XIX

Shee may be calde Marigold well,

Of Marie (chiefe), Christes mother deere,

That as in heaven shee doth excell,

And Golde in earth, to have no peere:

So (certainly) shee shineth cleere,

In Grace and honour double folde,

The like was never earst seene heere,

Such is this floure, the Marigolde.

Mary Tudor was now in her early twenties. She had already lived through more in her short lifetime than courtiers three times her age, but though the inner strains would become apparent soon enough her outward appearance was still that of a young girl. “With a fresh complexion she looks not past eighteen or twenty,” the French ambassador Marillac wrote in 1541, when she was twenty-five.¹ And he added “she is one of the belles of this court.” He went on to describe her person and habits, relying on one of her chamberers, a woman who had served Mary on and off from infancy, for his information. He reported that she was of middle stature, with her father’s features and her mother’s neck. Once she was married, the woman told Marillac, Mary was “of a disposition to have children soon,” implying both that she was capable of bearing children and that she looked forward to having them.

In manner Marillac found Mary sweet and benign, but with the prudence and reserve appropriate in a woman of her rank. The ambassador’s description of her daily life portrayed a reasonably healthy, vigorous and gifted woman. She is active, he wrote, and seemingly robust. She liked to exercise in the mornings and often walked two or three miles after breakfast. Her French and Latin were very good, and she read the Latin classics for pleasure. She had become an impressive performer on the virginals, and played (and taught her women to play) with unusual dexterity. In all, Marillac found Mary to be a very suitable candidate for marriage to a younger son of the French king, or to a duke of the royal blood. Her illegitimacy, plus the doubts surrounding her recurrent illness—which the chamber woman tried to dispel—were her only handicaps in the marriage market. Marillac would have liked to send his master a portrait of Mary, but her father refused. There would be no portraits of his daughter to send to prospective bridegrooms or fathers-in-law unless he approved the proposed match, and he did not approve.

Mary’s regular features, clear complexion and fresh coloring attracted admiration, and the clothes she chose helped to make her a center of attention. She loved to wear bright colors—reds and rich purples and the shimmering cloth of gold that sold for more than ten pounds the yard. Like her father she was inclined to be gaudy, and to decorate herself, some said to excess, with finery and jewels. When the secretary of a Spanish grandee met her at court he found her wearing a kirtle of cloth of gold and a violet gown of heavy three-piled velvet. Her headdress sparkled with “many rich stones.”²

Among her favorite jewels was a single ruby set in the shape of a Gothic letter “H,” Henry’s monogram, with a pendant pearl. She also owned a jeweled letter “M”, set with three rubies, two diamonds and a huge pearl.³ She supervised the inventory of her jewels closely, checking each page and signing it when she found it correct. Biblical jewelry filled the pages of this jewel book, with brooches of Old Testament scenes such as Moses “striking water out of the rock” and “Jacob being asleep” in mother of pearl complemented by stories from the life of Jesus. There was a brooch of Noah’s flood with little diamonds and rubies, a pendant “tablet” depicting the Trinity, and a brooch of Jesus healing the palsied man, adorned with a great table diamond.⁴ Among her dearest treasures was a miniature golden book that had somehow survived the attempted obliteration of all references to the king’s first marriage. It too was ornamental, and it showed “the king’s face and her grace mother’s”—that is, it bore facing portraits of Henry and Katherine.⁵

Now that she had money to spend Mary indulged her taste for finery. To one of the king’s envoys who was traveling to Spain she gave forty shillings to buy her small luxuries; to another bound for Paris she entrusted twelve pounds to buy more costly goods. But if her personal tastes now flourished her father’s preferences were never far from her mind, even in matters of dress. At Easter, 1538, when the court was putting off mourning for Queen Jane, Mary was anxious to wear what pleased Henry most. She sent Lady Kingston to the privy councilor Wriothesley, to ask him to inquire through Cromwell what the king wanted his daughter to wear. Mary thought he might like to see her in anold dress of white taffeta edged with velvet, “which used to be to his own liking whensoever he saw her grace, and suiteth for this joyful feast of our Lord’s rising.”⁶ Lady Kingston carried the message to Wriothes-ley, who relayed it to Cromwell, who finally asked Henry about it. He answered brusquely that Mary could wear whatever she liked.

