KATHARINE HOWARD

From a portrait by an unknown artist in the National Portrait Gallery

Although the procedure had saved the King as much humiliation as possible, the affair was a terrible blow to his self-esteem as well as to his affections; for he seems to have been really fond of his young wife. Chapuys, writing on the 3rd December, says that he shows greater sorrow at her loss than at any of his previous matrimonial misfortunes. “It is like the case of the woman who cried more bitterly at the loss of her tenth husband than for all the rest put together, though they had all been good men; but it was because she had never buried one before without being sure of the next. As yet, it does not seem that he has any one else in view.”[223] The French ambassador, a few days later, wrote that “the grief of the King was so great that it was believed that it had sent him mad; for he had called suddenly for a sword with which to kill the Queen whom he had loved so much. Sometimes sitting in Council he suddenly calls for horses, without saying whither he would go. Sometimes he will say irrelevantly that that wicked woman had never had such delight in her incontinency as she should have torture in her death; and then, finally, he bursts into tears, bewailing his misfortune in meeting such ill-conditioned wives, and blaming his Council for this last mischief.”[224]

In the meanwhile Henry sought such distraction as he might at Oatlands and other country places, solaced by music and mummers, whilst Norfolk, in grief and apprehension, lurked on his own lands, and Gardiner kept a firm hand upon affairs. The discomfiture of the Howards, who had brought about the Catholic reaction, gave new hope to the Protestants that the wheel of fate was turning in their favour. Anne of Cleves, they began to whisper, had been confined of a “fair boy”; “and whose should it be but the King’s Majesty’s, begotten when she was at Hampton Court?” This rumour, which the King, apparently, was inclined to believe, gave great offence and annoyance to him and his Council, as did the severely repressed but frequent statements that he intended to take back his repudiated wife. It was not irresponsible gossip alone that took this turn, for on the 12th December the ambassador from the Duke of Cleves brought letters to Cranmer at Lambeth from Chancellor Olsiliger, who had negotiated the marriage, commending to him the reconciliation of Henry with Anne. Cranmer, who understood perfectly well that with Gardiner as the King’s factotum such a thing was impossible, was frightened out of his wits by such a suggestion, and promptly assured Henry that he had declined to discuss it without the Sovereign’s orders.

But the envoy of Cleves was not lightly shaken off, and at once sought audience of Henry himself to press the cause of “Madam Anne.” He was assured that the King’s grief at his present troubles would prevent his giving audience; and the Protestant envoy then tackled the Council on the subject. As may be supposed, he met with a rebuff. The lady would be better treated than ever, he was told, but the separation was just and final, and the Duke of Cleves must never again request that his sister should be restored to the position of the King’s wife. The envoy begged that the answer might be repeated formally to him, whereupon Gardiner flew into a rage, and said that the King would never take Anne back, whatever happened. The envoy was afraid to retort for fear of evil consequences to Anne, but the Duke of Cleves, who was now in close league with the French, endeavoured to obtain the aid of his new allies to forward his sister’s cause in England. Francis, however, saw, like every one else, that war between him and the Emperor was now inevitable, and was anxious not to drive Henry into alliance with Charles against him. Cleves by himself was powerless, and the trend of politics in England under Gardiner, and with Henry in his present mood, was entirely unfavourable to a union with the Lutherans on the Continent; so Anne of Cleves continued her placid and jovial existence as “the King’s good sister,” rather than his wife, whilst the Protestants of England soon found that they had misjudged the situation produced by Katharine Howard’s fall. All that the latter really had done was to place Norfolk and the French sympathisers under a cloud, and make Gardiner entirely master of the situation whilst he carried out the King’s own policy.

Henry returned to Greenwich for Christmas 1541, and at once began his bargaining to sell his alliance with the Emperor at as high a price as possible. He had already in hand the stoppage of trade with Flanders, which his ministers were still laboriously and stiffly discussing with the Emperor’s representatives. Any concession in that respect would have to be paid for. The French, too, were very anxious, according to his showing, for his friendship, and were offering him all manner of tempting matrimonial alliances, and when Henry, on the day after Christmas Day, received Chapuys at Greenwich, he was all smiles, but determined to make the best of his opportunities. The Emperor had just met with a terrible disaster at sea during his operations against Algiers, and had returned to Spain depressed at his losses, and the more ready to make terms with Henry if possible. Chapuys was a hard bargainer, and it was a fair game of brag that ensued between him and Henry. Chapuys began by flattering the King: “and got him into very high spirits by such words, which the Lord Privy Seal (i.e. Fitzwilliam) says are never thrown away upon him,” and then told him that he would give him in strict confidence some important information about French intrigues.

After dinner the ball opened in earnest, Chapuys and Henry being alone and seated, with Fitzwilliam, Russell, and Browne at some distance away. The imperial ambassador began by saying that the King of France had made a determined bid to marry his second son, Orleans, with the Infanta of Portugal. This was a shock to Henry, and he changed colour; for one of his own trump cards was the sham negotiation in which Norfolk had been the tool, to marry the Princess Mary to Orleans. For a time he could only sputter and exclaim; but when he had collected his senses he countered by saying that Francis only wished to get the Infanta into his power, not for marriage, “but for objects of greater consequence than people imagined.” Besides, the French wanted the Princess Mary for Orleans, and were anxious to send an embassy to him about it: indeed, the French ambassador was coming to see him about it with fresh powers next day. Chapuys protested that he spoke as one devoted to Henry’s service; but he was sure the French did not mean business. They would never let Orleans marry a Princess of illegitimate birth. “Ah!” replied Henry, “but though she may be a bastard, I have power from Parliament to appoint her my successor if I like;” but Chapuys gave several other reasons why the match with Mary would never suit the French. “Why,” cried Henry, “Francis is even now soliciting an interview with me with a view to alliances.” “Yes, I know they say that,” replied the ambassador, “but at the same time Francis has sent an ambassador to Scotland, with orders not to touch at an English port.” This was a sore point with Henry, and he again winced at the blow.

Then he began to boast. He was prepared to face any one, and James of Scotland was in mortal fear of him. Chapuys then mentioned that France had made a secret treaty with Sweden and Denmark to obtain control of the North Sea, and divert all the Anglo-German trade to France, which Henry parried, by saying that Francis was in league with the German Protestants, and, notwithstanding the new decree of the Diet of Ratisbon, could draw as many mercenary soldiers as he liked from the Emperor’s vassals. He felt sure that Francis would invade Flanders next spring; and if he, Henry, had cared to marry a daughter of France, as her father wished him to do, he might have had a share of his conquests. This made Chapuys angry, and he said that perhaps Holstein and Cleves had also been offered shares. Henry then went on another tack, and said that he knew quite well that Francis and Charles together intended, if they could, to make war on England. Considering, however, the Emperor’s disaster at Algiers, and the state of Europe, he was astonished that Charles had not tried to make a close friendship with him. Chapuys jumped at the hint, and begged Henry to state his intentions, that they might be conveyed to the Emperor. But the King was not to be drawn too rapidly, and would not say whether he was willing to form an alliance with the Emperor until some one with full and special powers was sent to him. He had been cheated too often and left in the lurch before, he said. “He was quite independent. If people wanted him they might come forward with offers.” This sparring went on for hours on that day and the next, interspersed with little wrangles about the commercial question, and innuendoes as to the French intrigues. But Chapuys, who knew his man, quite understood that Henry was for sale; and, as usual, might, if dexterously handled, be bought by flattery and feigned submission to his will, hurriedly wrote to his master that: “If the Emperor wishes to gain the King, he must send hither at once an able person, with full powers, to take charge of the negotiation:” since he, Chapuys, was in ill health and unequal to it.

