Chapter IV: Via Dolorosa (1)

1533-1536.

A crisis of some sort was generally thought to be at hand, although its precise nature remained a mystery for a few days longer. The King’s subjects made no secret of their satisfaction, because Anne had not fulfilled the confident prognostications of the astrologers, who had flattered her with assurances that she would present Henry with a son. Not only did they rejoice in her disappointed ambition, and in the visible cooling of Henry’s passion, but they now began to entertain hopes that Mary would not be so completely set aside in the succession as they had been led to expect.

The satisfaction and the hope were, however, short-lived, and on the 3rd November, Chapuys communicated to the Emperor the further untoward progress of events.[111]

“Not satisfied with having taken away from his own legitimate daughter the name and title of princess, as intimated in a former despatch, the King has lately been talking of removing—and has actually begun to do so—all the officers and servants of her princely household, on the plea that they have encouraged her in her disobedience. This the King has done, as he says, to daunt and intimidate her; he has even gone so far as to demand that she (the Princess) should go and live as ‘demoiselle d’honneur’ to his bastard daughter, at which, your Majesty may guess, both the Queen and the Princess are marvellously disturbed, and in great trouble. They sent to me a week ago in this emergency and begged I would speak to Cromwell, and see what could be done to arrest the blow. I immediately sent to the Princess, a protest drawn in due form for her to sign and keep secret, declaring that neither by word nor deed, expressly nor tacitly, had she ever consented to anything that may prejudice her or her right. I have besides put down in writing several candid and temperate statements, to be addressed to those who might come with such a proposition in her father’s name. In case however, of there being no help at all, she was, I said, to have patience, for she would not have to suffer long. Should the King send some one to her on such an errand, she was to say from the very first, that if the King her father wished it to be so, she submitted, but that she protested, in due form, against whatever might be done to her prejudice. These words I wrote down for her, she was to learn them by heart, and repeat them daily, surrounded by her most confidential servants.”

The blow fell speedily, and on the 16th December, Chapuys told his master that what he had feared had come to pass:—[112]

“According to the determination come to by the King about the treatment of the Princess and the bastard, of which I wrote in my last, the said bastard was taken three days ago to a house seventeen miles from here [Hatfield], and although there was a shorter and better road, yet for greater solemnity, and to insinuate to the people that she is the true Princess, she was taken through this town [London] with the company which I wrote in my last; and next day, the Duke of Norfolk went to the Princess, to tell her that her father desired her to go to the court and service of the said bastard, whom he named Princess. The Princess answered that the title belonged to herself, and to no other, making many very wise remonstrances, that what had been proposed to her was strange and dishonourable. To which, the Duke could not reply. After much talk, he said he had not come there to dispute, but to accomplish the King’s will; and the Princess, seeing that it was needless excusing herself, demanded half an hour’s respite to go to her chamber, where she remained about that time—to make, as I know, a protestation which I had sent her, in order that if compelled by force or fraud to renounce her rights, or enter a nunnery, it might not be to her prejudice. On returning from her chamber, she said to the Duke, that since the King her father was so pleased, she would not disobey him, begging him to intercede with the King for the recompense of her servants, that they might have at least a year’s wages. She then asked what company she should bring. The Duke said it was not necessary to bring much, for she would find plenty where she was going; and so she parted, with a very small suite. Her gouvernante [the Countess of Salisbury], daughter of the late Duke of Clarence and near kinswoman to the King, a lady of virtue and honor, if there be one in England, has offered to follow and serve her at her own expense, with an honorable train. But it was out of the question that this would be accepted; for in that case, they would have no power over the Princess, whom it is to be feared, they mean to kill, either with grief or otherwise, or make her renounce her right, or marry basely, or make her stain her honour, to have ground for disinheriting her—since notwithstanding the remonstrances I have hitherto made, touching the Princess, to which I have had no reply, the King has proceeded to such excesses; and considering that my words only served to irritate him, and make him more fierce and obstinate, I have resolved not again to address to him a single word, except he obliges me, without a command from the Queen.”

In the same letter he says:—

“You cannot imagine the grief of all the people at this abominable government. They are so transported with indignation at what passes, that they complain that your Majesty takes no steps in it, and I am told by many respectable people, that they would be glad to see a fleet come hither in your name, to raise the people; and if they had any chief among themselves, who dared raise his head, they would require no more.”

After signing the formal protest which Chapuys had drawn up for her, Mary allowed herself to be placed in a litter, and conveyed to Hatfield, where Elizabeth, then three months old, was provided with an establishment. Dr. Fox, the King’s almoner, rode by the side of the litter, in order to guard the Princess, and prevent any excessive outbreak of indignation on the part of the populace. Nevertheless, according to Anne’s scornful remark, Mary was treated, in the villages through which she passed, “as if she were God Himself who had descended from heaven”. Moreover, Dr. Fox, Henry’s own agent, took the opportunity of telling her that she had done well, not to submit, and he implored her for the love of God, and the welfare of the realm, to remain firm.