Henry was preoccupied with continental affairs during 1538 and 1539, and paid scant attention to his children. Mary saw him infrequently, and spent her time at Richmond, Hampton Court, and the country houses of Kent and Surrey. Life in these country establishments was especially pleasant in summer and fall, when the farmers and villagers brought their fruits and vegetables to the gate of the great house to sell, and there were fresh peaches, apples, pears and strawberries in abundance. Gentlewomen sent quince pies and orange pies to Mary’s cook, and there was always deer from the neighboring hunting parks. There were bucks sent up from Eltham, does from Lady Sussex and other game brought by servants of Nicholas Carew’s; the king sent partridges when he happened to think of it, and the local people supplied as many chickens as the household could consume. Villagers whose children Mary had sponsored at their christenings brought her pheasants, baskets of vegetables and other things from their gardens out of gratitude, and country women came every week with dishes of butter, or confections, or flowers for the king’s daughter.⁷

It was characteristic of Mary to form close ties with the members of her household. She attracted their devotion, and they her care and compassion. The affection between them took many forms: the stability of the household staff from one year to the next, the competition for a place among Mary’s attendant ladies and gentlewomen, the frequent celebrations and exchanges of gifts among those who did enter her service. There were always gifts at New Year’s, but birthdays and holy days were also observed with small presents. On St. Valentine’s day the men drew the women’s names as their Valentines, and gifts of spaniels, caged birds, artificial flowers, smocks or lace or embroidered sleeves for gowns were exchanged. Sometimes the gifts were very valuable. When the widower Anthony Browne drew Mary as his Valentine she gave him a gold brooch set with an agate and four small rubies, enameled with the story of Abraham.⁸ Mary gave christening gifts to all the children she held at the font, and many of them were sons and daughters of household officials or servants. At the christening of Dr. De la Sà ’s child his godmother Mary presented a large ornamental saltcellar in silver and gilt, and an entry in her expense book shows that it cost sixty-six shillings. To the children of her longtime servants Beatrice and David ap Rice Mary became a patron. She paid the girl’s board in London and the boy’sat Windsor, where he served in some capacity at the court, and she continued this support until both children were able to make their own way in the world.

Mary’s establishment was always a source of charity. She relieved hundreds of poor men and women each year, giving something to all who came to her. On her daily walks she carried a purse full of pennies to give to needy folk she happened to meet, and many times she met women whose husbands were in jail, or men whose crops had been trampled or lost through drought or frost, and in every case she gave the petitioner something to help him or her make a fresh start. In 1537 she gave seven shillings to a “poor man whose house was burned” to build it again. Whenever she received a lump sum of money from the court she gave much of it away in almis, usually on the same day that she received it. Like other compassionate Christians in the 1530s and 1540s, Mary found the sight of impoverished monks, nuns and priests heartbreaking, and she helped them whenever she could. When she found that one Father Beauchamp, an old priest attached to Windsor Castle, had been deprived of his income and had nothing to live on, she took over responsibility for his support herself.⁹

The Spanish envoy who reported on Mary’s looks and disposition at this period wrote in his account that, beyond her “very great goodness and discretion, among other praises I heard of her is this, that she knows how to conceal her acquirements.”¹⁰ The acquirements Mary had to work hardest to conceal were her musical skills and her learning. She was as proficient on the regals and lute as she was on the virginals, and several of her instruments were moved with the itinerant household from one residence to another. Repairmen came regularly from London to replace strings, make needed adjustments and tune the virginals, and Mary’s keyboard teacher “Mr. Paston” and lute teacher Philip Van Wilder were salaried members of her establishment.¹¹