Thus the English Catholic reaction that had been symbolised by the repudiation of Anne of Cleves, and the marriage with Katharine Howard, was triumphantly producing the results which Henry and Gardiner had intended. The excommunicated King, the man who had flung aside his proud Spanish wife and bade defiance to the vicegerent of Christ, was to be flattered and sought in alliance by the head of the house of Aragon and the appointed champion of Roman orthodoxy. He was to come back into the fold unrepentant, with no submission or reparation made, a good Catholic, but his own Pope. It was a prospect that appealed strongly to a man of Henry’s vain and ostentatious character, for it gave apparent sanction to his favourite pose that everything he did was warranted by the strictest right and justice; it promised the possibility of an extension of his Continental territory, and the establishment of his own fame as a warrior and a king. We shall see how his pompous self-conceit enabled his ally to trick him out of his reward, and how the consequent reaction against those who had beguiled him drew his country farther along the road of the Reformation than Henry ever meant to go. But at present all looked rose-coloured, for the imperial connection and the miserable scandal of Katharine Howard rather benefited than injured the chances of its successful negotiation. Cranmer, Hertford, and Audley had shot their bolt in vain so far as political or religious aims were attained.

In the meanwhile the evidence against Katharine and her abettors was being laboriously wrung out of all those who had come into contact with her. The poor old Duchess of Norfolk and her son and daughters and several underlings were condemned for misprison of treason to perpetual imprisonment and confiscation,[225] and in Parliament on the 21st January a Bill of Attainder against Katharine and three lady accomplices was presented to the Lords. The evidence presented against Katharine was adjudged to be insufficient in the absence of direct allegations of adultery after her marriage, or of specific admissions from herself.[226] This and other objections seem to have delayed the passage of the Bill until the 11th of February, when it received the royal assent by commission, condemning Katharine and Lady Rochford to death for treason. During the passage of the Bill, as soon, indeed, as the procedure of Katharine’s condemnation had been settled, Henry plucked up spirits again, and with characteristic heartlessness once more began to play the gallant. “The King,” writes Chapuys, “had never been merry since first hearing of the Queen’s misconduct, but he has been so since (the attainder was arranged), especially on the 29th, when he gave a supper and banquet with twenty-six ladies at the table, besides gentlemen, and thirty-five at another table adjoining. The lady for whom he showed the greatest regard was a sister of Lord Cobham, whom Wyatt, some time ago, divorced for adultery. She is a pretty young creature, with wit enough to do as badly as the others if she were to try. The King is also said to fancy a daughter of Mistress Albart(?) and niece of Sir Anthony Browne; and also for a daughter, by her first marriage, of the wife of Lord Lisle, late Deputy of Calais.”[227]

Up to this time Katharine had remained at Sion House, as Chapuys reported, “making good cheer, fatter and more beautiful than ever; taking great care to be well apparelled, and more imperious and exacting to serve than even when she was with the King, although she believes she will be put to death, and admits that she deserves it. Perhaps if the King does not wish to marry again he may show her some compassion.”[228] No sooner, however, had the Act of Attainder passed its third reading in the Commons (10th January) than Fitzwilliam was sent to Isleworth to convey her to the Tower. She resisted at first, but was of course overpowered, and the sad procession swept along the wintry river Londonward. First came Fitzwilliam’s barge with himself and several Privy Councillors, then, in a small covered barge, followed the doomed woman, and the rear was guarded by a great barge full of soldiers under the aged Duke of Suffolk, whose matrimonial adventures had been almost as numerous as those of his royal brother-in-law. Under the frowning portcullis of the Traitors’ Gate in the gathering twilight of the afternoon, the beautiful girl in black velvet landed amidst a crowd of Councillors, who treated her with as much ceremony as if she still sat by the King’s side. She proudly and calmly gloried in her love for her betrothed Culpeper, whom she knew she soon would join in death. There was no hysterical babbling like that of her cousin, Anne Boleyn; no regret in her mien or her words now. Even as he, with his last breath, had confessed his love for her, and mourned that the King’s passion for her had stood in the way of their honest union, so did she, with flashing eyes and blazing cheeks, proclaim that love was victorious over death; and that since there had been no mercy for the man she loved she asked no mercy for herself from the King whose plaything of a year she had been.

On Sunday evening, 12th February, she was told that she must be prepared for death on the morrow, and she asked that the block should be brought to her room, that she might learn how to dispose her head upon it. This was done, and she calmly and smilingly rehearsed her part in the tragedy of the morrow. Early in the morning, before it was fully light, she was led out across the green, upon which the hoar-frost glistened, to the scaffold erected on the same spot that had seen the sacrifice of Anne Boleyn. Around it stood all the Councillors except Norfolk and Suffolk: even her first cousin, the poet Surrey, with his own doom not far off, witnessed the scene. Upon the scaffold, half crazy with fear, stood the wretched Lady Rochford, the ministress of the Queen’s amours, who was to share her fate. Katharine spoke shortly. She died, she said, in full confidence in God’s goodness. She had grievously sinned and deserved death, though she had not wronged the King in the particular way that she had been accused of. If she had married the man she loved, instead of being dazzled by ambition, all would have been well; and when the headsman knelt to ask her forgiveness, she pardoned him, but exclaimed, “I die a Queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Culpeper;” and then, kneeling in prayer, her head was struck off whilst she was unaware.[229] Lady Rochford followed her to the block as soon as the head and trunk of the Queen had been piteously gathered up in black cloth by the ladies who attended her at last, and conveyed to the adjoining chapel for sepulture close to the grave of Anne Boleyn.

