“Now the King and the Concubine are planning in several ways to entangle the Princess in their webs, and compel her to consent to their damnable statutes and detestable opinions,” wrote the ambassador, Cromwell having declared that thenceforth there remained nothing to prevent friendship between the King and the Emperor, but Mary’s submission. The new tactics were as puzzling as they were cruel. Scarcely were Mary’s hopes of better times encouraged by some small attention, such as a present of money for distribution to the poor, on her journeys from one residence to another, when a fresh act of petty tyranny would fill her mind with renewed apprehensions. The occasional favours were probably intended as a blind to the Emperor, while the insults which the unhappy girl was still made to suffer were instances of Anne’s increasing spite and fury. Thus Cromwell, after showing her some kindness, summoned her to deliver up a little cross which her mother had bequeathed to her. Chapuys estimated that there could not be ten crowns’ worth of gold in the whole trinket, which contained no jewels, but a fragment of the true Cross to which Mary had great devotion. “Your Majesty,” said Chapuys, in relating the circumstance, “may judge what reliance is to be placed upon the words of these men. I think that God will never give them grace to recognise their error, lest they should avoid the punishment of their abominable misdeeds.”[150]

Pending instructions from Charles, his ambassador advised the same line of conduct which Mary had hitherto followed, urging her “to show as good courage and constancy as ever, with requisite modesty and dignity,” for if they began to find her at all shaken, they would pursue her to the end, without ever leaving her in peace. He thought that they would not insist very much now, on Mary’s openly renouncing her rights, nor on her abjuring the Pope’s authority directly, but would be content if she acknowledged Anne as Queen, a concession that would not cost her much, her mother being dead. And probably this would have been the case, if Anne Boleyn had continued to share Henry’s throne. Chapuys told the Princess to avoid all discussion with the King’s messengers, but to entreat them to leave her in peace, that she might pray for her mother’s soul, and for herself, a poor, simple orphan, without experience or counsel, ignorant of laws and canons. She was to beseech them to intercede with her father on her behalf, and beg him to have pity on her, and if she thought it necessary to say more, she might add with her customary gentleness, that as it was not the custom in England to swear fealty to queens, and that as such a thing had not been done when her mother was held as Queen, she could not but suspect that her swearing would be, either directly or indirectly, to her prejudice. Moreover, if Anne Boleyn really were queen, her swearing or refusing to swear did not matter, and if she were not, it would be the same. By the consistorial sentence, her father’s first marriage had been declared valid, and the second marriage annulled. It had also been declared, that this lady could not claim the title of queen, for which reason Mary was to say that she thought she could not in conscience go against the Pope’s command, and that by so doing she would prejudice her own right.[151]

The Emperor, meanwhile, communicated the news of his aunt’s death to the Empress in the following letter:—

“Five or six days ago, the news of the demise of her most serene Highness, the Queen of England arrived, which I felt deeply, as you may imagine. May God receive her in Paradise, which she certainly deserved, on account of her extreme goodness and virtue, and the excellent life she led. About her last illness and death the accounts differ. Some say that it was produced by a painful affection of the stomach, which lasted upwards of ten or twelve days; others that the distemper broke out all of a sudden, after taking some draught, and there is a suspicion, that there was in it, that which in similar cases is administered. I do not choose to make such an affirmation, nor do I wish to have it repeated as coming from me, but nothing can prevent people from judging and commenting upon the event, according to their own feelings. Of the Princess, my cousin, I hear only that she is inconsolable at the loss she has sustained, especially when she thinks of her father’s past behaviour towards herself, and the little favour she can expect for the future. I trust, however, that God will have pity on her, and will not permit the great injustice which has been shown her to remain without some reparation. I have put on mourning, and ordered all the grandees round me, the high officers of this household as well as the gentlemen of my chamber and table to do the same, and I myself intend wearing it until I go to Rome. The exequies have been performed here as is customary in such cases; there where you are the same ought to be done.”[152]