As for her proficiency in languages, she had no regular tutor but continued to read on her own. The works of the Greek and Roman historians, philosophers and poets had occupied a special place in her life for many years. Mary confided to the chamberwoman who was Marillac’s informant that throughout the trying period of her mother’s divorce and even in the darkest months of Anne’s reign she had turned to the classics for comfort. The “humane letters” dear to the Renaissance humanists were Mary’s solace during her sleepless nights at Hunsdon, and they meant a good deal to her on that account.¹² Mary was at no time part of a scholarly or artistic circle, but she did maintain close ties with Lord Morley, who presented her with either a translation or an original work of his own every year. At least some of his works were undertaken atMary’s suggestion, and the range of his interests—his translations included patristic, scholastic and humanist treatises—must have coincided with hers at many points. In the doctrinal and scholarly controversies of the 1530s Morley’s tastes placed him among the followers of Erasmus, who though he re-edited and purified the Christian texts did not share the Protestants’ radical reinterpretations of them. Morley translated Erasmus’ treatise in praise of the virgin Mary, and the new edition by the humanist Poliziano of a work by the Greek doctor Athanasius. He also made a new translation of Aquinas’ treatise on the Hail Mary, a biblical passage that was always significant for Mary Tudor.¹³

In her talents and cultural preferences Mary was clearly among the most accomplished women of her time, but her temperament was in no sense that of a withdrawn intellectual. She loved the outdoors, and spent hours walking in the gardens and tending plants of her own. Jasper, head gardener at Beaulieu, sent Mary roots and herbs to grow in the gardens of Richmond and Hampton Court, and her household records show her preoccupation with growing things. Riding was another of her delights. She had always ridden for health reasons but in her twenties, with a sizable stable and several very good riding horses, she resumed her old pastime of riding to the hunt. Her mother had taught her to love hunting, and in the last years before they were separated Mary and Katherine had hunted together in the royal parks, forgetting for a few hours the tragedy that was closing in around them. Mary now kept a kennel of hunting hounds, and liked to be painted with Italian greyhounds at her feet.

In the winter months there were indoor amusements. Mary shared her father’s taste for gambling, and when she played cards with Lady Hartford or Lady Margaret Grey she often lost twenty shillings at a single sitting.¹⁴ Most of the entertainment, though, was provided by a jester whose name appears more often in Mary’s household books than any other: Jane the Fool. Jane was one of Henry’s jesters, the only woman fool on a par with his favorite Will Somers. (Anne Boleyn had a woman fool, but what became of her on her mistress’ death is unclear.) Henry provided Jane’s board and paid her wages, and occasionally supplied her with cloth for her gowns and other necessities, but from 1537 on she lived with Mary, and it was Mary who looked after her everyday expenses. She paid for Jane’s hose and shoes (she wore them out every few months), and for the cloth for her smocks, gowns and bed linen; she paid the bills submitted by one “Hogman” who kept Jane’s horse, and found someone to care for her during a long illness she suffered in 1543.

Jane the Fool must have been a startling parody of a court gentlewoman. She wore damask gowns and silk kirtles, but her hose and shoes were those of a clown. She kept her head shaved as bald as an egg, and a barber came to shave it once a month at a cost of fourpence. Jane had acompanion who was known as Lucretia the Tumbler, and between them they kept Mary amused for hours with their jokes and songs and tricks.¹⁵

But if Mary’s time was spent agreeably enough in these years it was nonetheless time spent in expectation. The natural next step in her life was marriage, and rumors about who Mary’s husband would be were more or less constant at court and in the council chamber. In November of 1536, five months after her submission, Henry told Mary at dinner one night that he was seriously searching for a husband for her, and that he had a very suitable one in mind. He said much the same thing a few days later, now adding that the man he had in mind was Dom Luiz of Portugal, Charles V’s brother-in-law and preferred choice as Mary’s husband. In the fall of 1536 Henry was discouraged about the prospect of Jane’s having a son, and confided to Mary that since his queen would not provide him with a male heir he hoped his daughter would give him one. A legitimate grandson, he said, would be better than a bastard son.