Katharine Howard had erred much for love, and had erred more for ambition, but taking a human view of the whole circumstances of her life, and of the personality of the man she married, she is surely more worthy of pity than condemnation. Only a few days after her death we learn from Chapuys (25th February) that “the King has been in better spirits since the execution, and during the last three days before Lent there has been much feasting. Sunday was devoted to the lords of his Council and courtiers, Monday to the men of the law, Tuesday to the ladies, who all slept at the Court. The King himself did nothing but go from room to room ordering and arranging the lodgings to be prepared for these ladies, and he made them great and hearty cheer, without showing special affection for any particular one. Indeed, unless Parliament prays him to take another wife, he will not be in a hurry to do so, I think. Besides, there are few, if any, ladies now at Court who would aspire to such an honour; for by a new Act just passed, any lady that the King may marry, if she be a subject, is bound, on pain of death, to declare any charge of misconduct that can be brought against her; and all who know or suspect anything against her must declare it within twenty days, on pain of perpetual imprisonment and confiscation.” Henry, with five unsuccessful matrimonial adventures to his account, might well pause before taking another plunge; though, from the extract printed above, it was evident that he had no desire to put himself out of the way of temptation. The only course upon which he seemed quite determined was to resist all the blandishments of the Protestants, the German Lutherans, and the French to take back Anne of Cleves, who, we are told, had waxed half as beautiful again as she was since she had begun her jolly life of liberty and beneficence, away from so difficult a husband as Henry.

CHAPTER IX

The disappearance of Katharine Howard and the temporary eclipse of Norfolk caused no check to the progress of the Catholic cause in England. When Gardiner was with the Emperor in the summer of 1541 he had been able to make in Henry’s name an agreement by which neither monarch should treat anything to the other’s disadvantage for the next ten months; and as war loomed nearer between Charles and Francis, the chances of a more durable and binding treaty being made between the former and Henry improved. When Gardiner had hinted at it in Germany, both Charles and Granvelle had suggested that the submission of Henry to the Pope would be a necessary preliminary. But the Emperor’s brother, Ferdinand, was in close grips with the Turk in Hungary, and getting the worst of it; Francis was again in negotiation with the infidel, and French intrigue in Italy was busy. Henry therefore found that the Emperor’s tone softened considerably on the report of Chapuys’ conversation at Windsor in February, whilst the English terms became stiffer, as Francis endeavoured to turn his feigned negotiations with Henry into real ones. The whole policy of Henry at the period was really to effect an armed league with the Emperor, by means of which France might be humiliated, perhaps dismembered, whilst Henry was welcomed back with open arms by the great Catholic power, in spite of his contumacy, and the hegemony of England established over Scotland. In order the better to incline Charles to essential concessions, it was good policy for Henry to give several more turns of the screw upon his own subjects, to prove to his future ally how devout a Catholic he was, and how entirely Cromwell’s later action was being reversed.

The great Bibles were withdrawn from the churches, the dissemination of the Scriptures restricted, and the Six Articles were enforced more severely than ever;[230] but yet when, after some months of fencing and waiting, Chapuys came to somewhat closer quarters with the English Council, he still talked, though with bated breath now, about Henry’s submission to the Pope and the legitimation of the Princess Mary. But the Emperor’s growing need for support gradually broke down the wall of reserve that Henry’s defection from Rome had raised, and Gardiner and Chapuys, during the spring of 1542, were in almost daily confabulation in a quiet house in the fields at Stepney.[231] In June the imperial ambassador made a hasty visit to Flanders to submit the English terms for an alliance to the Queen Regent. Henry’s conditions in appearance were hard, for by going to war with France he would, he said, lose the great yearly tribute he received from that country; but Charles and his sister knew how to manage him, and were not troubled with scruples as to keeping promises. So, to begin with, the commercial question that had so long been rankling, was now rapidly settled, and the relations daily grew more cordial. Henry had agents in Germany and Flanders ordering munitions of war and making secret compacts with mercenary captains; he was actively reinforcing his own garrisons and castles, organising a fine fleet, collecting vast fresh sums of money from his groaning subjects, and in every way preparing himself to be an ally worth purchase by the Emperor at a high price.

In July 1542 the French simultaneously attacked the imperial territory in four distinct directions; and Henry summoned the ambassadors of Charles and Francis to Windsor to tell them that, as war was so near him, he must raise men for his defence, especially towards Scotland, but meant no menace to either of the Continental powers. Chapuys had already been assured that the comedy was only to blind the French, and cheerfully acquiesced, but the Frenchmen took a more gloomy view and knew it meant war. With Scotland and Henry it was a case of the lamb and the wolf. Henry knew that he dared not send his army across the Channel to attack France without first crushing his northern neighbour. The pretended negotiations with, and allegations against, the unfortunate Stuart were never sincere. James was surrounded by traitors: for English money and religious rancour had profoundly divided the Scottish gentry; Cardinal Beaton, the Scots King’s principal minister, was hated; the powerful Douglas family were disaffected and in English pay; and the forces with which James V. rashly attempted to raid the English marches in reprisal for Henry’s unprovoked attacks upon him were wild and undisciplined. The battle of Solway Moss (November 1542) was a disgraceful rout for the Scots, and James, heart-broken, fled from the ruin of his cause to Tantallon and Edinburgh, and thence to Falkland to die. Then, with Scotland rent in twain, with a new-born baby for a Queen, and a foreign woman as regent, Henry could face a war with France by the side of the Emperor, with assurance of safety on his northern border, especially if he could force upon the rulers of Scotland a marriage between his only son and the infant Mary Stuart, as he intended to do.

KATHARINE PARR

From a painting in the collection of the Earl of Ashburnham

There was infinite haggling with Chapuys with regard to the style to be given to Henry in the secret treaty, even after the heads of the treaty itself had been agreed upon. He must be called sovereign head of the English Church, said Gardiner, or there would be no alliance with the Emperor at all, and the difficulty was only overcome by varying the style in the two copies of the document, that signed by Chapuys bearing the style of; “King of England, France, and Ireland, etc.,” and that signed by the English ministers adding the King’s ecclesiastical claims. If the territories of either monarch were invaded the other was bound to come to his aid. The French King was to be summoned to forbear intelligence with the Turk, to satisfy the demands of the Emperor and the King of England in the many old claims they had against him, and no peace was to be made with France by either ally, unless the other’s claims were satisfied. The claims of Henry included the town and county of Boulogne, with Montreuil and Therouenne, his arrears of pension, and assurance of future payment: and the two allies agreed within two years to invade France together, each with 20,000 foot and 5000 horse.[232] This secret compact was signed on the 11th February 1543; and the diplomatic relations with France were at once broken off. At last the repudiation of Katharine of Aragon was condoned, and Henry was once more the Emperor’s “good brother”;—a fit ally for the Catholic king, the champion of orthodox Christianity. As if to put the finishing touch upon Henry’s victory, Charles held an interview with the Pope in June 1543 on his way through Italy, and succeeded in persuading him that the inclusion of the King who defied the Church in the league of militant Catholics was a fit complement to the alliance of France and enemies of all Christianity; and would secure the triumph of the Papacy and the return of England into the fold.

