Two things, Wriothesley told Cromwell, in a letter which he wrote to him the next day, were plain: the Queen would be very loth to let them go with nothing settled, and the Duchess was well inclined, considering that nothing had as yet been said to her on the King's behalf. And he suggested that he might be allowed to show her a portrait of Henry, the sight of which, he felt sure, would make her die a maid rather than marry anyone else. "The woman is certainly worthy to be a Queen," he adds, "and in my judgment is worth more than all the friendship and alliances in the world."[229]

Unfortunately, these letters, which the writer hoped would give the King so much pleasure, found Henry in a furious temper. In January, 1539, Pope Paul III. issued the long-delayed Bull of excommunication, and called on the Emperor and the French King to declare war on the heretic monarch, and forbid all intercourse between their subjects and the misguided English. Cardinal Pole, whose kinsmen Henry had beheaded, and whose own life had been attempted by his emissaries, was sent to Spain to induce Charles to take up arms against "this abominable tyrant and cruel persecutor of the Church of God."[230] At the same moment a treaty was signed between Charles and Francis at Toledo, by which the two monarchs pledged themselves to conclude no agreements with Henry excepting by mutual consent.[231]

Henry now became seriously alarmed. He complained bitterly to Castillon of the way in which he was reviled in France, not only by the vulgar, but by the Cardinal of Paris and members of the Council. And he sent Cromwell to Chapuys with an imperative summons to come to Court without delay. The Imperial Ambassador obeyed, and came to Whitehall on the Feast of the Three Kings. Henry was on his way to Mass, but he stopped to greet Chapuys, and complained once more of the Queen of Hungary's interminable delays and of the scandalous treatment of his Ambassadors. Chapuys made the best excuses which came into his mind, and assured the King that Mary was only awaiting the Emperor's instructions as to the Papal dispensation, and that he would hear from Spain as soon as the Palatine had reached Toledo. To this Henry vouchsafed no answer, but walked straight on, to the door of the chapel.

During Mass Cromwell entered into conversation with Chapuys, and told him that the Pope had thrown off the hypocrite's mask, and was doing his best to kindle a flame in Italy. Before the Ambassador could reply he changed the subject, and said he saw clearly that the Emperor intended to marry his niece to Cleves or Lorraine. Chapuys laughed, and remarked that the Duchess could hardly be given to both Princes, but added in all seriousness that his master knew the difference between the King of England and these suitors. After dinner Henry seemed in a better temper, but told Chapuys in confidential tones that he was growing old, and that his subjects pressed him to hasten his marriage, and that these vexatious delays were all due to the French, who boasted that the Emperor could do nothing without their consent.

At the same time Chapuys heard that Henry was negotiating with the German Princes, and offering his daughter Mary to the young Duke of Cleves, in order to prevent him from marrying the Duchess. "He is so much in love," wrote Castillon, "that for one gracious word from her I believe he would go to war to recover Denmark."[233]

The same week Henry wrote to Wyatt, complaining bitterly of the treatment which he had received from his imperial brother, as being wholly unworthy of a Prince who professed to be his zealous friend. "After so hot a summer we saw never so cold a winter; after all these professions of love and friendship, in the end nothing but a cold frost." He ended by declaring he would no longer be kept "hanging in the balance," and must have an immediate answer, even if it were a flat denial.[234] At length even Charles could procrastinate no longer, and on the 15th of February he told Wyatt that it was impossible for the marriage to take place without the Pope's dispensation, as the King's dispensation would never satisfy the Duchess herself, or any of her relations, and might cause endless inconvenience if children were born of the union. "All the stay," wrote Cromwell to Wriothesley, "is upon the dispensation, to which they object now, but whereof they never spake before."[235]

Even before the courier from Spain arrived, Henry's face was so black that Castillon wrote home begging to be recalled, and declaring that this King was the most cruel and dangerous man in the world. He was in such a rage that he had neither reason nor understanding left, and once he found out that Francis could do nothing for him, Castillon was convinced that his own life would not be worth a straw. A few days later the Ambassador left London, and rejoiced to find himself safely back in France.[236]

VII.