Reports that the king intended to marry off his elder daughter were commonplace throughout the 1530s. Charles V had seen marriage to a foreign prince as by far the best solution to Mary’s dilemma during Anne’s reign, and recommended King James of Scotland, the French dauphin, and Dom Luiz as honorable matches for her. Henry let it be known that he was considering the voyvode of Poland as a potential son-in-law from 1532 on, and later, when he began to seek new political alliances with the Lutherans, he considered bestowing his daughter on a German prince. There was always the possibility that to punish Mary and remove any threat to his security she represented Henry might marry her to an Englishman of low birth, or to one of his trusted officials. Shortly after Katherine’s death Chapuys heard a rumor, taken seriously by most of Mary’s friends and supporters, that the king meant to marry her to Cromwell. Chapuys could not bring himself to believe it, but he traced the story to “one lord and one gentleman” who sincerely thought Henry was considering giving Mary to his principal secretary.¹⁶

By the fall of 1536, though, the field of candidates had narrowed. As the privy councilors noted shortly afterward, both Mary and Elizabeth were diplomatic assets which ought to be used to make allies. The two great powers on the continent, France and the empire, were currently alienated by England’s Protestant leanings (though both were actively soliciting Mary’s hand). Why not ease the diplomatic strains by means of a marriage alliance? Henry appeared to favor such a policy, and welcomed envoys from both the Hapsburg and Valois courts when they arrived in England empowered to negotiate the terms of a marriage contract. The French negotiator Gilles de la Pommeraye bustled about the court, telling every courtier in sight how advantageous a marriage between Mary and Charles, duke of Orleans and second in line to theFrench throne, was bound to be. To the king’s councilors he repeated again and again Francis’ offer of a dower of eighty thousand ducats in revenues, plus a force of mercenaries to help put down the rebellion then troubling the north of England. Henry pretended not to hear these offers and took little notice of La Pommeraye, but he and his associates persisted, making themselves odious to Mary with their constant attentions and hints that they hoped she would soon be the bride of a Frenchman.¹⁷

In the end the French match fell through, chiefly becaiise La Pommeraye had been instructed to insist that before the marriage contract was drawn up Mary’s legitimacy had to be restored. The issue of her legitimacy and succession rights were to prove an obstacle to any marriage settlement, for several reasons. First, any prospective suitor would obviously prefer a bride with a claim to her father’s throne. But beyond this Mary’s status had a special importance. She was the living symbol of the scandal of Henry’s divorce and repudiation of the pope. To acknowledge her illegitimacy in the terms of a marriage contract would be to approve all that Henry had done to affront Katherine, the pope and the community of Christians. Much as he liked the idea of marrying his son to Henry’s daughter, Francis could not bring himself to accept her without a full restoration of her rights.

The emperor was less scrupulous, and gave his envoys much more flexibility in coming to terms with Henry. In offering the hand of Dom Luiz, the Portuguese infante, they were simply to make the best bargain they could. If Henry agreed to naming Mary as his successor in default of a male heir, so much the better. But if he would not agree to this, the imperial representatives were to draw up a settlement omitting all mention of the succession, and to be content with a large dowry of lands in England.

Henry gave the impression that he favored the imperial match. The infante was reported to be a “person of mature age, sensible, virtuous, and well-conditioned,” and would on his marriage to Mary be “entirely in the king’s power.”¹⁸ He was agreeable to living in England—Henry flatly refused to let Mary leave the country until Jane had a son, which at that time seemed unlikely—and he appeared to have no inconvenient political views or loyalties beyond his allegiance to his relative Charles V. Dom Luiz was a man of princely appearance, whose portraits showed a handsome, resolute, yet benevolent face. He was muscular in build, with a broad chest and strong arms, and he had proven himself fighting alongside Charles V at Tunis. He seemed in many ways the ideal son-in-law for Henry, despite the drawbacks of his staunch Catholicism and fidelity to the pope. But the imperial envoys got no further with Henry than the French. When he demanded that both Charles and the king of Portugaldeclare his marriage to Katherine null as a preliminary to finalizing the betrothal, they balked, and though Dom Luiz remained a potential suitor the negotiators returned to Brussels.¹⁹