On the 23rd December, Chapuys continues his narrative:[113]—

“When the Princess, who was taken off with only two attendants, had arrived where the bastard was, the Duke (of Suffolk) asked her whether she would not go and pay her respects to the Princess. She replied, that she knew no other Princess in England except herself, and that the daughter of Madame de Penebrok (_sic_) had no such title; but that it was true, that since the King her father acknowledged her to be his, she might call her ‘sister,’ as she called the Duke of Richmond ‘brother’. On her removing, the Duke asked her what word he should carry to the King; to which she replied: ‘Nothing else except that his daughter, the Princess, begged his blessing;’ and when he said that he would not carry such a message, she told him curtly, he might leave it; and after protesting several times, that what she did at the King’s command, should not be to her prejudice, she retired to weep in her chamber, as she does continually. Though the said Duke treated her very roughly, the King reproached him for not having accomplished his charge; that he went about it too softly; and he was resolved to take steps to abate the stubbornness and pride of the Princess.”

Meanwhile, the same measure was to be meted out to mother and daughter, and the Duke of Suffolk, albeit “he went about it too softly,” was in each case Henry’s faithful agent.

Katharine was allowed to remain undisturbed at Buckden, till Mary was removed from Beaulieu, when it was resolved to send her to Somersham, in the Isle of Ely, a place surrounded with deep water and marshes, the most unhealthy and pestilential spot in England. Katharine, knowing what awaited her there, refused to stir, and for six days, Henry’s commissioners remained with her, using persuasion and threats in vain. She shut herself up in her room, and told them through a hole in the wall, that if they would take her away they must break open the doors, and carry her off by force. This they dared not do, for fear of the people; and the Duke of Suffolk was obliged to depart with his mission entirely unfulfilled. To do him justice, it must be remarked that he was extremely loth to undertake it.

“The Duke of Suffolk,” wrote Chapuys,[114] “as I am informed by his wife’s mother, confessed on the Sacrament, and wished some mischief might happen to him, to excuse himself from this journey. The King, at the solicitation of the Lady, whom he dares not contradict, has determined to place the Queen in the said house, either to get rid of her, or to make sure of her, as the house is strong; and besides, it is seven miles from another house, situated in a lake, which one cannot approach within six miles, except on one side; and the King and the Lady have agreed to seek all possible occasions to shut up the Queen within the said island, and failing all other pretexts to accuse her of being insane.”

Nothing is more apparent, in all that Chapuys writes at this time, than Henry’s weakness in whatever concerned Anne. His passion for her was already on the wane, but he dared not disregard her least wish, and her empire over him, although exercised by different means, was as great as it had ever been. One day he set out for Hatfield, to pay a visit to the little Elizabeth, and at the same time, to try all that persuasion and threats from his own lips could do, to reduce Mary to submission, and induce her to give up her title. Anne, considering his “easiness or lightness (if any one dared to call it so), and that the beauty, virtue and prudence of the Princess might assuage his wrath and cause him to treat her better,” sent Cromwell and other messengers after him to prevent his seeing or speaking with his daughter Mary. Accordingly, Henry, before arriving at the house, sent on orders that she was not to come to him, and while he was there, he delegated to Cromwell, to the treasurer, and to the captain of the guard, the office of remonstrating with her. But to all their arguments she replied that she had already given a decided answer, that it was labour wasted to press her further, and that they were deceived if they thought that rudeness, bad treatment, or even the fear of death would shake her determination. While her father was with Elizabeth, she sent to ask leave to come and kiss his hand; but this request he dared not grant. Just, however, as he was about to mount his horse, he looked up (Chapuys is uncertain whether by chance or whether his attention was directed by some one present) to the terrace on the top of the house, and saw Mary on her knees, with her hands clasped. He bowed to her, and put his hand to his hat, whereupon all present, who had before this not dared to look at her, “saluted her reverently with signs of goodwill and compassion”.[115]

The ambassador continues:—

“The day before yesterday, the Lady having heard of the prudent replies of the Princess, complained to the King that he did not keep her close enough, and that she was badly advised, as her answers could not have been made without the suggestion of others, and that he had promised that none should speak to her without his knowing it. Twenty days ago, the King said to the Marquis [of Saluce, who had come with a proposal of marriage] that the trust the Princess had in your Majesty made her obstinate, but he would bring her to the point, as he feared neither the Emperor nor any other, if the Marquis and other vassals were loyal, as he thought they would be; they must not trip or vary, for fear of losing their heads, and he would keep such good watch, that no letters could be received from beyond sea, without his knowing it. Besides his trust in his subjects, he has great hope in the Queen’s death. He lately told the French ambassador, that she could not live long, as she was dropsical, an illness she was never subject to before. It is to be feared, something has been done to bring it on. I told Gregory Casale of this saying of the King’s, and he replied that he thought of renouncing the King’s service before leaving here, and of setting up the white banner.... The Queen has not been out of her room since the Duke of Suffolk was with her, except to hear Mass in a gallery. She will not eat nor drink what the new servants provide. The little she eats, in her anguish, is prepared by her chamberwomen, and her room is used as her kitchen. She is very badly lodged; she desires me to write to you about it.”

