The Swedish ambassador was to have been openly reproved by the Queen before the whole Court, but the Queen thought better of it, and received him in the presence of Gardiner and the Marquis of Winchester only. She dismissed him curtly—almost rudely—and told him that after committing such a breach of etiquette as to deliver a letter to her sister before presenting his credentials, he had better go home and never come back to England with such a message as that again. Before Feria left England to see his master in July, 1558, he visited Elizabeth at Hatfield, and did his best to persuade her that she had all Philip’s sympathy, and that her safe course would be to adhere to the Spanish connection. He was no match for her in diplomacy even then, and got nothing but smiles and genial generalities. In November Mary was dying, and Dassonleville, the Flemish agent, wrote to the King begging him to send Feria back again to forward Spanish interests, “as the common people are so full of projects for marrying Madam Elizabeth to the Earl of Arundel or some one else.” On the 8th of November a committee of the Council went to Hatfield to see Elizabeth and deliver to her the dying Queen’s message, begging her “when she should be Queen to maintain the Catholic Church and pay her (Mary’s) debts.” Elizabeth would pledge herself to nothing. She knew now that she must succeed, with or without Mary’s good-will, and she meant to have a free hand. Before the Queen died even, Feria, who had arrived when she was already almost unconscious, hastened to Hatfield to see the coming Queen. So long as he confined himself to courteous commonplace she answered him in the same spirit, but as soon as he began to patronise her and hint that she owed her coming crown to the intervention and support of Philip, she stopped him at once, and said that she would owe it only to her people. She was equally firm and queenly when Feria thus early hinted at her marriage with her Spanish brother-in-law before the breath was out of Mary’s body, and showed a firm determination to hold her own and resist all attempts to place her under the tutelage of Philip. A week afterwards the Queen died, and then began the keen contest of wits around the matrimonial possibilities of Elizabeth, which ended in the making of modern England.
The first letter that Feria wrote to Philip after the new Queen’s accession indicated how powerless had been all his blandishments to pledge Elizabeth. “The new Queen and her people,” he says, “hold themselves free from your Majesty, and will listen to any ambassadors who may come to treat of marriage. Your Majesty understands better than I how important it is that this affair should go through your hands, which ... will be difficult except with great negotiation and money. I wish, therefore, your Majesty to keep in view all the steps to be taken on your behalf; one of them being that the Emperor should not send any ambassador here to treat of this, for it would be inconvenient enough for Ferdinand to marry here even if he took the titbit from your Majesty’s hand, but very much worse if it were arranged in any other way. For the present, I know for certain they will not hear the name of the Duke of Savoy mentioned, as they fear he will want to recover his estates with English forces, and will keep them constantly at war. I am very pleased to see that the nobles are beginning to open their eyes to the fact that it will not do to marry this woman in the country itself.... The more I think over this business the more certain I am that everything depends upon the husband this woman may take. If he be a suitable one, religious matters will go on well, and the kingdom will remain friendly with your Majesty, but if not it will all be spoilt. If she decide to marry out of the country she will at once fix her eyes on your Majesty, although some of them here are sure to pitch upon the Archduke Ferdinand.”[15] Feria was wrong in his estimate of Elizabeth’s character. From the first she had determined to be a popular sovereign, and all observers remarked her almost undignified anxiety to catch the cheers of the crowd. She knew that the most unpopular step she could take would be one that bound her interests to Spain, and particularly a marriage with Philip. A French marriage was impossible, for the heir to the crown of France was married to Mary Stuart, whose legal right to the English throne was undoubtedly stronger than that of Elizabeth herself.
So the Englishmen began to pluck up heart and to think that the great prize might fall to one of them. Early in December the Earl of Arundel came over from Flanders, and Feria remarks in one of his letters that he had seen him at the palace, “looking very smart and clean, and they say he carries his thoughts very high.” He was a widower of mature age, foppish and foolish, but, with the exception of his son-in-law, the Duke of Norfolk, the only English noble whose position and descent were such as to enable him without impropriety to aspire to mate with royalty, and for a short time after his arrival he was certainly looked upon by the populace as the most likely husband for the young Queen.
CHAPTER II.
The Spanish policy with regard to the Austrian match—English suitors for the Queen’s hand—Arundel and Pickering—Philip II.—The Archduke Ferdinand—Lord Robert Dudley—The Prince of Sweden—Philip’s attitude towards the Austrian match—The Archduke Charles—Pickering and Dudley—The Earl of Arran—Dudley’s intrigues against the Archduke Charles’ suit—Death of Lady Robert Dudley—Prince Eric again.