But if Mary’s position was fraught with danger, Anne’s was still more so. The woman for whose sake Henry had quarrelled with the Pope, risked a war with the Emperor, banished his wife and daughter, executed Fisher, More and the London Carthusians, had now ceased to charm, or even to please him. He scarcely spoke to her for weeks together, and those who understood his methods began to look about for the new favourite. She was none other than Jane Seymour, one of Anne’s ladies, whom Chapuys describes as “no great beauty, over twenty-five years old, of middle stature, and so fair that one would call her rather pale than otherwise”. As for her virtue, he will not pledge himself, considering that the lady has so long frequented the English court;[153] she has, however, one title to his goodwill, inasmuch as she has taken up the Princess’s cause warmly. Anne’s enemies were careful that the fallen favourite should be informed of her new cause for dread; and the transports of joy with which she had welcomed the news of Katharine’s death were soon turned into mourning. She was frequently seen to weep, “fearing,” said Chapuys, “that they might do with her as with the good Queen”. Now, at the eleventh hour, it occurred to her that by conciliating Mary, she might avert her own doom, and she therefore sent her word that if she would “lay aside her obstinacy, and obey her father, Queen Anne would be the best friend in the world to her, like another mother, and would obtain for her anything she liked to ask”. If Mary wished to come to court, she would be exempted from holding the tail of the Queen’s gown, and should walk by her side. Lady Shelton, Anne’s aunt, besought the Princess with hot tears to consider the matter, but Mary remained firm.

Anne’s rage and despair almost deprived the now wretched woman of reason, when she found that all her efforts to win her were unavailing. She wrote to her aunt, who, as if by accident, left the letter in Mary’s oratory, where the Princess could not fail to see and read it. These were its contents:—

“My pleasure is that you do not further move the Lady Mary towards the King’s grace otherwise than it pleases herself. What I have done has been more for charity than for anything the King or I care what road she takes, or whether she will change her purpose, for if I have a son, as I hope shortly, I know what will happen to her, and therefore, considering the Word of God, to do good to one’s enemy, I wished to warn her beforehand, because I have daily experience, that the King’s wisdom is such, as not to esteem her repentance of her rudeness and unnatural obstinacy, when she has no choice. By the law of God and of the King, she ought clearly to acknowledge her error and evil conscience, if her blind affection had not so blinded her eyes that she will see nothing but what pleases herself. Mrs. Shelton, I beg you not to think to do me any pleasure by turning her from any of her wilful courses, because she could not do me good or evil; and do your duty about her, according to the King’s commands, as I am assured you do.”[154]

Mary, of course, saw the letter, took a copy of it for Chapuys’ instruction, and laid the original where she had found it.

Of the two women, Anne, at this juncture, inspires the deeper pity. The overbearing tone of her letter is almost forgotten in the pathetic cry that escapes her: “If I have a son, as I hope shortly,” a cry which betrays the last piteous hope of one who has lost all, if this should fail. Mary, it is true, daily prepared herself for death, which now seemed nearer than ever; but beyond the natural love of life belonging to youth, and to a mind and heart keenly sensitive to all the interests that make life worth living, she did not desire it inordinately. For years she had faced death, and had repeatedly declared that she would rather die a hundred times than offend God, or do anything against her honour or conscience.

Anne, on the contrary, had sacrificed everything and everybody to the gratification of her own vanity, ambition and lightness; and now, abandoned by the King, the scorn of the court, the laughing-stock of the whole nation, she could but cling, a shipwrecked waif, to one poor spar, destined, like all else, to fail her. The day of Katharine’s funeral was a fatal day to the usurper. She had looked forward with passionate longing to the time when her rival should cease to exist, and leave her in undisputed possession of her queenship. And now the time had come, and on that very day, the last vestige of hope faded from before her eyes. Before night, the news was circulated in London that she had miscarried, and that the King had treated her with marked coldness. He had even declared that he had been led to marry her by witchcraft, that he had grave doubts as to the validity of their marriage, and as to whether he might consider himself free to take another wife.[155] Anne sought refuge from Henry’s brutality in recriminations, the last futile resource of the fallen. Chapuys wrote on the 17th February:—

“The Concubine has since attempted to throw all the blame on the Duke of Norfolk whom she hates, pretending that her miscarriage was entirely owing to the shock she received when, six days before, the Duke announced to her the King’s fall from his horse. But the King knows very well that it was not that, for his accident was announced to her in a manner not to create undue alarm, and besides, when she heard of it she seemed quite indifferent to it.”[156]