On the 11th February he continues:[116]—

“The French ambassador told me that the King on returning from a visit to his new daughter, said that he had not spoken to the Princess, on account of her obstinacy, which came from her Spanish blood; and when the ambassador remarked that she had been very well brought up, the tears came into his eyes, and he could not refrain from praising her. Anne is aware of the King’s affection for the Princess, and does not cease to plot against her. A gentleman told me yesterday, that the Earl of Northumberland told him, that he knew for certain she had determined to poison the Princess. The Earl may know something of it from his familiarity and credit with Anne. The Princess has been warned to be on her guard, but if God do not help her, it will be difficult for her to protect herself for long. I do not know any other remedy, except to persuade the Scotch ambassador to make the King and his Council believe that his master will not make peace unless the right of succession, on the death of the Princess is reserved to him. This he has promised to do, and said he would come and see me yesterday about it, without caring for the suspicions these people might have. I thought also that the Princess, after making solemn protestations of compulsion and danger, might offer to the King to be content not to be called Princess, if she was allowed to reside with the Queen; but Anne might be encouraged to execute her wicked will from fear of a reconciliation between the Princess and her father, and would be able to do it with less suspicion, under colour of friendship, than now that her hatred and enmity is open. Perhaps also, those who now favour the Princess would become cool towards her, not knowing the cause of her actions, nor the protestations. A gentleman told me that Anne had sent to her father’s sister (Alice, widow of Sir Thomas Clere of Ormesby, in Norfolk), who has charge of the Princess, telling her not to allow her to use that title, and if she did otherwise, she must box her ears as a cursed bastard—_quelle luy donnast des buffes comme a une mauldicte bastarde telle quelle estoit_. The Princess has been used to breakfast in her chamber, and then come to table in public, but neither eat nor drink, but Anne has now ordered that she shall not be served in her chamber. She is going to see her daughter, the first Thursday in Lent, and will stay two days. I pray this may not be to the injury of the Princess. The French ambassador said he was astonished that good guard was not kept about the Princess, to keep her from being carried away, as it would totally ruin the King if she were to cross the sea. This agrees with what I have already written, that the King did not care to marry her on the other side of the sea.”

Mary’s condition became daily worse. Her position in Elizabeth’s household was rather that of an attendant, than of a lady-in-waiting, and to the humiliations showered upon the unhappy girl was now added the want of the barest necessaries of life. The “pearl of the kingdom” was less well provided for than the meanest of her father’s subjects. Failing all other methods, she was to be starved into a surrender, and if she would not dine at the common table, was to have nothing to eat at all. Anne’s vindictiveness increased, when some peasants, assembling under Mary’s balcony, cheered the poor prisoner, calling her their rightful Princess. Chapuys’ despatch of the 21st February chronicles what is perhaps the high-water mark of her disgrace.

“The Princess,” he writes,[117] “finding herself nearly destitute of clothes and other necessaries, has been compelled to send a gentleman to the King. She ordered him to take money or the clothes, but not to accept any writing in which she was not entitled Princess. He was also charged to ask leave for her to attend Mass, at the church which adjoins the house, but this was not allowed. As the country people seeing her walk along a gallery saluted her as their princess, she is now kept much closer, and nothing done without the leave of the sister of Anne Boleyn’s father, who has charge of her. The Duke of Norfolk, and Anne’s brother lately reprimanded her for behaving to the Princess with too much respect and kindness, saying that she ought only to be treated as a bastard. She replied, that even if the Princess were only the bastard of a poor gentleman, she deserved honour and good treatment for her goodness and virtues. The Princess is well in health, and bears her troubles with patience, trusting in God and your Majesty, and showed no better cheer in her prosperity than now. God grant that this may not irritate this accursed Lady to carry out her detestable imaginations.”