From Henry’s point of view the diplomatic rivalries generated by Mary’s availability were far more important than any betrothal that might be concluded. What he feared most was that France and the empire might end their current war and join forces against him, and his principal reason for favoring the candidacy of the infante was the prospect of an Anglo-imperial alliance against the French. His talk was less of dowries and grandchildren than of war and the threat of war. Pie was both frightened and angered by the recent behavior of the French king, who was becoming more and more belligerent and breaking the agreements he had made with the English long before. “Since Francis is trying to strengthen himself with alliances against me,” Henry was overheard to say, “I will take the initiative. I fear him not!” He paced up and down the Council chamber denouncing the French, gesticulating with his hands and swearing he did not give a fig for Francis.²⁰

But if Henry showed no eagerness to conclude a marriage for his daughter those who opposed him had long known whom she ought to marry. The courtiers who had supported Katherine—the marquis and marchioness of Exeter, the Carews, the Poles and the northern lords who rose in the Pilgrimage of Grace—all favored a marriage between Mary and Reginald Pole. Next to the Emperor Charles, Pole had been Kath-erine’s choice for Mary, and she and Margaret Pole often spoke of uniting the two families both for dynastic reasons and as a way to atone for the judicial murder of the countess’ brother Edward, earl of Warwick, in 1499. Mary was predisposed to like Reginald by her strong affection for his mother, and though he was sixteen years her senior it was said she had been in love with him as a young girl.

In the mid-15 30s Pole was the most important English exile on the continent. Educated in England and Italy at the king’s expense, he had nonetheless refused to allow Henry to use his prodigious learning to promote the divorce. He did collect the opinions of other scholars for the king—for which he received a handsome remuneration—but would not commit himself against Katherine. As Henry moved closer and closer to a breach with Rome Pole decided to leave England for good, taking up residence in various Italian cities and finally at the Vatican, where Pope Paul III made him a member of a committee organized to reform the church. He had by this time become a celebrated international figure, as well known for his opposition to the divorce as for his learning. Charles V urged him to take a leading role in an English rebellion to overthrow Henry in 1535 and again during the northern rising in the following year, and the pope now made him a cardinal and gave him authority to act aspapal legate in England. Before he could get there the Pilgrimage was crushed, but Pole had shown himself willing to oppose Henry, whose tyranny and heresy he now denounced in the bitterest terms, on the battlefield if necessary. Henry saw him as a dangerous man, and dispatched assassins to kill him. Pole became a fugitive, traveling in disguise and with few attendants in order to escape notice, aware that other English exiles in Italy were being encouraged to regain Henry’s favor by murdering him.

Despite the highly adventurous life forced on him by circumstances Reginald Pole was the gentlest of men, preferring the quiet of his study to the turbulence of international politics. He was tenderhearted to a fault, and he wept easily; the uprooting of trees in a Roman garden once moved him to floods of tears. He was hardly a dashing figure, but he had courage and carried the blood of the House of York in his veins. He spoke with a moving eloquence that stood out in an age of rhetorical bombast, and he had the wisdom of a reflective thinker. All these qualities, combined with Pole’s stout adherence to her mother’s cause, could not but appeal to Mary. In the minds of a large number of her supporters, the match was already made.

Apparently Pole himself took the possibility of the marriage seriously, for in the spring of 1537 he confided to the emperor’s agents that he thought the unrest in England might lead to “his marrying the Princess himself.”²¹ With this eventuality in mind he was careful to take only deacon’s orders, not the full orders of a priest, so that although he was a cardinal of the Roman church he remained free to marry. Chapuys thought that Pole was the only Englishman Mary would accept as a husband, and Pole’s relatives, who were becoming more and more outspoken in their hostility to Henry’s authoritarian rule, began to speak of the union of Mary and the cardinal as a foregone conclusion. Margaret Pole’s two other sons, Henry, Lord Montague, and Geoffrey, put their hopes for a change of government in their famous brother, and believed Mary’s natural place was by his side. A servant of Lord Montague’s reported that he heard his master say “it were a meet marriage for Reginald Pole to have the Lady Mary, the king’s daughter,” and Montague’s principal household officials echoed this judgment. Geoffrey Pole had an even more idealistic vision. He saw the marriage of his brother and the true Tudor heiress as part of a grander scheme for change, with Henry’s perverse innovations swept away and the old order restored. With all the determination he could muster Geoffrey was heard to swear that “the lady Mary would have a title to the crown one day.”