Whilst the preparations for war thus went busily forward on all sides, with Chantonnay in England and Thomas Seymour in Germany and Flanders arranging military details of arms, levies, and stores, and the Emperor already clamouring constantly for prompt English subsidies and contingents against his enemies, Henry, full of importance and self-satisfaction at his position, contracted the only one of his marriages which was not promoted by a political intrigue, although at the time it was effected it was doubtless looked upon as favouring the Catholic party. Certainly no lady of the Court enjoyed a more blameless reputation than Katharine Lady Latimer, upon whom the King now cast his eyes. A daughter of the great and wealthy house of Parr of Kendal, allied to the royal blood in no very distant degree, and related to most of the higher nobility of England, she was, so far as descent was concerned, quite as worthy to be the wife of a king as the unfortunate daughters of the house of Howard. Her brother, Lord Parr, soon to be created Earl of Essex and Marquis of Northampton, a favourite courtier of the King and a very splendid magnate,[233] had been one of the chief enemies of Cromwell; who had in his last days usurped the ancient earldom which Parr had claimed in right of his Bourchier wife, whilst Katharine’s second husband, Neville Lord Latimer, had been so strong a Catholic as to have risked his great possessions, as well as his head, by joining the rising in the North that had assumed the name of the Pilgrimage of Grace and had been mainly directed against Cromwell’s measures. She was, moreover, closely related to the Throckmortons, the stoutly Catholic family whose chief, Sir George, Cromwell had despoiled and imprisoned until the intrigue already related drove the minister from power in June 1540, with the mysterious support, so it is asserted, of Katharine Lady Latimer herself, though the evidence of it is not very convincing.[234]

Katharine had been brought up mostly in the north country with extreme care and wisdom by a hard-headed mother, and had been married almost as a child to an elderly widower, Lord Borough, who had died soon afterwards, leaving her a large jointure. Her second husband, Lord Latimer, had also been many years older than herself; and accompanying him, as she did, in his periodical visits to London, where they had a house in the precincts of the Charterhouse, she had for several years been remarkable in Henry’s Court, not only for her wide culture and love of learning, but also for her friendship with the Princess Mary, whose tastes were exactly similar to her own. Lord Latimer died in London at the beginning of 1543, leaving to Katharine considerable property; and certainly not many weeks can have passed before the King began to pay his court to the wealthy and dignified widow of thirty-two. His attentions were probably not very welcome to her, for he was a terribly dangerous husband, and any unrevealed peccadillo in the previous life of a woman he married might mean the loss of her head.

There was another reason than this, however, that made the King’s addresses especially embarrassing to Katharine. The younger of the two magnificent Seymour brothers, Sir Thomas, had thus early also approached her with offers of love. He was one of the handsomest men at Court, and of similar age to Katharine. He was already very rich with the church plunder, and was the King’s brother-in-law; so that he was in all respects a good match for her. He must have arrived from his mission to Germany immediately after Lord Latimer’s death, and remained at Court until early in May, about three months; during which time, from the evidence of Katharine’s subsequent letters, she seems to have made up her mind to marry him. It may be that the King noticed signs of their courtship, for Sir Thomas Seymour was promptly sent on an embassy to Flanders in company with Dr. Wotton, and subsequently with the English contingent to the Emperor’s army to France, where he remained until long after Henry’s sixth marriage.

That Henry himself lost no time in approaching the widow after her husband’s death is seen by a tailor’s bill for dresses for Lady Latimer being paid out of the Exchequer by the King’s orders as early as the 16th February 1543, when it would seem that her husband cannot have been dead much more than a month. This bill includes linen and buckram, the making of Italian gowns, “pleats and sleeves,” a slope hood and tippet, kirtles, French, Dutch, and Venetian gowns, Venetian sleeves, French hoods, and other feminine fripperies; the amount of the total being £8, 9s. 5d.; and, as showing that even before the marriage considerable intimacy existed between Katharine and the Princess Mary, it is curious to note that some of the garments appear to have been destined for the use of the latter.[235] By the middle of June the King’s attentions to Lady Latimer were public; and already the lot of the sickly, disinherited Princess Mary was rendered happier by the prospective elevation of her friend. Mary came to Court at Greenwich, as did her sister Elizabeth; and Katharine is specially mentioned as being with them in a letter from Dudley, the new Lord Lisle, to Katharine’s brother, Lord Parr, the Warden of the Scottish Marches. The King had then (20th June) just returned from a tour of inspection of his coast defences, and three weeks later Cranmer as Primate issued a licence for his marriage with Katharine Lady Latimer, without the publication of banns.

On the 12th July 1543 the marriage took place in the upper oratory “called the Quynes Preyevey Closet” at Hampton Court. When Gardiner the celebrant put the canonical question to the bridegroom, his Majesty answered “with a smiling face,” yea, and, taking his bride’s hand, firmly recited the usual pledge. Katharine, whatever her inner feelings may have been, made a bright and buxom bride, and from the first endeavoured, as none of the other wives had done, to bring together into some semblance of family life with her the three children of her husband. Her reward was that she was beloved and respected by all of them; and Princess Mary, who was nearly her own age, continued her constant companion and friend.[236]

As she began so she remained; amiable, tactful, and clever. Throughout her life with Henry her influence was exerted wherever possible in favour of concord, and I have not met with a single disparaging remark with regard to her, even from those who in the last days of the King’s life became her political opponents. Her character must have been an exceedingly lovable one, and she evidently knew to perfection how to manage men by humouring their weak points. She could be firm, too, on occasions where an injustice had to be remedied. A story is told of her in connection with her brother Parr, Earl of Essex, in the Chronicle of Henry VIII., which, so far as I know, has not been related by any other historian of the reign.

Parr fell in love with Lord Cobham’s daughter, a very beautiful girl, who, as told in our text, was mentioned as one of the King’s flames after Katharine Howard’s fall. Parr had married the great Bourchier heiress, but had grown tired of her, and by suborned evidence charged her with adultery, and she was found guilty and sentenced to death. “The good Queen, his sister, threw herself at the feet of the King and would not rise until he had promised to grant her the boon she craved, which was the life of the Countess (of Essex). When the King heard what it was, he said, But, Madam, you know that the law enacts that a woman of rank who so forgets herself shall die unless her husband pardon her. To this the Queen answered, Your Majesty is above the law, and I will try to get my brother to pardon. Well, said the King, if your brother be content I will pardon her.” The Queen then sends for her brother and upbraids him for bringing perjured witnesses against his wife, which he denies and says he has only acted in accordance with the legal evidence. “I can promise you, brother, that it shall not be as you expect: I will have the witnesses put to the torture, and then by God’s help we shall know the truth.” Before this could be done Parr sent his witnesses to Cornwall, out of the way: and again Katharine insisted upon the Countess’ pardon, by virtue of the promise that the King had given her. This somewhat alarmed Parr, and Katharine managed to effect a mutual renunciation, after which Parr married Lord Cobham’s daughter.[237]