Charles was not unmindful of the perils which surrounded his aunt and cousin, but he was greatly embarrassed for means to help them. Henry was deaf to persuasive arguments; the argument of force still remained to be applied, but this would involve the Emperor in a series of complications, out of which he did not see his way. If he made war on Henry, he would have to reckon with Henry’s ally and his own enemy, the King of France, who was by no means so scrupulous a Catholic, that he would hesitate to take up a hostile attitude towards the Pope, in a matter which was considered by the rest of Christendom as the Pope’s peculiar province. Henry had effected a formal rupture with Rome, and still Francis was as friendly to him as before. Moreover, the French court, although it had professed to be shocked by Anne’s effrontery, was known to favour the new Queen secretly; and dominating all these other difficulties was the Emperor’s accumulated debt to Henry, which his nephew was less than ever in a position to pay. A chess-board policy was therefore all that was possible in the actual state of affairs. Not any amount of sacrifices on the part of Charles would avail to help his aunt’s cause, and the letter which he wrote at this juncture to his ambassador in France, is alike a voucher for the accuracy of Chapuys’ narrative of affairs in England, and a confession of weakness by the Emperor.

“You have done well,” he writes, “to report what you have heard touching practices against the Princess of England, and what the King of France has said to you touching the King of England’s rupture with the Pope and the Holy See, and his making alliance with the Lutherans, and pretending that the Queen our aunt is ill. We have heard the same from our ambassador in England, much to our grief. And you are to tell Francis that the more Henry disowns obedience to the Holy See, the more he ought to support it. As to the report spread by the King of England, that the Queen our aunt is ill, you are to take an opportunity of telling him that she is in very good health of body, notwithstanding her ill-treatment, and that the spreading of such a report is very suspicious—all the more, as they have put her in a very unhealthy habitation, and taken away her physician, and almost all her servants, so that the _essai_ of viands is no longer made. You have done right to inform Cifuentes[118] of this, although our ambassador in England has also done so.”[119]

Whether Chapuys was right in thinking that Anne would make a pretence of friendship with Mary, in order to destroy her more completely, or whether, having tried her utmost to break the Princess’s spirit, she now thought to win her enemy by gentler means, it is certain that in March 1534 she suddenly changed her tactics.

She went to Hatfield, ostensibly to see Elizabeth, but as soon as she arrived, she sent a message to Mary inviting her to come and salute her as the queen she was. If Mary would do so, Anne promised that she would intercede with her father on her behalf.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mary replied that she knew no queen in England but her mother; but she would be much obliged if the Lady Anne Boleyn would be a means to the King in her favour. Anne tried again, sent a fresh message, but was again repulsed, whereupon she threatened “to break the haughtiness of this unbridled Spanish blood”.[120]

But if Anne’s hatred increased from this moment, her power to influence Henry was visibly on the decline. Her very threats are henceforth indicative of her weakened hold on his inconstant mind. In the course of the year 1534, there was a question of his departure for France, and Anne was more than once heard to say, that when he had crossed the sea, and she remained in England as regent, she would use her authority to put Mary to death, either by starving her or otherwise. When her brother, Lord Rochford represented to her that this would anger the King, she replied that she did not care, even if she were burned alive for it afterwards. “The Princess,” adds Chapuys, “quite expects this, and thinking that she could not better gain Paradise than by such a death, shows no concern, trusting only in God, whom she has always served well, and does still better now. Having spoken to the Queen, by her advice, I will make remonstrances; but I know not if they will do any good.”[121]

In a formal letter of protest, dated 7th June 1534, against the treatment she had received, in being declared illegitimate, and deprived of her title of Princess of Wales, Mary declared that she would not enter a convent, or take any such step at the will of her father, without the free consent of her mother. The strange mixture of firmness, self-reliance and sweetness in her behaviour at this time, was a source of wonder and admiration to all not utterly devoid of human pity, and even strangers were impressed with such conduct in a girl of eighteen, whose whole life appeared to be one perpetual lesson on the “uses of adversity”.

Chapuys told the French Admiral on his visit to England “that those who had shown him the Tower, and several other things, had not shown him the principal gem of all the kingdom, to wit the Princess. He replied that he was as much vexed as possible, that he had no opportunity of seeing her, although he had several times spoken about her, and used means to that effect. I asked if he had been refused a sight of her, and he confessed that he had not expressly requested it, but that the King never would come to the point. He added that he had never heard a lady so praised as the Princess, even by those who were giving her trouble; and certainly he was her devoted servant, both on account of her great virtue, and because she was so nearly related to the Queen his mistress,[122] and that he hoped for certain, soon to do her good service.”[123]

Chapuys had now begun to speak very openly to the King and Cromwell, insisting on the discussion of matters over which they would rather have drawn a veil. Of some of these Cromwell declared that “neither sugar nor sauce would make them go down”.