Both Mary and Chapuys understood Henry too well to hope for better times, even now that his aversion from Anne was complete. He would never content himself with the simple admission that he was weary of her to loathing, but would contrive to find some means to persuade the world that he was justified in his resolve to be rid of her. Although he would be obliged to admit, at least tacitly, that he had been mistaken, in a matter in which his pride was inextricably involved, and had sacrificed everything for a creature who had proved worthless, it was not likely that he would make further humiliating confessions, by owning that his treatment of Katharine and his daughter had been a mistake also, but rather, lest his enemies should triumph, would be prepared to send Mary to the block, as he had so often threatened.

Chapuys revived the plan, therefore, for carrying her abroad; and Mary thought it would be easy to escape, “if she had something to drug the women with”. She would have to pass Mistress Shelton’s window, but once out of the house, she could easily find a way to break or open the garden gate. So eager was she to breathe the air of freedom, that the envoy believed, that even were he to advise her to cross the Channel in a sieve she would do it.[157] He saw, however, that it would be impossible for him to take an active part in her removal, as suspicion would naturally be directed at once to him, if the scheme were discovered. He suggested that it might be as well for him to be recalled, before the actual attempt was made, so that the vigilance with which the Princess was guarded might be somewhat relaxed. In accordance with his desire, the Baron de Rœulx was sent from Flanders with a vessel, in which Mary was to take flight, and which remained at anchor a little below Gravesend.[158]

Mary was now at Hunsdon, fifteen miles farther from Gravesend than Greenwich, from whence the first attempt was to have been made; and as it was thought unsafe to bring the vessel any farther up the river, she would be obliged to ride forty miles to reach it. This would necessitate relays of horses, which could not be managed with such rapidity, as to prevent the risk of discovery. Moreover, the village of Hunsdon was crowded, and the royal fugitive would have to pass through several such places, where pursuit would be instantaneous if suspicion were aroused. Keen as Mary was to reach a place of safety, she was, says Chapuys, more bent on preventing further sin and misery, than on escaping from the dangers of her position, seeking a remedy, whereby innumerable souls might be saved from perdition.[159] But escape was soon found to be impossible, unless the Princess could be lodged nearer to Gravesend; and Chapuys now began to talk of conciliation. Henry was evidently determined to get rid of Anne, and was nothing loth to take another wife. If he died as things were, Mary was certain to succeed; it was, therefore, to her interest that he should not contract a true marriage, by which he might have male issue. To this Mary replied that she did not care how her own interests might be affected, if only her father could be saved from the sinful life he was leading.[160]

It was perhaps to this attitude that Mary owed Jane Seymour’s espousal of her cause. The new favourite met Henry’s advances in an exemplary manner. The King sent her a purse full of gold pieces, and with it a letter. After kissing the letter, she returned it to the messenger unopened, and throwing herself on her knees, begged him to represent to the King that she was a gentlewoman of good and honourable parents, without reproach, and that she had no greater riches in the world than her honour. If he wished to make her some present in money, she begged that it might be when God enabled her to make some honourable match. The purse was returned with the letter, and Henry’s admiration for Jane advanced by leaps and bounds. He caused her to be told that he did not intend henceforth to speak with her, except in the presence of some of her kin. He then made Cromwell dislodge from a room to which he himself had private access through certain galleries, and gave it to Jane’s eldest brother and his wife, in order that the young lady might meet him there in all propriety, and yet unknown to the world. “She has been well taught,” said the astute Chapuys, “for the most part by those intimate with the King, who hate the Concubine, that she must by no means comply with the King’s wishes except by way of marriage, in which she is quite firm. She is also advised to tell the King boldly how his marriage is detested by the people, and none consider it lawful; and on the occasion when she shall bring forward the subject, there ought to be present none but titled persons, who will say the same, if the King put them upon their oath of fealty.”[161]

Chapuys was greatly in favour of the projected union with Jane Seymour, considering it “a great thing both for the security of the Princess, and to remedy the heresies here, of which the Concubine is the cause and principal nurse, and also to pluck the King from such an abominable and more than incestuous marriage.[162] The Princess would be very happy, even if she were excluded from her inheritance by male issue.”