Gardiner had been not only the prelate who performed the ceremony but had himself given the bride away; so that it may fairly be concluded that he, at least, was not discontented with the match. Wriothesley, his obedient creature, moreover, must have been voicing the general feeling of Catholics when he wrote to the Duke of Suffolk in the North his eulogy of the bride a few days after the wedding. “The King’s Majesty was mareid onne Thursdaye last to my ladye Latimor, a woman, in my judgment, for vertewe, wisdomme and gentilnesse, most meite for his Highnesse: and sure I am his Mat^e had never a wife more agreable to his harte than she is. Our Lorde sende them long lyf and moche joy togethir.”[238] Both the King’s daughters had been at the wedding, Mary receiving from Katharine a handsome present as bride’s-maid; but Henry had the decency not to bid the presence of Anne of Cleves. She is represented as being somewhat disgusted at the turn of events. Her friends, and perhaps she herself, had never lost the hope that if the Protestant influence became paramount, Henry might take her back. But the imperial alliance had made England an enemy of her brother of Cleves, whose territory the Emperor’s troops were harrying with fire and sword; and her position in England was a most difficult one. “She would,” says Chapuys, “prefer to be with her mother, if with nothing but the clothes on her back, rather than be here now, having specially taken great grief and despair at the King’s espousal of his new wife, who is not nearly so good-looking as she is, besides that there is no hope of her (Katharine) having issue, seeing that she had none by her two former husbands.”[239]

As we have seen, Katharine had all her life belonged to the Catholic party, of which the northern nobles were the leaders, and doubtless this fact had secured for her marriage the ready acquiescence of Gardiner and his friends, especially when coupled with the attachment known to exist between the bride and the Princess Mary. But Katharine had studied hard, and was devoted to the “new learning,” which had suddenly become fashionable for high-born ladies. The Latin classics, the writings of Erasmus, of Juan Luis Vives, and others were the daily solace of the few ladies in England who had at this time been seized with the new craze of culture, Katharine, the King’s daughters, his grand-nieces the Greys, and the daughters of Sir Anthony Cook, being especially versed in classics, languages, philosophy, and theology. The “new learning” had been, and was still to be, for the most part promoted by those who sympathised with the reformed doctrines, and Katharine’s devotion to it brought her into intimate contact with the learned men at Court whose zeal for the spread of classical and controversial knowledge was coupled with the spirit of inquiry which frequently went with religious heterodoxy.

Not many days after the marriage, Gardiner scented danger in this foregathering of the Queen with such men as Cranmer and Latimer, and at the encouragement and help given by her to the young princesses in the translation of portions of the Scriptures, and of the writings of Erasmus. There is no reason to conclude that Katharine, as yet, had definitely attached herself to the reform party, but it is certain that very soon after her marriage her love of learning, or her distrust of Gardiner’s policy and methods, caused her to look sympathetically towards those at Court who went beyond the King in his opposition to Rome. Gardiner dared not as yet directly attack either Katharine or Cranmer, for the King was personally much attached to both of them, whilst Gardiner himself was never a favourite with him. But indirectly these two persons in privileged places might be ruined by attacking others first; and the plan was patiently and cunningly laid to do it, before a new party of reformers led by Cranmer, reinforced by Katharine, could gain the King’s ear and reverse the policy of his present adviser. At the instance of Gardiner’s creature Dr. London, a canon of Windsor, a prosecution under the Six Articles was commenced against a priest and some choristers of the royal chapel, and one other person, who were known to meet together for religious discussion. For weeks London’s spies had been listening to the talk of those in the castle and town who might be suspected of reformed ideas; and with the evidence so accumulated in his hand, Gardiner moved the King in Council to issue a warrant authorising a search for unauthorised books and papers in the town and castle of Windsor. Henry, whilst allowing the imprisonment of the accused persons with the addition of Sir Philip Hoby and Dr. Haines, both resident in the castle, declined to allow his own residence to be searched for heretical books. This was a set back for Gardiner’s plan; but it succeeded to the extent of securing the conviction and execution at the stake of three of the accused. This was merely a beginning; and already those at Court were saying that the Bishop of Winchester “aimed at higher deer” than those that had already fallen to his bow.[240]

Hardly had the ashes of the three martyrs cooled, than a mass of fresh accusations was formulated by London against several members of the royal household. The reports of spies and informers were sent to Gardiner by the hand of Ockham, the clerk of the court that had condemned the martyrs, but one of the persons accused, a member of Katharine’s household, received secret notice of what was intended and waylaid Ockham. Perusal of the documents he bore showed that much of the information had been suborned by Dr. London and his assistant Simons, and Katharine was appealed to for her aid. She exerted her influence with her husband to have them both arrested and examined. Unaware that their papers had been taken from Ockham, they foreswore themselves and broke down when confronted with the written proofs that the case against the accused had been trumped up on false evidence with ulterior objects. Disgrace and imprisonment for the two instruments, London and Simons, followed,[241] but the prelate who had inspired their activity was too indispensable to the King to be attacked, and he, firm in his political predominance, bided his time for yet another blow at his enemies, amongst whom he now included the Queen, whose union with the King he and other Catholics had so recently blessed.

Cranmer, secure as he thought in the King’s regard and in his great position as Primate, had certainly laid himself open to the attacks of his enemies, by his almost ostentatious favour to the clergy of his province who were known to be evading or violating the Six Articles. The chapter of his own cathedral was profoundly divided, and the majority of its members were opposed to what they considered the injustice of their Archbishop. Cranmer’s commissary, his nephew Nevinson, whilst going out of his way to favour those who were accused before the chapter of false doctrine, offended deeply the majority of the clergy by his zeal—which really only reflected that of the Archbishop himself—in the displacing and destruction of images in the churches, even when the figures did not offend against the law by being made the objects of superstitious pilgrimages and offerings. For several years past the cathedral church of Canterbury had been a hotbed of discord, in consequence of Cranmer’s having appointed, apparently on principle, men of extreme opinions on both sides as canons, prebendaries, and preachers; and so great had grown the opposition in his own chapter to the Primate’s known views in the spring of 1543, that it was evident that a crisis could not be long delayed, especially as the clergy opposed to the prelate had the letter of the law on their side, and the countenance of Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, all powerful as he was in the lay counsels of the King.

Some of the Kentish clergy who resented the Archbishop’s action had laid their heads together in March 1543, and formulated a set of accusations against him. This the two most active movers in the protest had carried to the metropolis for submission to Gardiner. They first, however, approached the Dr. London already referred to, who rewrote the accusations with additions of his own, in order to bring the accused within the penal law. The two first movers, Willoughby and Searl, took fright at this, for it was a dangerous thing to attack the Archbishop, and hastily returned home; but Dr. London had enough for his present purpose, and handed his enlarged version of their depositions to Gardiner. London’s disgrace, already related, stayed the matter for a time, but a few months afterwards a fresh set of articles, alleging illegal acts on the part of the Archbishop, was forwarded by the discontented clergy to Gardiner, and the accusers were then summoned before the Privy Council, where they were encouraged to make their testimony as strong as possible. When the depositions were complete they were sent to the King by Gardiner, in the hope that now the great stumblingblock of the Catholic party might be cleared from the path, and that the new Queen’s ruin might promptly follow that of the Primate.