It was evident to the envoy, that all their hope lay in the Queen’s death, and he was at no pains to conceal the fact that he had fathomed their designs. He had petitioned the King for leave to attend Parliament when Katharine’s cause was tried, and to state her case plainly. But Henry refused, on the plea that it was not customary for foreigners to be present at parliamentary debates. Chapuys protested that there had never been such a case before, and that no Parliament could stigmatise the birth of the Princess, for the cognizance of such cases belonged to ecclesiastical judges, and that even if his marriage with the Queen were null, Mary was still his legitimate daughter, owing to the lawful ignorance of her parents. The Archbishop of Canterbury, he declared, had not dared to cast a slur on her birth, and the King himself had considered her as the heir to the throne, until the birth of his new daughter. Henry seemed more moved by this, than by anything else that Chapuys had said; but he still maintained that there was no need for Katharine, or any one else to be summoned to Parliament, as he himself being a party could not be there, and that according to the laws of the kingdom, Mary was unable to succeed, and there was no other Princess except his daughter Elizabeth, who was the heir, until he had a son, which he thought would happen soon, adding that he did not care for all the canons which might be alleged, as he preferred his own laws, according to which he would have legitimacy judged by lay judges, who could also take cognizance of matrimonial causes. “As,” remarked Chapuys, “I thought this was strange, he said he would send me books. I asked him to do so, and also to show me the law which, he says, makes against the Princess; but he will do neither the one nor the other, for he will not find what he wants.”[124]

Soon after Anne’s visit to Hatfield, Elizabeth was removed to the More, and Mary, thinking that she would prejudice her own and her mother’s cause by consenting to go in her suite, declared that she had no objection to go to the same place either before or after Elizabeth, but that she would not pay court to her on the road, unless she was led by force. She was accordingly put into a litter, when she took the opportunity of making a public protest. Chapuys thought this ill-advised, since it might only serve to irritate the King, and draw upon herself worse treatment than before, “at the desire of his mistress, who is constantly plotting the worst she can against the Princess”.

From the original portrait by Holbein.]

The shrewdness of the ambassador was not at fault, and Mary was treated more rigorously than ever. When Henry paid a visit of two days to the More, she was commanded not to leave her room, and was told that her father did not care in the least, whether she renounced her title or not, since by statute she was now declared illegitimate, and incapable of succeeding. It was also reported to her, that Henry had said he would make her lose her head, for violating the laws of his realm. She was constantly watched, so that it was extremely difficult for her to communicate this new danger to Chapuys. Her ingenuity provided her, however, with a means which proved successful. Her old schoolmaster and friend, Master Featherstone, happened to be in the house, and Mary asked to speak with him privately. This being refused, she contrived to tell him what she wished he should know, without exciting the suspicion of the bystanders. She began to say to him that she had been now so long without speaking Latin, that she could not say two words properly, and he desiring to judge for himself, asked her to say something in that language. Then she told him what the King had said that day, no one present understanding Latin. He was astounded, and could only answer, that that was not good Latin, and immediately sent to inform Chapuys,[125] who related the occurrence to the Emperor. In the same despatch the envoy says:—

“It is feared the King will put to death the Bishop of Rochester, and Mr. More, late Chancellor, who, as I lately wrote, are confined in the Tower with others, for refusal to swear. The Scotch ambassadors laugh at this King, with good reason, for imagining to strengthen his cause and his laws by this oath violently extorted, for it rather tends to show that they are worth nothing, since they require such help to maintain them.”

On the 14th May he wrote:—

“Some days ago the King asked his mistress’s aunt, who has charge of the Princess, if the latter had abated her obstinacy, and on being answered ‘No,’ he said there must be some one about her who encouraged her, and conveyed news from the Queen, her mother. The said gouvernante, on consideration, could suspect no one, except the maid of whom I lately wrote, who had been compelled to swear, and on this suspicion, she drove her out, and she has been for some days without any one to go to, or means to support herself. The Princess has been much grieved at this, for she was the only one in whom she had confidence, and by her means, she had letters from me and others. The Queen also is very sorry, but still more because the King has taken from the Princess her confessor, a very good man, and given her another who is a Lutheran, and a tool of his own. During the last few days, the King perceiving that neither by force nor menaces could he get his way with the said Princess, or for some other reasons, has shown her more honour than usual, and used more gracious words, begging that she would lay aside her obstinacy, and he would promise her before Michaelmas to make such a bargain with her, that she should enjoy a royal title and dignity, to which, among 1000 other wise answers, she replied that God had not so blinded her as to confess for any kingdom on earth that the King, her father, and the Queen, her mother, had so long lived in adultery, nor would she contravene the ordinance of the Church, and make herself a bastard. She believes firmly that this dissimulation the King uses is only the more easily to attain his end, and cover poison. But she says she cares little, having full confidence in God, that she will go straight to Paradise, and be quit of the tribulations of this world; and her only grief is about the troubles of the Queen, her mother.”[126]

Seeing that she was liable to make mistakes, if guided by her own inexperience, Mary was anxious in future to do nothing without Chapuys’ advice, as the following letter from the ambassador shows:—