Henry’s approaching divorce from Anne was hailed with general satisfaction, the royal secrets being freely commented on by the people, but something like consternation was felt when, on the 2nd May, it became known that she had been arrested, and was lodged in the Tower, in the same apartment which she had occupied at her coronation three years before. It is happily unnecessary to discuss here the various counts on which the miserable woman was tried and condemned, the whole painful and revolting story having already been amply told.[163] Great excitement prevailed throughout the country, and those who hated Anne most were horror-struck at the scanty show of justice that accompanied her trial. On the 17th May, Cranmer declared Elizabeth illegitimate, pronouncing the marriage of her parents null and void from the beginning. This was a preliminary step to Anne’s execution, sentence of death having been passed in the secular courts. If “the Concubine” had been really proved guilty of the grave charges of immorality brought against her, and if her marriage had been condemned on a sound judicial basis, there would have been few to grieve for her fall; but Englishmen have ever been advocates of fair play, and there was some murmuring at the mode of procedure throughout her hurried trial. Cranmer had shown himself terrified at the possible result to himself, for his share in her advancement, and was suspiciously pliant in the matter of the sentence of divorce. The evidence produced against her in court was neither confirmed nor rebutted, but some was suppressed, as it was alleged to be unfit for decent ears.[164]

Henry’s own hypocritical and heartless conduct during the fortnight that elapsed between Anne’s arrest and execution disgusted even his friends. On the day of her committal to the Tower, the Duke of Richmond went as usual to ask his father’s blessing, when Henry, with tears in his eyes, said that both he and his sister Mary ought to thank God for having escaped from the hands of that woman, who had planned their death by poison, “from which I conclude,” added Chapuys, “that the King knew something of her wicked intentions”.[165] Early in the course of events, Chapuys wrote to the Emperor:—

“Already it sounds badly in the ears of the public, that the King, after such ignominy and discredit as the Concubine has brought on his head, should manifest more joy and pleasure now since her arrest and trial, than he has ever done on other occasions; for he has daily gone out to dine here and there with ladies, and sometimes has remained with them till after midnight. I hear that on one occasion, returning by the river to Greenwich, the royal barge was actually filled with minstrels and musicians of his chamber, playing on all sorts of instruments or singing; which state of things was by many a one compared to the joy and pleasure a man feels in getting rid of a thin, old and vicious hack, in the hope of getting soon a fine horse to ride—a very peculiarly agreeable task for this King.”[166]

In the meanwhile, Jane Seymour had been sent to a house about seven miles from London, where Henry could see her daily when he was at Hampton Court, and on the 14th May she was lodged with semi-royal magnificence, at a house on the Thames, in order to be near him at Greenwich. None of these movements were lost on the people, or on Chapuys, who expressed his opinion unreservedly that “the little Bastard would be excluded from the succession,” and that the King would “get himself requested by Parliament to marry”.

On the 15th, Henry sent a message to Jane, to the effect that she would hear of Anne’s condemnation at three o’clock that afternoon, and shortly after dinner, the words were verified. On the 19th, the day of her execution, as soon as the news of her death was brought to him, he entered his barge, and went to spend the day with Jane. The following morning, they were betrothed, not married, as many writers have stated, the marriage ceremony taking place ten days later.