But they reckoned without Henry’s love for Cranmer. Rowing on the Thames one evening in the late autumn soon after the depositions had been handed to him, the King called at the pier by Lambeth Palace and took Cranmer into his barge. “Ah, my chaplain,” he said jocosely, as the Archbishop took his seat in the boat, “I have news for you. I know now who is the greatest heretic in Kent;” and with this he drew from his sleeve and handed to Cranmer the depositions of those who had sought to ruin him. The Archbishop insisted upon a regular Commission being issued to test the truth of the accusations; but Henry could be generous when it suited him, and he never knew how soon he might need Cranmer’s pliable ingenuity again. So, although he issued the Commission, he made Cranmer its head, and gave to him the appointment of its members; with the natural result that the accusers and all their abettors were imprisoned and forced to beg the Primate’s forgiveness for their action.[242] But the man who gave life to the whole plot, Bishop Gardiner of Winchester, still led the King’s political counsels, much as Henry disliked him personally; for the armed alliance with the Emperor could only bring its full harvest of profit and glory to the King of England if the Catholic powers on the Continent were convinced of Henry’s essential orthodoxy, notwithstanding his quarrel with the Pope.[243] So, though Cranmer might be favoured privately and Katharine’s coquetting with the new learning and its professors winked at, Gardiner, whose Catholicism was stronger than that of his master, had to be the figure-head to impress foreigners.

In July 1543 the English contingent to aid the imperial troops to protect Flanders was sent from Guisnes and Calais under Sir John Wallop. By the strict terms of the treaty they were only to be employed for a limited period for the defence of territory invaded by the enemy; but soon after Wallop’s arrival he was asked to take part in the regular siege of Landrecy in Hainault, that had been occupied by the French. Henry allowed him to do so under protest. It was waste of time, he said, and would divert the forces from what was to be their main object; but if he allowed it, he must have the same right when the war in France commenced to call upon the imperial contingent with him also to besiege a town if he wished to do so. Both the allies, even before the war really began, were playing for their own hands with the deliberate intention of making use of each other; and in the dismal comedy of chicanery that followed and lasted almost to Henry’s death, this siege of Landrecy and that of St. Disier were made the peg upon which countless reclamations and recriminations were hung. The Emperor was ill, in dire need of money, and overwhelmed with anxiety as to the attitude of the Lutheran princes during the coming struggle. His eyes were turned towards Italy, and he depended much upon the diversion that Henry’s forces might effect by land and sea; and conscious that the campaign must be prompt and rapid if he was to profit by it, he sent one of his most trusted lieutenants, Ferrante Gonzaga, Viceroy of Sicily, to England at the end of the year 1543 to settle with Henry the plan of the campaign to be undertaken in the spring.

His task was a difficult one; for Henry was as determined to use Charles for his advantage as Charles was to use him. After much dispute it was agreed that Henry, as early in the summer as possible, should lead his army of 35,000 foot and 7000 horse to invade France from Calais, whilst the imperial troops were to invade by Lorraine, form a junction with the English on the Somme, and push on towards Paris. Rapidity was the very essence of such a plan; but Henry would not promise celerity. He could not, he said, transport all his men across the sea before the end of June: the fact being that his own secret intention all along was to conquer the Boulognais country for himself, gain a free hand in Scotland, and leave the Emperor to shift as he might. Utter bad faith on both sides pervaded the affair from first to last. The engaging and payment of mercenaries by England, the purchase of horses, arms, and stores, the hire of transport, the interference with commerce—everything in which sharp dealing could be employed by one ally to get the better of the other was taken advantage of to the utmost. Henry, enfeebled as he was by disease and obesity, was determined to turn to his personal glory the victory he anticipated for his arms. His own courtiers dared not remonstrate with him; and, although Katharine prayed him to have regard for his safety, he brushed aside her remonstrances as becoming womanly fears for a dearly loved husband. Charles knew that if the King himself crossed the Channel the English army would not be at the imperial bidding. Envoys were consequently sent from Flanders to pray Henry, for his health’s sake, not to risk the hardships of a sea voyage and a campaign. The subject was a sore one with him; and when the envoy began to dwell too emphatically upon his infirmities, he flew into a passion and said that the Emperor was suffering from gout, which was much worse than any malady he (Henry) had, and it would be more dangerous for the Emperor to go to the war.

Henry’s decision to accompany his army at once increased the importance of Katharine; who, in accordance with precedent, would become regent in her husband’s absence. A glimpse of her growing influence at this time is seen in a letter of hers, dated 3rd June 1544, to the Countess of Hertford, that termagant Ann Stanhope who afterwards was her jealous enemy. Hertford had been sent in March to the Scottish Border to invade again, and this time utterly crush Scotland, where Henry’s pensioners had played him false, and betrothed their infant Queen to the heir of France. The Countess, anxious that her husband should be at home during the King’s absence—probably in order that if anything happened to Henry, Hertford might take prompt measures on behalf of the new King, his nephew, and safeguard his own influence—wrote to Katharine praying for her aid.[244] The Queen’s answer is written on the same sheet of paper as one from Princess Mary to the Countess, whose letters to Katharine had been sent through the Princess. “My lord your husband’s comyng hyther is not altered, for he schall come home before the Kynge’s Majesty take hys journey over the sees, as it pleaseth his Majesty to declare to me of late. You may be ryght assured I wold not have forgotten my promise to you in a matter of lesse effect than thys, and so I pray you most hartely to think....—Kateryn the Quene.”[245]

Since Henry insisted upon going to the war himself the next best thing, according to the Emperor’s point of view, to keeping him away was to cause some Spanish officer of high rank and great experience to be constantly close to him during the campaign. Except the little skirmishes on the borders of Scotland, Englishmen had seen no active military service for many years, and it was urged upon Henry that a general well acquainted with modern Continental warfare would be useful to him. The Emperor’s Spanish and Italian commanders were the best in the world, as were his men-at-arms; and a grandee, the Duke of Najera, who was on his way from Flanders to Spain by sea, was looked upon as being a suitable man for the purpose of advising the King of England. Henry was determined to impress him and entertained him splendidly, delaying him as long as possible, in order that he might be persuaded to accompany the English forces. The accounts of Najera’s stay in England show that Katharine had now, the spring of 1544, quite settled down in her position as Queen and coming Regent. Chapuys mentions that when he first took Najera to Court he “visited the Queen and Princess (Mary), who asked very minutely for news of the Emperor ... and, although the Queen was a little indisposed, she wished to dance for the honour of the company. The Queen favours the Princess all she can; and since the Treaty with the Emperor was made, she has constantly urged the Princess’ cause, insomuch as in this sitting of Parliament she (Mary) has been declared capable of succeeding in default of the Prince.”[246]