“The Princess, understanding of late that the King intended she should remove, and accompany the Bastard, sent to me three times in less than twenty-four hours to know what to do. I wrote back to her each time, resolving her scruples, that even if she did obey the King without opposition or protestation, all that the King desired in this respect could do no prejudice to the protestations already made. Nevertheless, I thought that to prevent her father and his lady imagining she was worn out, and conquered by ill-treatment, she should speak boldly, and with her accustomed modesty, but not go to the extremity of allowing herself to be taken by force, as on the former occasion. I wrote to her at full length what she ought to say; not that it was necessary, considering her good sense, but because she desired me. She played her part so well, that the Comptroller promised her she should not go after the other. Nevertheless, on her coming to the first door of the lodging, there was the litter of the Bastard, and the Princess was compelled to go out after her, the Comptroller allowing her, as soon as she was mounted, to go before or after, as she pleased; on which account, she suddenly pushed forward, and arrived at Greenwich about an hour before the Bastard. When she came to enter the barge, she took care to secure the most honourable place. I had intimated to her that I would go to Greenwich to see her pass; and she sent to beg me to do so, as earnestly as she could. I was there accordingly in disguise, and it was a great pleasure to see such excellent beauty, accompanied by heroic bearing, which all the more increased the pity to see her so treated.”[127]

A little later Chapuys, continuing his narrative, says:—

“Although Cromwell assured me of the goodwill the King bore the Princess, I should scarcely have believed it, but for some other things, which make it probable. For the King has commanded that she shall be well treated; and on Wednesday, before leaving the More, she was visited by nearly all the gentlemen and ladies of the court, to the Lady’s great annoyance. On Thursday, the day before yesterday, being at Richmond with the little lass, the Lady came to see her said daughter, accompanied by the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and others, including some of the ladies, which was a novelty; and she refused to leave her chamber till the Lady was gone, that she might not see her. The first time that the said Princess accompanied the said little one, she was placed in a litter covered with leather; but on leaving the More, she had one of velvet like the other, in which she came to Richmond; and being there, both to avoid following the litter of the other, and because she was pleased to see me in passing, she let the little one go by land, and came herself by water. In the evening, she arranged with the bargemen to row her along the bank where she pleased, and immediately gave notice to me, that I would not fail to be at a certain house, which I keep in the fields by the river, between Greenwich and this town, to inhabit in time of plague, for she wished to see me, and requite my going to see her at Greenwich, when she passed. She accordingly persuaded the steersman, instead of going by one side of the river, to take the other, and from the time she came near enough to see me, she caused the barge to be uncovered, and went on deck in the most conspicuous place, and passed quite near where I was, never moving from the place she had taken up to look at me, until she had lost sight of me. She is, thank God, in very good health and _en bon point_, and appears to be happy and very cheerful. I notified to her before she left the More, that as the King’s severity was abating, she must take care not to give him any cause of offence, and as the protestation I had counselled her to make preserved her from all danger, she ought to make no difficulty about following the Bastard, but should declare that she was very glad in this to satisfy the King her father, and from that proceeded the visit paid to her at Richmond,[128] of which I have written above, and the licence to come by water without accompanying the other.”[129]

Early in 1535, Mary fell ill, and Henry in a moment of relenting, not only allowed her mother’s physician and apothecary to attend her, but sent his own physician, Dr. Buttes. The only stipulations made were that they must see her in the presence of witnesses, speak in no language but English, and pay their respects on their arrival to Elizabeth, before being conducted to Mary. The latter part of the order could not, however, be carried out, as it arrived too late.[130] Katharine eagerly seized the opportunity of Henry’s sudden kindness to entreat that her daughter might be sent to her, a petition that was answered with the singular concession, that the King would send her to a house near her mother, provided that the two did not meet. Her letter to Cromwell, in acknowledging his services in the negotiation, such as they were, is as pathetic as it is dignified.

“My good friend,” wrote Katharine, “you have laid me under great obligation by the trouble you have taken in speaking to the King, my lord, about the coming of my daughter to me. I hope God will reward you, as you know it is out of my power to give you anything but my goodwill. As to the answer given you, that the King is content to take her to some house near me, provided I do not see her, I beg you will give him my hearty thanks for the good he does to his daughter and mine, and for the peace of mind he has given me. You may assure him, that if she were but a mile from me I would not see her, because the time does not permit me to go visiting, and if I wished it, I have not the means. But you may tell his Majesty, it was my wish that he should send her where I am, as the comfort and cheerfulness she would have with me would be half her cure. I have found this by experience, being ill of the same sickness, and as my request was so reasonable, and touched so greatly the honour and conscience of the King, I did not think it would be denied me. Do not forbear, I beseech you, and do what you can that it may be so. I have heard that he had some suspicion of her security—a thing so unreasonable that I cannot believe it entered into his heart, nor do I think he has so little confidence in me. If such a thing be assumed, I beg you to tell his Majesty, it is my fixed determination to die in this kingdom; and I offer my person as security that if such a thing be attempted, he may do justice upon me as the most traitorous woman that ever was born.”[131]