Anne had persisted to the last, in the declaration of her innocence; but the often quoted letter, supposed to have been written by her to Henry from the Tower, and which Burnet printed[167] as authentic, because he had found it among Cromwell’s papers, must now be considered spurious. That it should ever have been regarded as genuine, is among the unaccountable beliefs that have obtained concerning this much misrepresented woman. It proclaims itself a forgery by the style of its composition and mode of expression, entirely unlike any of Anne’s recognised and undisputed letters. The speeches also imputed to her before her execution must be taken with extreme caution, the opportunity being favourable to romance writers of every subsequent period, to invent sentiments which neither would nor could have been uttered or recorded, so great was the terror in which Henry was held by ministers, judges, courtiers, and the people. On the other hand, doubt has been thrown on the authenticity of words and actions which, viewed with their context, are, to say the least, highly probable. Thus Mr. Friedmann, the able biographer of Anne Boleyn, while he admits that the one thing that preyed on her mind was her conduct towards the Princess, discredits the story of her having thrown herself at the feet of Lady Kingston, wife of the Lieutenant of the Tower, entreating her as a favour in like manner to throw herself at the feet of the Lady Mary, and in her name beseech her to forgive the many wrongs she had brought upon her.[168] But there is evidence in a letter from Mary to Cromwell, dated 26th May 1536, that Lady Kingston was then present with her, and it is unlikely that she would have been sent to announce Anne’s death, unless she had some special message to deliver. In this letter, as if in response to Anne’s petition for pardon, Mary in mentioning her fallen enemy adds, “whom I pray our Lord of His great mercy to forgive”.[169] Moreover, Chapuys told Cardinal Granvelle, that on her way to the scaffold, “the Concubine declared that she did not consider herself condemned by divine judgment, except for being the cause of the ill-treatment of the Princess, and for having conspired her death”.[170]

Although Henry took no pains to conceal the satisfaction he felt at his deliverance from Anne, he chose to pretend that he was heart-broken at her wickedness, and Cranmer, whose safety depended on a servile acquiescence in his master’s every whim, begged him “somewhat to suppress the deep sorrows of his Grace’s heart, and do violence to himself, by accepting with patience and cheerfulness the decrees of Providence”.[171]

In truth, not Henry alone, but the whole nation breathed more freely, and the horror inspired by the injustice of Anne’s trial cannot be said to have extended to any feeling of regret for her untimely end. On the day of her execution, Chapuys, keenly observant of all that went on at court, and of its effect upon the nation, wrote:—

“The joy shown by this people every day, not only at the ruin of the Concubine, but at the hope of the Princess Mary’s restoration, is inconceivable, but as yet, the King shows no great disposition towards the latter; indeed he has twice shown himself obstinate, when spoken to on the subject by his Council. I hear, that even before the arrest of the Concubine, the King, speaking with Mistress Jane Semel of their future marriage, the latter suggested that the Princess should be replaced in her former position; and the King told her she was a fool, and ought to solicit the advancement of the children they would have between them, and not any others. She replied, that by asking the restoration of the Princess, she conceived she was seeking the rest and tranquillity of the King, herself, her future children, and the whole realm; for without that, neither your Majesty nor this people would ever be content. Such a wish,” continues the ambassador, “on the part of the said lady, is very commendable, and I purpose using all means in my power, in keeping her to her good intentions. I also mean to go to the King about it two or three days hence, and visit one by one, the members of the Privy Council, and if I can personally, or by means of my friends, influence some of the lords and gentlemen, who have been summoned for the next Parliament, which is to meet on the 8th of next month, I shall not fail to do so.”[172]

Chapuys did not exaggerate the nation’s joyful expectation that Mary would be restored to favour, and that the people would be allowed to enjoy the sight of her once more. His testimony is corroborated in various ways, one of the most striking proofs of her popularity being contained in a French poem, written and printed in London in the beginning of June 1536. This poem, which gives a singularly accurate description of Anne Boleyn’s life, promotion and disgrace, is highly eulogistic of Mary’s goodness and charms. In expressing the universal satisfaction displayed at the prospect of her speedy return to court, the writer continues:—

It was impossible for Henry to ignore the immense popular enthusiasm of which Mary was the object, and it hampered him considerably, for he was not by any means prepared to acknowledge himself in the wrong, by replacing her in his good graces unconditionally. The desire of the nation, combined with Jane’s influence and his own much-vaunted affection, did not equal his obstinacy and vanity. Only, as the above-mentioned poem goes on to relate, when the enthusiasm developed into impatience, and a rumour was circulated that he had sent for her, and had shown her kindness, did he realise that it might be prudent to reckon with the Londoners. Fearing a disturbance, if he did not show some sign of relenting, he sent them a condescending message, in which he thanked them for their goodwill to him and his daughter, and held out hopes of their speedy reconciliation.[173]