While London was full of alarms, Wriothesley and his colleagues were spending a gay Shrovetide at Brussels, all unconscious of the clouds that were darkening the horizon. During the last few weeks nobles and courtiers had vied with each other in paying them attentions. Visitors of the highest rank honoured their humble lodgings. Madame de Berghen, Aerschot's lively sister—"a dame of stomach that hath a jolly tongue"—dined with them. The Queen herself was expected to pay them a visit, and great preparations in the way of plate and furniture were made for her reception. Count Büren, a very great man in Holland, was particularly friendly, and impressed Wriothesley so much by his honesty and loyalty that he gave him the best horse in his stables. Another day he entertained the Captain of Gravelines, who railed against the abominations of Rome to his heart's content, and told him it would be the Pope's fault if the King's marriage were not concluded. Carnival week brought a round of festivities. On Monday, the 17th of February, the Ambassadors were invited to meet the Queen at supper at the Duke of Aerschot's house, and were received at half-past five by the Duchess and her sister-in-law, Madame de Berghen. The Duchess sent for her young daughter and her two sons—boys of ten and twelve—and presently they were joined by Monsieur de Vély, the new French Ambassador. Wriothesley expressed great pleasure at meeting him, saying that, since their masters were good friends, they ought not to be strangers, and received a cordial reply. The rest of the company looked on with some surprise at these friendly fashions, a rumour being abroad that the French King was about to attack England and force Henry to submit to the Pope. Then a flourish of trumpets, sackbuts, and fifes, was heard at the gates, and the guests rose as the Queen and Duchess entered the hall. At supper the French Ambassador sat on the Queen's right, and Wriothesley on her left, while Christina was between him and Vaughan. Madame d'Egmont sat next to Dr. Carne, and the Prince of Orange was on the Duchess of Aerschot's right hand. Mary made herself very agreeable to both her neighbours, and when, after supper, her chapel choir sang roundelays and merry drinking-songs, she asked Wriothesley if he were fond of music, and invited him to sup with her on the morrow and hear her minstrels. The Ambassador confessed that he was very fond of music, and often had some at his poor home to cheer his dull spirits. "Well, it is an honest pastime," said the Queen, "and maketh good digestion, for it driveth thoughts away." Here Wriothesley ventured to remark that he would feel merrier if he had not wasted so much time here, and asked if there was still no news from Spain. "None," replied the Queen; and Wriothesley observed that reports reached him from Germany that the Emperor was merely trying to gain time, and meant to do the Bishop of Rome's bidding. "Jesus!" exclaimed the Queen, "I dare say the Emperor never meant such a thing;" upon which Wriothesley hastened to say that he felt sure the Emperor was too wise and honourable a Prince to deceive the King, but now that he had made friends with his old enemy, he hoped he would not make a new enemy of his old friend. After supper the Duke and several ladies came in, wearing masks and rich costumes, and threw dice with the Queen and her niece for some fine diamonds, which the Princesses won. Then the Prince of Orange led out Christina to dance, and the other youthful guests followed suit, while Wriothesley sat at the Queen's side on the daïs and watched the princely pair.

The next evening (Shrove Tuesday) Wriothesley and his colleagues dined at the palace, and this time the English Ambassador sat in the post of honour, on the Queen's right, with the Duchess on his left. Mary was in high spirits, toasted her guests and drank with each of them in turn. After supper Wriothesley approached Christina, and ventured to tell her that she would be happy if her best friends did not put hindrances in her way, and begged her not to lend ear to malicious reports of his master. The Duchess shook her head, saying she would listen to no calumnies, and always hold the King to be a noble Prince. But he felt sure that she was afraid of the Queen, and told her he hoped to converse more freely with her another time. Never had he seen her look so beautiful as she did that night; never did he wish more ardently to see her his master's bride. "For indeed it were pity," he wrote home, "if she were bestowed on a husband she did not like, only to serve others."

There was one Prince at table for whom, it was easy to see, Christina had no dislike. This was René of Orange, who had an opportunity of distinguishing himself in his lady's eyes that evening. The Queen led the way into the great hall, where first Aerschot and three other nobles challenged all comers to fight, and then the Prince of Orange and Floris d'Egmont took their places at the barriers, and broke lances and received prizes for their valour, while the Queen's band of lutes, viols, and rebecks, played the finest music that Wriothesley had ever heard. When the jousting was ended, Mary led her guests to the royal gallery, where another banquet was served, and there was much lively discourse, and more talking than eating. So that gay Carnival came to a close, and with it the last hope of winning the fair Duchess's hand.[237]

An unpleasant surprise was in store for Wriothesley the next morning. Certain disquieting rumours having reached Brussels, Vaughan went to Antwerp on Ash Wednesday, and found great consternation among the English merchants. A proclamation had been issued forbidding any ships to leave the port, and several English vessels laden with merchandise had been detained. The wildest rumours were current on the Exchange. It was commonly said that the Emperor, with the Kings of France and Scotland, had declared war on King Henry, and that a large Dutch and Spanish fleet was about to sail for England. Already in Brussels gallants and pikemen were taking bets on the issue of the war, and Wriothesley wrote to Cromwell that he and his colleagues "might peradventure broil on a faggot." He was unable to obtain an audience until Friday, when the Queen told him that, by the Emperor's orders, she was recalling Chapuys to conduct the marriage negotiations. This unexpected intimation, coming as it did after the startling news from Antwerp, disconcerted him considerably. He sent an express to London, and received orders to take his departure at once. Castillon was already on his way to France, but Henry quite refused to let Chapuys go until Wriothesley and Vaughan had left Brussels. A long wrangle between the two Courts followed. The Ambassadors were detained on both sides. The Spanish and Dutch ships in English harbours were stopped, all ports were closed, and active preparations were made for war along the shores of the Channel.