Katharine made another attempt to get possession of her daughter; and the letter which she wrote to Chapuys with that object is very touching in its tender, maternal anxiety:—

“My physician has informed me partly of my daughter’s illness, giving me hope of her improved health; but as I know her infirmity lasts so long, and I see he is slow to visit her (although for some days he could not, as I was so ill myself), I have great suspicion as to the cause. So because it appears to me that what I ask is just, and for the service of God, I beg you will speak to his Highness, and desire him, on my behalf, to do such a charity as to send his daughter and mine where I am; because treating her with my own hands, and by the advice both of other physicians and of my own, if God pleases to take her from this world, my heart will rest satisfied; otherwise, in great pain. You shall also say to his Highness that there is no need of any other person but myself to nurse her; that I will put her in my own bed where I sleep, and will watch her when needful. I have recourse to you, knowing that there is no one in this kingdom who dare say to the King my lord, that which I desire you to say; and I pray God reward you for the diligence that you will make.”[132]

Immediately after receiving this letter, Chapuys asked Cromwell to arrange an interview with the King, which was assigned for the next morning. When he had read the letter aloud to Henry, the ambassador supported it by all the arguments he could think of, and instead of replying, as usual, that he knew better than any one else how to provide for his daughter, Henry answered gently that he wished to do his utmost for her health, but that he must not forget what was due to his own honour, which would be injured if she were taken out of the kingdom, or if she herself escaped, as she might easily do, by night, if she were with her mother, for he had begun to suspect the Emperor of designs for getting her away.

Chapuys craftily allayed this suspicion, but Henry went on to say that there was no great occasion to confide Mary again to her mother’s hands, for it was Katharine who had put it into her head to show such obstinacy and disobedience, as all the world knew; and although sons and daughters were bound to show some obedience towards their mothers, their chief duty was to their fathers, and since the Princess could not have much help from the Queen, and it was clear the whole matter proceeded from her, Mary must submit to his pleasure. Chapuys then asked that she might, at least, have her old governess, Lady Salisbury, whom she regarded as her second mother. But Henry declared that she was a fool, of no experience, and that if his daughter had been under her care, she would have died, for Lady Salisbury would not have known what to do, whereas her present governess was an expert lady. All the physicians were apparently agreed, that Mary’s illness was caused by distress and sorrow, and that if the Princess were placed where she might enjoy a modicum of brightness and pleasure, and might be allowed to take exercise, her cure would be effected.

Dr. Buttes urged the responsibility he would incur in attending her, unless she were within reach of her mother’s medical adviser and apothecary, for in the event of her death he might be accused of foul play. Chapuys expressed a hope that some of Mary’s old and loyal servants would be sent to her, to keep her cheerful; but he recommended that her governess should not be changed, for he feared lest some one should give her a slow poison; whereas Anne’s aunt had long been warned that she would be suspected, if anything untoward happened to her charge. There was, she was told, a common belief in London, that she had already attempted to poison the Princess, so that the poor creature was terribly alarmed, and could do nothing but weep and lament whenever Mary was ill. Cromwell agreed that Chapuys’ demands were just, “but matters,” he said, “were rather hard of digestion, and he couldn’t get his master to chew them”.

In spite of all efforts, nothing was done to better Mary’s condition. But her illness abated, and on the 23rd March the ambassador told Cardinal Granvelle, that the Princess was well again, and “better than some would have her. She may be called,” he continued, “the paragon of beauty, goodness and virtue.” But she was constitutionally delicate, and suffered all her life, from a malady aggravated by the grief and sorrow which overwhelmed her in her youth. The violent attack which prostrated her in the beginning of 1535 followed immediately upon the information that had been conveyed to her at Christmas, of the statute lately framed against those who refused to acknowledge the King’s second marriage, and upon the command made directly to her, to renounce her title and her mother’s, and to take the oath of supremacy. A refusal, she was told, rendered her liable to instant imprisonment, and danger of death.

In clinging to mere formulas, Mary was influenced by no pride or obstinacy, for in yielding she would have implicitly repudiated her mother’s marriage, and have admitted a slur on her own birth. While maintaining her title she vindicated both.