But Henry was still hedged in with difficulties, and he had far more to consider than a mere peace-making with an eager, affectionate daughter of twenty, whom all, except those whose interest it was to keep them apart, agreed in praising. To give Mary back her rights without terms, would be tantamount to submission to the Pope, whose decree he had treated with open scorn and defiance, to humbling himself before the Emperor, after the haughty tone he had assumed in his letters to him, and to climbing down in the eyes of his ally, the King of France. And while on the one hand, he would be able to secure a powerful friend by bestowing her on a candidate of the Emperor, he would on the other, cease to be an important factor in the game of European politics. His strength, he knew, lay in temporising, in being considered a valuable prize in petto to Francis and Charles alternately. If he definitely gave himself up to Charles, he would but swell the importance of the empire, at the sacrifice of his own pride. The Emperor, when it became known that Anne’s fall was imminent, made decided advances, promising “to be a mean to reconcile him with the Pope”. He begged Henry to legitimatise his daughter, and to give her a place in the succession, and took the opportunity to request his help against the Turk, slipping in a solicitation for his support, in accordance with an existing treaty, in the event of an invasion of the Duchy of Milan, by the French King.

Henry’s reply, through Chapuys, was lofty and cleverly worded. The interruption of their friendship, he declared to Pate, his ambassador at the imperial court, proceeded from the Emperor, “who, although we made him King of Spain and afterwards Emperor, when the empire was at our disposal, and afterwards lent him money, so that he can thank only us for his present honor, has showed us all the ingratitude he could devise, both in contemning our friendship, when we have done more for his satisfaction in our proceedings than needed, and in procuring injury and displeasure against us at the hands of the Bishop of Rome; yet, if he will by his express writings desire us to forget his unkind doings, or declare that what we consider unkindness has been wrongly imputed to him, we will gladly embrace the overture for the renewal of amity; but as we have sustained the injury, we would not be a suitor for reconciliation, nor treat of anything till our amity is simply and without any conditions renewed. If he will first accomplish this, he need not doubt that friendly and reasonable answers will be given to all his reasonable desires. To his overtures touching the Bishop of Rome, we answered that we have not proceeded upon such slight grounds that we could revoke or alter any part of our doing, having made our foundation upon the laws of God, nature and honesty, and established our works thereon, by the consent of all the estates of our realm, in open and high court of Parliament. A proposal has been made to us by the Bishop of Rome himself, which we have not yet embraced, and it would not be expedient to have it compassed by any other means. We should not think the Emperor earnestly desired a reconciliation with us, if he moved us to alter anything for the satisfaction of the Bishop of Rome, our enemy. As to the legitimatation of our daughter Mary, if she will submit to our grace, without wrestling against the determination of our laws, we will acknowledge her and use her as our daughter; but we would not be directed or pressed herein, nor have any other order devised for her entertainment, than should proceed from the inclination of our own heart, being moved by her humility, and the gentle proceedings of such as pretend to be her friends. God has not only made us King by inheritance, but has given us wisdom, policy, and other graces in most plentiful sort, necessary for a prince to direct his affairs by, to his honor and glory; and we doubt not, the Emperor thinks it meet for us to order things here without search of foreign advice, as for him or any other prince to determine their affairs without our counsel. We trust that we have proceeded in all that we have enterprised with such circumspection, that no one who looks with an indifferent eye upon our foundation, which is God’s law, shall have cause to be miscontented, but rather judge of us as a most Christian, prudent, victorious and politic prince. If princes, by reason of foreign marriages should be directed in the ordering of their issue by the parents or allies of their wives, and, as it were, controlled, as if they had committed themselves by such marriages to other princes’ ‘arbitres,’ who can by no means know the truth of their proceedings, the servitude thereof would appear so great, that wisdom would allow no prince to marry out of his realm. Notwithstanding such marriages, princes have meddled but little in foreign affairs, unless the title of inheritance has descended thereby to them. We doubt not, that the Emperor will not intricate himself with our affairs more than he honourably may, and agreeably to the amity which should be between Christian princes.”[174]