A Spaniard who attended Najera tells the story of the Duke’s interview with Katharine somewhat more fully. “The Duke kissed the Queen’s hand and was then conducted to another chamber, to which the Queen and ladies followed, and there was music and much beautiful dancing. The Queen danced first with her brother very gracefully, and then Princess Mary and the Princess of Scotland (i.e. Lady Margaret Douglas) danced with other gentlemen, and many other ladies also danced, a Venetian of the King’s household dancing some gaillards with such extraordinary activity that he seemed to have wings upon his feet; surely never was a man seen so agile. After the dancing had lasted several hours the Queen returned to her chamber, first causing one of the noblemen who spoke Spanish to offer some presents to the Duke, who kissed her hand. He would likewise have kissed that of the Princess Mary, but she offered her lips; and so he saluted her and all the other ladies.[247] The King is regarded as a very powerful and handsome man. The Queen is graceful and of cheerful countenance; and is praised for her virtue. She wore an underskirt, showing in front, of cloth of gold, and a sleeved over-dress of brocade lined with crimson satin, the sleeves themselves being lined with crimson velvet, and the train was two yards long. She wore hanging from the neck two crosses and a jewel of very magnificent diamonds, and she wore a great number of splendid diamonds in her headdress.” The author of this curious contemporary document excels himself in praise of the Princess Mary, whose dress on the occasion described was even more splendid than that of the Queen, consisting as it did entirely of cloth of gold and purple velvet. The house and gardens of Whitehall also moved the witness to wonder and admiration. The green alleys with high hedges of the garden and the sculpture with which the walks were adorned especially attracted the attention of the visitors, and the greatness of London and the stately river Thames are declared to be incomparable.[248]

The Duke of Najera, unwilling to stay, and, apparently, not impressing Henry very favourably, went on his way; and was immediately followed by another Spanish commander of equal rank and much greater experience in warfare, the Duke of Alburquerque, and he, too, was received with the splendour and ostentation that Henry loved, ultimately accompanying the King to the siege of Boulogne as military adviser; both the King and Queen, we are told, treating him with extraordinary favour.[249]

By the time that Henry was ready to cross the Channel early in July to join his army, which several weeks before had preceded him under the command of Norfolk and Suffolk, the short-lived and insincere alliance with the Emperor, from which Henry and Gardiner had expected so much, was already strained almost to breaking point. The great imperialist defeat at Ceresole in Savoy earlier in the year had made Henry more disinclined than ever to sacrifice English men and treasure to fight indirectly the Emperor’s battle in Italy. Even before that Henry had begun to show signs of an intention to break away from the plan of campaign agreed upon. How dangerous it would be, he said, for the Emperor to push forward into France without securing the ground behind him. “Far better to lay siege to two or three large towns on the road to Paris than to go to the capital and burn it down.” Charles was indignant, and continued to send reminders and remonstrances that the plan agreed upon must be adhered to. Henry retorted that Charles himself had departed from it by laying siege to Landecy. The question of supplies from Flanders, the payment and passage of mercenaries through the Emperor’s territories, the free concession of trading licences by the Queen Regent of the Netherlands, and a dozen other questions, kept the relations between the allies in a state of irritation and acrimony, even before the campaign well began, and it is clear thus early that Henry started with the fixed intention of conquering the territory of Boulogne, and then perhaps making friends with Francis, leaving the Emperor at war. With both the great rivals exhausted, he would be more sought after than ever. He at once laid siege to Montreuil and Boulogne, and personally took command, deaf to the prayers and remonstrances of Charles and his sister, that he would not go beyond Calais, “for his health’s sake”; but would send the bulk of his forces to join the Emperor’s army before St. Disier. The Emperor had himself broken the compact by besieging Landrecy and St. Disier; and so the bulk of Henry’s army sat down before Boulogne, whilst the Emperor, short of provisions, far in an enemy’s country, with weak lines of communication, unfriendly Lorraine on his flank and two French armies approaching him, could only curse almost in despair the hour that he trusted the word of “his good brother,” the King of England.

Katharine bade farewell to her husband at Dover when he went on his pompous voyage,[250] and returned forthwith to London, fully empowered to rule England as Regent during his absence. She was directed to use the advice and counsel of Cranmer, Wriothesley, the Earl of Hertford, who was to replace her if she became incapacitated, Thirlby, and Petre; Gardiner accompanying the King as minister. The letters written by Katharine to her husband during his short campaign show no such instances of want of tact as did those of the first Katharine, quoted in the earlier pages of this book. It is plain to read in them the clever, discreet woman, determined to please a vain man; content to take a subordinate place and to shine by a reflected light alone. “She thanks God for a prosperous beginning of his affairs;” “she rejoices at the joyful news of his good health,” and in a business-like way shows that she and her council are actively forwarding the interests of the King with a single-hearted view to his honour and glory alone.

During this time the young Prince Edward and his sister Mary were at Hampton Court with the Queen; but the other daughter, Elizabeth, lived apart at St. James’s. Though it is evident that the girl was generally regarded and treated as inferior to her sister, she appears to have felt a real regard for her stepmother, almost the only person who, since her infancy, had been kind to her. Elizabeth wrote to the Queen on the 31st July a curious letter in Italian. “Envious fortune,” she writes, “for a whole year deprived me of your Highness’s presence, and, not content therewith, has again despoiled me of that boon. I know, nevertheless, that I have your love; and that you have not forgotten me in writing to the King. I pray you in writing to his Majesty deign to recommend me to him; praying him for his ever-welcome blessing; praying at the same time to Almighty God to send him good fortune and victory over his enemies; so that your Highness and I together may the sooner rejoice at his happy return. I humbly pray to God to have your Highness in His keeping; and respectfully kissing your Highness’ hand.—Elizabeth.”[251]

Katharine indeed, in this trying time of responsibility, comes well out of her ordeal. The prayer[252] composed by her for peace at this period is really a beautiful composition; and the letter from her to her husband, printed by Strype, breathes sentiment likely to please such a man as Henry, but in language at once womanly and dignified. “Although the distance of time and account of days,” she writes, “neither is long nor many, of your Majesty’s absence, yet the want of your presence, so much beloved and desired by me, maketh me that I cannot quietly pleasure in anything until I hear from your Majesty. The time therefore seemeth to me very long, with a great desire to know how your Highness hath done since your departing hence; whose prosperity and health I prefer and desire more than mine own. And, whereas I know your Majesty’s absence is never without great need, yet love and affection compel me to desire your presence. Again the same zeal and affection forceth me to be best content with that which is your will and pleasure. Thus, love maketh me in all things set apart mine own convenience and pleasure, and to embrace most joyfully his will and pleasure whom I love. God, the knower of secrets, can judge these words to be not only written with ink but most truly impressed upon the heart. Much more I omit, less it be thought I go about to praise myself or crave a thank. Which thing to do I mind nothing less, but a plain simple relation of the love and zeal I bear your Majesty, proceeding from the abundance of the heart.... I make like account with your Majesty, as I do with God, for His benefits and gifts heaped upon me daily; acknowledging myself to be a great debtor to Him, not being able to recompense the least of His benefit. In which state I am certain and sure to die, yet I hope for His gracious acceptance of my goodwill. Even such confidence have I in your Majesty’s gentleness, knowing myself never to have done my duty as were requisite and meet for such a noble Prince, at whose hands I have received so much love and goodness that with words I cannot express it.”[253]

It will be seen by this, and nearly every other letter that Katharine wrote to her husband, that she had taken the measure of his prodigious vanity, and indulged him to the top of his bent. In a letter written to him on the 9th August, referring to the success of the Earl of Lennox, who had just married Henry’s niece, Margaret Douglas, and had gone to Scotland to seize the government in English interest, Katharine says: “The good speed which Lennox has had, is to be imputed to his serving a master whom God aids. He might have served the French king, his old master, many years without attaining such a victory.” This is the attitude in which Henry loved to be approached, and with such letters from his wife in England confirming the Jove-like qualities attributed to him in consequence of his presence with his army in France, Henry’s short campaign before Boulogne was doubtless one of the pleasantest experiences in his life.

