the rank and file. It was uneven in its incidence, being concentrated heavily in Essex, Kent and London. Reading between the lines of Foxe’s hagiographical narratives, we can see personal scores being settled, harassed clergy getting revenge on prickly parishioners, and some highly provocative displays of defiance. Not all the victims were orthodox Protestants – they held all sorts of eccentric views – and some were clearly on bad terms with their neighbours.
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However, many were responding in their own way to the kind of call that was to be issued in print by John Ponet in the following year:

… to refuse to do that is evil for justice sake, to be slaughtered, spoken evil of, whipped, scourged, spoiled of their goods, killed of the worldly princes and tyrants, rather than they would disobey God and forsake Christ; this can neither papists nor Turks, Jews nor gentiles, nor none other do, but only the Elect of God …
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There was immense comfort to be gained from the conviction that you were among the elect of God, no matter what the price. In time, Pole came to see the force of this emotion, although he never accepted it. While remaining implacable against those whom he thought had ‘deceived the simple’ with bogus promises of salvation, he began to show some sympathy with those who had been deceived, and advised patience in dealing with them, even reprieving one or two from the stake without the kind of explicit submission that was normally required.
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