The situation of the Ambassadors was by no means pleasant. A marked change was visible in the behaviour of the Court. They were "treated as very strangers" by those nobles who had been their best friends. No one called at their house or came to dine with them. The Duchess's servants, who used to go to and fro constantly, now dared not come except at dusk—"in the owl-flight"—and would not allow Wriothesley to send them home by torchlight. Wherever they went, the English heard their King slandered, and met with cold looks and scornful words. Worse than all, they were forced to pay excise duties—"eighteen pence on every barrel of beer above the price asked by the brewer"—an indignity to which no Ambassador before had ever been exposed. "I write in haste and live in misery," wrote Wriothesley to Cromwell on the 7th of March.[239]

The Emperor, however, was still friendly. His heart was set on a Crusade against the Turk, and he had no wish to embark on war with England. Pole met with a cold reception at Toledo, and, finding Charles averse to executing the Pope's sentence, retired to his friend Sadoleto's house at Carpentras. This was a relief to Henry, and he bade Wyatt thank his imperial brother, but could not forbear pointing out that these friendly words agreed ill with the doings of his officers in the Low Countries. A despatch addressed to Wyatt on the 10th of March contains a long recital of the extraordinary treatment which his Ambassadors at Brussels had met with:

Henry concluded this letter by saying that, since the Emperor insisted on the need of Papal dispensation, there could be no further question of any marriage between him and the Duchess, and he would be now at liberty to seek another wife. On the same day he wrote to Carne, who had been secretly corresponding with the Duke of Cleves, telling him to open negotiations for a marriage with that Prince's sister, the Lady Anne.[241]

Twelve days after this despatch was sent to Spain Wriothesley left Brussels. At Calais he met Chapuys, who had just crossed the Channel, and Mary's almoner, the Dean of Cambray, who was being sent to take the Ambassador's place, and was awaiting a fair wind to embark for Dover. All three Ambassadors dined in a friendly manner with Lord Lisle, the Deputy Governor of Calais, and continued their respective journeys without hindrance. But the much-discussed marriage treaty was at an end. The long-drawn comedy had reached its last act. "All hope of the Duchess," wrote Wriothesley to Cromwell, "is utterly past."

The rupture was loudly lamented by the English merchants in Antwerp, and keen disappointment was felt throughout England, where the marriage had always been popular. Among many scattered notices of the feeling which prevailed on the subject, the following incident is of especial interest, because of the sidelight which it throws on Christina's personal reluctance to the marriage.

On a summer evening in August, 1539, five months after Wriothesley left Brussels, a married priest named George Constantyne, of Llan Hawaden in South Wales, rode from Chepstow to Abergavenny with John Barlow, Dean of Westbury. The priest had got into trouble in Wolsey's time, for buying copies of Tyndale's New Testament, and was forced to fly the country and practise as a physician for several years in the Netherlands. Now he had returned to England, and was on his way to his old home in Wales. He walked from Bristol to Westbury, where he supped with Dean Barlow, a brother of his friend the Bishop of St. Davids, who made him heartily welcome, and invited him to be his travelling companion the next day to Pembrokeshire. As the two ecclesiastics rode through the green valleys on the way to Abergavenny, the Dean asked Constantyne if he could tell him why the King's marriage had been so long delayed. The priest replied that he, for his part, was very sorry the King should still be without a wife, when he might by this time have been the father of fair children. As the Dean knew, both the Duchess of Milan and she of Cleves were spoken of, and now the little doctor, Nicholas Wotton, had been sent to Cleves with Mr. Beard, of the Privy Chamber, and the King's painter; so there was good hope of a marriage being concluded with the Duke of Cleves, who favoured God's word, and was a mighty Prince now, holding Guelderland against the Emperor's will. But why, asked the Dean, was the marriage with the Duchess of Milan broken off? Constantyne, who was familiar with all the gossip of the Regent's Court, replied that the Duchess quite refused to marry the King, unless he would accept the Bishop of Rome's dispensation, and give pledges that her life would be safe and her honour respected. "Why pledges?" asked the Dean innocently. "Marry!" returned Constantyne, "she sayeth that, since the King's Majesty was in so little space rid of three Queens, she dare not trust his Council, even if she dare trust His Majesty. For in Flanders the nobles suspect that her great-aunt, Queen Catherine, was poisoned, that Anne Boleyn was innocent of the crimes for which she was put to death, and that the third wife, Queen Jane, was lost for lack of attention in childbed." Such, at least, were the mutterings which he heard at Court before Whitsuntide. The Dean remarked that he was afraid the affair of Milan must be dashed, as Dr. Petre, who was to have gone to fetch the royal bride from Calais, was at the Court of St. James's last Sunday; upon which Constantyne gave it as his opinion that there could be no amity between the King and the Emperor, whose god was the Pope.

So the two men talked as they rode over the Welsh hills on the pleasant summer evening. But the poor priest had good reason to regret that he had ever taken this ride; for his false friend the Dean reported him as a Sacramentary to the Lord Privy Seal, and a few days after he reached Llan Hawaden he was arrested and thrown into the Tower, where he spent several months in prison as a penalty for his freedom of speech.[242]