The Reign of Terror
Mary listened to the worse counsels of each, and her distempered humour settled into a confused ferocity. Both Gardiner and she resolved to secure the trial, condemnation, and execution of her sister Elizabeth, but their plans utterly miscarried, for no evidence against her could be gathered. The princess was known to be favourable to the Protestant cause, but the attempts to prove her disloyalty to Mary were vain. She was imprisoned in the Tower, and the fatal net appeared to be closing on her. But though the danger of her murder was very great, the lords who had reluctantly permitted her to be imprisoned would not allow her to be openly sacrificed, or indeed, permit the queen to continue in the career of vengeance on which she had entered. The necessity of releasing Elizabeth from the Tower was an unspeakable annoyance to Mary. A confinement at Woodstock was the furthest stretch of severity that the country would, for the present, permit. On May 19, 1554, Elizabeth was taken up the river.
The princess believed herself that she was being carried off tanquam ovis, as she said--as a sheep for the slaughter. But the world thought she was set at liberty, and, as her barge passed under the bridge, Mary heard with indignation, from the palace windows, three salvoes of artillery fired from the Steelyard, as a sign of the joy of the people. Vexations began to tell on Mary's spirit. She could not shake off her anxieties, or escape from the shadow of her subject's hatred. Insolent pamphlets were dropped in her path and in the offices of Whitehall. They were placed by mysterious hands in the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Her trials began to tell on her understanding. She was ill with hysterical longings; ill with the passions which Gardiner, as her chancellor, had provoked, but Paget as leader of the opposing party, had disappointed. But she was now to become the wife of King Philip of Spain. Negotiations for this momentous marriage had been protracted, and even after the contract had been signed, Philip seemed slow to arrive. The coolness manifested by his tardiness did much to aggravate the queen's despondency. On July 20, 1554, he landed at Southampton. The atmospheric auspices were not cheering, for Philip, who had come from the sunny plains of Castile, from his window at Southampton looked out on a steady downfall of July rain. Through the cruel torrent he made his way to church to mass, and afterwards Gardiner came to him from the queen. On the next Sunday he journeyed to Winchester, again in pouring rain. To the cathedral he went first, wet as he was. Whatever Philip of Spain was entering on, whether it was a marriage or a massacre, a state intrigue or a midnight murder, his first step was ever to seek a blessing from the holy wafer. Mary was at the bishop's palace, a few hundred yards' distance. Mary could not wait, and the same night the interview took place. Let the curtain fall over the meeting, let it close also over the wedding solemnities which followed with due splendour two days after. There are scenes in life which we regard with pity too deep for words.
The unhappy queen, unloved, unlovable, yet with her parched heart thirsting for affection, was flinging herself upon a breast to which an iceberg was warm; upon a man to whom love was an unmeaning word, except as the most brutal of all passions. Mary set about to complete the Catholic reaction. She had restored the Catholic orthodoxy in her own person, and now was resolved to bring over her own subjects. But clouds gathered over the court. The Spaniards were too much in evidence. With the reaction came back the supremacy of the pope, and the ecclesiastical courts were reinstated in authority to check unlicensed extravagance of opinion.
Gardiner, Bonner, Tunstal, and three other prelates formed a court on January 28, 1555, in St. Mary Overy's Church, Southwark, and Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, and Canon Rogers of St. Paul's, were brought up before them. Both were condemned as Protestants, and both were burnt at the stake, the bishop at Gloucester, the canon at Smithfield. They suffered heroically. The Catholics had affected to sneer at the faith of their rivals. There was a general conviction among them that Protestants would all flinch at the last; that they had no "doctrine that would abide the fire." Many more victims were offered. The enemies of the church were to submit or die. So said Gardiner, and so said the papal legate and the queen, in the delirious belief that they were the chosen instruments of Providence.
The people, whom the cruelty of the party was reconverting to the reformation, while the fires of Smithfield blazed, with a rapidity like that produced by the gift of tongues at Pentecost, regarded the martyrs with admiration as soldiers dying for their country. On Mary, sorrow was heaped on sorrow. Her expectation of a child was disappointed, and Philip refused to stay in England. His unhappy wife was forced to know that he preferred the society of the most abandoned women to hers. The horrible crusade against heretics became the business of the rest of her life. Archbishop Cranmer, Bishops Ridley and Latimer, and many other persons of distinction were amongst the martyrs of the Marian persecution. Latimer was eighty years of age.
Mary's miseries were intensified month by month. War broke out between England and France. For ten years the French had cherished designs, and on January 7, 1558, the famous stronghold fell into their hands. The effect of this misfortune on the queen was to produce utter prostration. She now well understood that both parliament and the nation were badly disposed towards her. But her end was at hand. After much suffering from dropsy and nervous debility, she prepared quietly for what she knew was inevitable. On November 16, at midnight, taking leave of a world in which she had played so evil a part, Mary received the last rites of the church. Towards morning she was sinking, and at the elevation of the Host, as mass was being said, her head sank, and she was gone. A few hours later the pope's legate, Cardinal Pole, at Lambeth, followed her. Thus the reign of the pope in England and the reign of terror closed together.