To add to his satisfaction, he had not been at Calais a week before Francis began to make secret overtures for peace. It was too early for that, however, just yet, for Henry coveted Boulogne, and the sole use made of the French approaches to him was to impress the imperial agents with his supreme importance. The warning was not lost upon Charles and his sister the Queen Regent of the Netherlands, who themselves began to listen to the unofficial suggestions for peace made by the agents of the Duchess d’Etampes, the mistress of Francis, in order, if possible, to benefit herself and the Duke of Orleans in the conditions, to the detriment of the Dauphin Henry. Thenceforward it was a close game of diplomatic finesse between Henry and Charles as to which should make terms first and arbitrate on the claims of the other.

St. Disier capitulated to the Emperor on the 8th August; and Charles at once sent another envoy to Henry at Boulogne, praying him urgently to fulfil the plan of campaign decided with Gonzaga, or the whole French army would be concentrated upon the imperial forces and crush them. But Henry would not budge from before Boulogne, and Charles, whilst rapidly pushing forward into France, and in serious danger of being cut off by the Dauphin, listened intently for sounds of peace. They soon came, through the Duke of Lorraine; and before the end of August the Emperor was in close negotiation with the French, determined, come what might, that the final settlement of terms should not be left in the hands of the King of England. Henry’s action at this juncture was pompous, inflated, and stupid, whilst that of Charles was statesmanlike, though unscrupulous. Even during the negotiations Charles pushed forward and captured Epernay and Château Thierry, where the Dauphin’s stores were. This was on the 7th September, and then having struck his blow he knew that he must make peace at once. He therefore sent the young Bishop of Arras, Granvelle, with a message to Henry which he knew would have the effect desired. The King of England was again to be urged formally but insincerely to advance and join the Emperor, but if he would not the Emperor must make peace, always providing that the English claims were satisfactorily settled.

Arras arrived in the English camp on the 11th September. He found Henry in his most vaunting mood; for only three days before the ancient tower on the harbour side opposite Boulogne had been captured by his men.[254] He could not move forward, he said; it was too late in the season to begin a new campaign, and he was only bound by the treaty to keep the field four months in a year. If the Emperor was in a fix, that was his look-out. The terms, moreover, suggested for the peace between his ally and France were out of the question, especially the clause about English claims. The French had already offered him much better conditions than those. Arras pushed his point. The Emperor must know definitely, he urged, whether the King of England would make peace or not, as affairs could not be left pending. Then Henry lost his temper, as the clever imperial ministers knew he would do, and blurted out in a rage: “Let the Emperor make peace for himself if he likes, but nothing must be done to prejudice my claims.” It was enough for the purpose desired, for in good truth the Emperor had already agreed with the French, and Arras posted back to his master with Henry’s hasty words giving permission for him to make a separate peace. In vain for the next two years Henry strove to unsay, to palliate, to disclaim these words. Quarrels, bursts of violent passion, incoherent rage, indignant denials, were all of no avail; the words were said, and vouched for by those who heard them; and Charles hurriedly ratified the peace already practically made with France on terms that surprised the world, and made Henry wild with indignation.

The Emperor, victor though he was, in appearance gave away everything. His daughter or niece was to marry Orleans, with Milan or Flanders as a dowry; Savoy was to be restored to the Duke, and the French were to join the Emperor in alliance against the Turk. None knew yet—though Henry may have suspected it—that behind the public treaty there was a secret compact by which the two Catholic sovereigns agreed to concentrate their joint powers and extirpate a greater enemy than the Turk, namely, the rising power of Protestantism in Europe. Henry was thus betrayed and was at war alone with France, all of whose forces were now directed against him. Boulogne fell to the English on the 14th September, three days after Arras arrived in Henry’s camp, and the King hurried back to England in blazing wrath with the Emperor and inflated with the glorification of his own victory, eager for the applause of his subjects before his laurels faded and the French beleagured the captured town. Gardiner and Paget, soon to be joined temporarily by Hertford, remained in Calais in order to continue, if possible, the abortive peace negotiations with France. But it was a hopeless task now; for Francis, free from fear on his north-east frontier, was determined to win back Boulogne at any cost. The Dauphin swore that he would have no peace whilst Boulogne remained in English hands, and Henry boastfully declared that he would hold it for ever now that he had won it.

Thenceforward the relations between Henry and the Emperor became daily more unamiable. Henry claimed under the treaty that Charles should still help him in the war, but that was out of the question. When in 1546 the French made a descent upon the Isle of Wight, once more the treaty was invoked violently by the King of England: almost daily claims, complaints, and denunciations were made on both sides with regard to the vexed question of contraband of war for the French, mostly Dutch herrings; and the right of capture by the English. The Emperor was seriously intent upon keeping Henry on fairly good terms, and certainly did not wish to go to war with him; but he had submitted to the hard terms of the peace of Crespy with a distinct object, and dared not jeopardise it by renewing his quarrel with France for the sake of Henry.

Slowly it had forced itself upon the mind of Charles that his own Protestant vassals, the Princes of the Schmalkaldic league, must be crushed into obedience, or his own power would become a shadow; and his aim was to keep all Christendom friendly until he had choked Lutheranism at its fountain-head. From the period of Henry’s return to England in these circumstances, growing sympathy for those whom a Papal and imperial coalition were attacking caused the influence of the Catholic party in his Councils gradually but spasmodically to decline. Chapuys, who himself was hastening to the grave, accompanied his successor Van Der Delft as ambassador to England at Christmas (1544), and describes Henry as looking very old and broken, but more boastful of his victory over the French than ever. He professed, no doubt sincerely, a desire to remain friendly with the Emperor; and after their interview with him the ambassadors, without any desire being expressed on their part, were conducted to the Queen’s oratory during divine service. In reply to their greetings and thanks for her good offices for the preservation of friendship and her kindness to Princess Mary, Katharine “replied, very graciously, that she did not deserve so much courtesy from your Majesty (the Emperor). What she did for Lady Mary was less than she would like to do, and was only her duty in every respect. With regard to the maintenance of friendship, she said she had done, and would do, nothing to prevent its growing still firmer, and she hoped that God would avert the slightest dissension; as the friendship was so necessary, and both sovereigns were so good.”[255]