Chapuys was now more thoroughly alarmed for Mary’s safety than ever, and the Emperor began to make plans for spiriting his cousin over to Flanders. “As to the possibility of withdrawing the Princess from hence,” the envoy declared, “the thing is so hazardous at present, that I doubt if she would listen to it. For besides that one must put oneself at the mercy of the wind, she is so strictly guarded that I can scarcely communicate to her anything; for apart from her indisposition, I have only suggested to her whether she would not like to be beyond the sea, and she replied that she desired nothing else.”[133] Shortly afterwards he continues: “Whatever pretence the King makes about the Princess’s illness, he has been very cold; in fact, she was taken ill on Friday, and he did not send his physician thither till Thursday after, and I do not know if he would have gone even then if I had not importuned Cromwell. On Friday afterwards she was let blood, and on Monday following, when I spoke to the King, he did not know she had been let blood, or anything about her condition. Since the first news, I have sent to her four or five times, by my servants, who make a poor report of her treatment, and of her company. She sent to me yesterday, two persons, to beg that I would continue to send some of my servants to her, for that caused her to be better respected. Your Majesty may consider what solace and pastime she can have with those about her, hearing them desire her death, by which, they say, the world would be at peace, and they, discharged of the pain and trouble they have had about her. As to getting her away from hence, it could be accomplished by having a pinnace on the river (Mary was then at Greenwich) and two armed ships at the mouth of the river; at least I could find means to get her out of the house almost at any hour of the night.”

On the 5th April he says:—

“The Princess, in order not to be altogether shut up, has remained ten or twelve days at Greenwich, since the little one was removed thence. On the 1st inst., she left for the house of which I wrote formerly. She wished to go on horseback, but as three of my servants were mounted to accompany her, those who had charge of her made her enter the litter, and her _gouvernante_ along with her, and there she remained, till my servants took leave of her, six miles from here. The litter was covered with velvet, and was by far the most honourable she had had since her misfortunes. This favour has been allowed to her this year, besides that the King, her father, has sent her since Christmas, on two occasions, sixty or eighty ducats. Since the little Bastard removed from Greenwich, considering that one of the galleons of La Renterie was on the other side of the river, and that there were some other Spanish ships here, by means of which the Princess might be saved, I sent to her to know if she would agree to it. She gave ready ear to the suggestion, saying she desired nothing else, and has since sent two or three times for my man, to solicit the matter; but her sudden departure broke off the enterprise, to which also, I did not dare commit myself, not having commandment from your Majesty, considering the practices put in train, since it pleased you to charge me to write what means there might be of withdrawing her. Nevertheless, the said Princess continues in her purpose to go away, and has sent to desire me by my servant, who has just come from seeing her, that, for the love of God, I will contrive to remove her from the danger, which is otherwise inevitable, adding that where she is now, there is no means of saving her by night, and that as soon as it was fine weather, she would go out walking, to see what arrangement could be made to come upon her by surprise, in the daytime, and so that it should appear as little as possible that it was by her consent; for the sake of her own honour, and the less to irritate the King, her father. The house where she lies is twelve miles from this river, and if once she could be found alone, it would be easier to save her than it is at Greenwich, for we could put her on board beyond Gravesend, past the danger of this river. The matter is hazardous, and your Majesty will take it into due consideration.”

The same day, he wrote to Granvelle:—

“If I were to tell you the messages she sent me at her leaving Greenwich, and again this morning, you could not refrain from tears, begging me to have pity on her, and advise her as I thought best, and she would obey....

“If the Princess going out to sport were once seized, and put on horseback, and there were ready a great ship or two and a row boat, the thing would be done. Except her guards, and some of the other side, the people would help her, and those sent in pursuit would shut their eyes, and bless those who had carried her off.”[134]

About this time, Mary and Elizabeth had removed to Eltham, and Anne Boleyn again paid her daughter a visit. In _The Life of Jane Dormer, Duchess of Feria_, it is recorded of this visit[135] that the Princess Mary, and the Lady Anne Boleyn “heard Mass together in one room. At the end of Mass, the Lady Mary made a low curtsy, and went to her lodging; so did the Lady Anne, then called queen. When she came to her quarter, one of her maids told her that the Lady Mary at parting made reverence to her, she answered that she did not observe it, and said: ‘If we had seen it, we would have done as much to her,’ and presently sent a lady of honour to her to excuse it; adding, that the love of none should be dearer nor more respected than hers, and she would embrace it with the kindness of a true friend. The lady that carried the message came when the Lady Mary was sat down at dinner. When admitted, she said: ‘The queen salutes your grace with much affection, and craves pardon, understanding that at your parting from the oratory, you made a curtsy to her, which, if she had seen, she would have answered you with the like; and she desires that this may be an entrance of friendly correspondence which your grace shall find completely to be embraced on her part’. ‘It is not possible,’ answered the Lady Mary, ‘that the queen can send me such a message; nor is it fit she should, nor can it be so sudden, her majesty being so far from this place. You would have said the Lady Anne Boleyne, for I can acknowledge no other queen but my mother, nor esteem them my friends who are not hers. And for the reverence that I made, it was to the altar, to her Maker and mine; and so, they are deceived, and deceive her who tell her otherwise.’ The Lady Anne was maddened with this answer, replying that one day she would pull down this high spirit.”