In the same ship that brought Arundel from Flanders came that cunning old Bishop of Aquila, who was afterwards Philip’s ambassador in England. He conveyed to Feria the King’s real wishes with regard to Elizabeth’s marriage, which were somewhat at variance with those which appeared on the surface. Philip had now definitely taken upon himself the championship of the Catholic supremacy, and his interests were hourly drifting further away from those of his Austrian kinsmen, who were largely dependent upon the reforming German princes. This was the principal reason why Sussex and other moderate Protestants in England were promoting an Austrian marriage which, it was assumed, would conciliate Philip without binding England to the ultra-Catholic party. The Bishop’s instructions were to throw cold water on the scheme whilst outwardly appearing to favour it, but if he saw that such a marriage was inevitable, then he was to get the whole credit of it for his master, who was to subsidise his impecunious cousin, the Archduke, and make him the instrument of Spain. Feria confessed himself puzzled. If he was not to forward the Archduke Ferdinand, he did not know, he said, whom he could suggest. Everybody kept him at arm’s length and he could only repeat current gossip. Some people thought the Earl of Arundel would be the man, others the Earl of Westmoreland; then Lord Howard’s son, and then Sir William Pickering; “every day there is a new cry raised about a husband.” “At present,” he said, “I see no disposition to enter into the discussion of any proposal on your Majesty’s own behalf, either on her part or that of the Council, and when it has to be approached it should be mentioned first to her alone.” The first step, he thought, should be to arouse the jealousy of each individual councillor of the Queen’s marriage with any Englishman; and at the same time to work upon the Queen’s pride by hinting that she would hardly stoop to a marriage inferior to that of her sister. He thought, however, that a marriage with Philip would scarcely be acceptable, as he could not live in England, and Feria was still in hope that if they took any foreigner the Archduke Ferdinand would be the man. Feria’s plan of campaign was an ingenious one. After he had aroused Elizabeth’s jealousy of her dead sister and deprecated the idea of the degradation to the Queen of a marriage with a subject, “we can take those whom she might marry here and pick them to pieces one by one, which will not require much rhetoric, for there is not a man amongst them worth anything, counting the married ones and all. If, after this, she inclines to your Majesty, it will be necessary for you to send me orders whether I am to carry it any further or throw cold water on it and set up the Archduke Ferdinand, for I see no other person we can propose to whom she would agree.”[16]
Philip had sent to the Queen a present of jewels by the Bishop of Aquila, with which she was delighted, and assured Feria that those who said her sympathies were French told an untruth. She was indeed quite coquettish with him sometimes, but he felt that he was outwitted. He could get no information as he did in the last reign. The councillors fought shy of him, anxious as ever for bribes and pensions, but willing to give no return for them, for the very good reason that they had nothing to give, they being as hopelessly in the dark as every one else as to the Queen’s intentions. “Indeed I am afraid that one fine day we shall find this woman married, and I shall be the last man in the place to know anything about it,” said Feria. In the meanwhile Arundel was ruining himself with ostentatious expenditure; borrowing vast sums of money from Italian bankers and scattering gifts of jewels of great value amongst the ladies who surrounded the Queen. He was a man far into middle age at the time, with two married daughters, the Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Lumley, and was in antiquity of descent the first of English nobles; but one can imagine how the keen young woman on the throne must have smiled inwardly at the idea of the empty-headed, flighty old fop, aspiring to be her partner. “There is a great deal of talk also,” writes Feria, “lately about the Queen marrying the Duke Adolphus, brother of the King of Denmark. One of the principal recommendations they find in him is that he is a heretic, but I am persuading them that he is a very good Catholic and not so comely as they make him out to be, as I do not think he would suit us.” At last, after the usual tedious deliberation, the prayers and invocations for Divine guidance, Philip made up his mind that he, like another Metius Curtius, would save his cause by sacrificing himself. He approached the subject in a true spirit of martyrdom. Feria had been repeating constantly—almost offensively—how unpopular he was in England, ever since Mary died. He had, he was told, not a man in his favour, he was distrusted and disliked, and so on, but yet he so completely deceived himself with regard to the support to be obtained by Elizabeth from her people through her national policy and personal popularity, as to write to Feria announcing his gracious intention of sacrificing himself for the good of the Catholic Church and marrying the Queen of England on condition of her becoming a Catholic and obtaining secret absolution from the Pope. “In this way it will be evident and manifest that I am serving the Lord in marrying her and that she has been converted by my act.... You will, however, not propose any conditions until you see how the Queen is disposed towards the matter itself, and mark well that you must commence to broach the subject with the Queen alone, as she has already opened a way to such an approach.” It must have been evident to Feria at this time (January, 1559) that the Queen could not marry his master without losing her crown. The Protestant party were now paramount, the reformers had flocked back from Switzerland and Germany, and Elizabeth had cast in her lot with them. To acknowledge the Pope’s power of absolution would have been to confess herself a bastard and an usurper. There was only one possible Catholic sovereign of England and that was Mary Queen of Scots, and it is difficult to see what could have been Philip’s drift in making such an offer, which, if it had been accepted, would have vitiated his wife’s claim to the crown of England and have strengthened that of the French candidate.