Chapter IV (1)

1555-1558

Religious persecution in England—Philip’s attempts to restrain
it—His efforts to keep control of English policy—Elizabeth
comes to Court—Return of Philip to England—French intrigues—The
English drawn into the war—St. Quentin—Loss of Calais—Penury
of the English treasury—Illness and death of Mary—Feria’s
approaches to Elizabeth

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]