To this the Emperor replied in a long letter, the conclusion of which ran:—

“As to the Princess, our cousin, we also hold that the King will act like a good and natural father, especially considering her great virtues and good qualities; but our near relationship, and the great worth of the said Princess, compel us to urge the King to have a fatherly regard for her. Nor does it seem unreasonable that kinsmen should intercede with fathers for their children; and we do so all the more, because we have always thought, that if the King has in any degree withheld his favour from her, it has not been of his own motion, but by sinister reports of others. So we think he will take our intercession in good part, as we would do in the case of our own children, of whom, if he consolidate this amity, we shall consider him another father.”[175]

The Emperor’s compliments with reference to Henry’s “fatherly regard” for Mary were not altogether insincere. Her position had been made less humiliating in various ways. In March, it was observed that Cromwell, in speaking of her, put his hand to his cap, and the secretary, Pate, emboldened by the turn affairs had taken, expressed his ardent desire that the King “would not suffer that redolent flower to be deprived of the sun’s warmth, and to wither away”.[176]

The change was, no doubt, to be attributed to Jane Seymour’s influence, as far as it went, but it was never very great, her power never being equal to her will to help Mary, who was not slow to perceive that a crisis was imminent; and buoyed up with hope, as soon as an opportunity occurred, she wrote to Cromwell:—

The series of letters which follow on this simple, natural effusion are of so painful a character, that were it not necessary for the clear understanding of the impending crisis in Mary’s life, to print them here entire, the temptation would be great to pass them over with a general indication of their contents. But the matter is one that may not be dealt with superficially, and the text of the somewhat discursive correspondence which passed between Mary, Cromwell and Henry is indispensable if we would estimate the extent of the mental torture the Princess was called upon to undergo, at the very time when she hoped that her worst trials were over. Her father’s tyranny, far from having exhausted its resources, culminated in an act so brutal, that it removes him for ever beyond the pale of humanity. It is a question whether, in all Mary’s sad and troubled life, the saddest moment was not now approaching. Gradually, the bright, eager tone of her letters dies down, and, in place of the hopeful strain, is one of abject grovelling at Henry’s feet. The later letters of the series are, indeed, written either from Cromwell’s dictation, or are copied from his drafts, but the pen is Mary’s; and the fact that she was now brought to renounce, at least formally, her birthright, her pious faith in her mother’s honour and dignity, together with all that she held most dear, places her in a position than which there could hardly be a more painful. But nothing short of this total abandonment of herself to his despotic will would satisfy the “most Christian, prudent, victorious and politic prince,” her father.[178]

Cromwell’s answer to the above letter has not been preserved, but its tenor may be inferred by another from the Princess Mary, dated the 30th May:—

In accordance with the permission obtained, two days later Mary wrote to her father:—

Humble as were these petitions, they elicited no reply from Henry, and Mary waited in vain for a word of kindness. Gradually it was borne in upon her, that the favour which she so earnestly implored, and which seemed to her so simple and easy a thing for the King to grant, would only be bestowed at the price of a sacrifice too heavy for her conscience to bear. Her contrition for past offences must not only be general, and such as any child might express to any father, but circumstantial and precise, affecting the vital principles for which she had struggled for four years. On the 6th June, Chapuys told the Emperor, that in an interview with Cromwell, the Secretary had declared it to be absolutely necessary that Mary should write a letter, according to a draft which he (Cromwell) had prepared, “in the most honourable and reasonable form that could be”. He had, he said, by the King’s command, sent a very confidential lady to solicit the Princess to do this, and that to avoid scruple, he wished that Chapuys would write to her, and send one of his principal servants to persuade her to make no difficulties about writing the said letter, which he intended to have translated from English into Latin, that Chapuys might see that it was quite honourable. There was, Chapuys thought, “some bird-catching attempted,” and he warned Mary. But meanwhile Cromwell visited him at his lodging, and told him that the King and Queen were wonderfully well pleased at the letters which Mary had written, in which, however, the ambassador told Charles that there was nothing corresponding to Cromwell’s draft, nor anything that could prejudice her.

Mary’s next two letters, the one addressed to the chief Secretary, the other to Henry, dated respectively the 7th and 8th June, were evidently written in an agony of suspense, and of that hope deferred which “afflicteth the soul”.