De Noailles was still doing his old work of sowing dissension broadcast, and he flattered himself, and assured Henry, that the country was on the verge of another revolt. But here his eager enmity misled him, and his despatches about this time are exceedingly untrustworthy. The fact is that Mary’s enemies were for a moment awed into some degree of loyalty, by what was then regarded as a wonderful succession of outward and visible signs of the Divine protection; and apart from the friction caused by the presence of so many Spaniards in London, the city had not been in so peaceable a condition for many months. But Philip’s suite and the servants of his servants were far less careful than the King was himself not to offend the national susceptibilities, and on the slightest provocation, the Spaniards produced their knives. It is recorded that on “Friday, the 26th day of October, there was a Spaniard hanged at Charing Cross, which had shamefully slain an Englishman, servant to Sir George Gifford. There would have been given 500 crowns of the strangers to have saved his life.”[488] On the 11th January, 1555, a Spaniard was hanged for running an Englishman through with a rapier, whilst two Spaniards held him by the arms.[489] Affrays were of constant occurrence between Englishmen and Spaniards, and Philip issued a proclamation to the effect that the first Spaniard who should dare to use a weapon was to have his hand cut off. Henceforth, none of his compatriots were to carry arms, and any who should raise the cry of Spain for assistance, either in defence or offence, should be hanged.[490] On the other hand, the wealth of the Spaniards tempted the English; and on the 26th April, 1555, three men were hanged at Charing Cross, for robbing them of a treasure of gold, out of Westminster Abbey.[491]

Cardinal Pole, in the report which he sent to Julius III. of the ceremony in Parliament on St. Andrew’s Day, prognosticated nothing but good for the future of the country. After bestowing much praise on the King and Queen, he continues rather quaintly: “Philip is the spouse of Mary, but treats her so deferentially as to appear her son, thus giving promise of the best result. Mary has spiritually generated England, before giving birth to that heir of whom there is very great hope.”[492] The Pope’s response to this eulogy was the sending to Mary of the golden rose, and to Philip the sword and hat which sometimes accompanied it, when the Pope desired to honour in this manner both a King and a Queen. The Venetian ambassador thus chronicled the event. Writing on the 26th March 1555 he says: “Three days ago, there arrived here Monsignor Antonio Agustini, auditor di Rota, sent by the Pope to visit and thank their Majesties for the auspicious events of the religion, and to present them with the rose, sword and hat which his Holiness is in the habit of sending to one prince or another; and so yesterday, the day of the Annunciation and commencement of the year, according to the English style, the ceremony was performed in the private chapel of her Majesty’s palace, there being present the most illustrious Legate, all the ambassadors, and the lords of the Court. Monsignor Agostini (sic) after the Mass, presented the rose to the most serene Queen, and the sword and hat to the most serene King, accompanying the presents with a brief from his Holiness, which was read in public, replete with praise of their Majesties, and of his Holiness’s great love and affection for them; and the most illustrious Legate, in his episcopal habit, with mitre and cope, having recited certain prayers over the presents, and given the usual benediction, the most serene Queen evinced the utmost delight at hers, for after a short prayer, she carried it in her own hand, and placed it on its altar.”[493]

In the midst of her joy and hope, Mary was mindful of the afflicted. Many were still in the Tower for having been implicated in Wyatt’s rebellion. They would have been liberated at her marriage, but it had been thought that the fear of death might induce them to make important confessions. They were however released in January 1555, under personal recognisances for their future good behaviour, subject to the payment of sundry fines. Several of them were, notwithstanding, engaged in another rebellious enterprise, a few months later.[494]

Elizabeth was not forgotten in the clemency so generally extended. She too must feel the effect of the wonderful dawn of happiness that was at last tinging all Mary’s existence with a rosy light. Even before her marriage, the Queen had wished to restore her sister to liberty. But the problem as to what should be done with her was not easy to solve. She had thought of sending her to the Low Countries, where under the eye of the widowed Queen of Hungary, Philip’s aunt, even Elizabeth would find it difficult to do much mischief. Then a marriage was proposed for her with Philibert Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy.

Closely as she was guarded by Sir Henry Bedingfeld, de Noailles found means to communicate with her, and to advise her against this union. He feared that she might consent to anything, in order to regain her liberty. The Duke was a disinherited prince, and the project of marrying her to him was nothing but a scheme for expatriating her, perhaps even for depriving her of the hope she might entertain of one day succeeding to the throne.[495]

Hereupon Elizabeth at once refused the Duke, without ever having seen him. He had arrived in England during the Christmas holidays, leaving at the beginning of January, and she was not released from captivity at Woodstock until the following April.[496]

At the beginning of that month, Mary went to Hampton Court, where she intended to await her confinement. On the 17th, Sir Henry Bedingfeld received an order to convey the Lady Elizabeth to that place with all despatch, together with her servants and her customary guard.[497] The journey lasted four days, the third day being marked by a demonstration in her favour, on the part of sixty of her tenants at Colnebrook. But Bedingfeld, in the Queen’s name, ordered them all to retire, and allowed none but her three women, an officer, two men-servants, and a gentleman of her wardrobe to approach her. She arrived at Hampton Court on the 29th, and was lodged in the apartment just then vacated by the Duke of Alva, adjoining that of the King. All communication from outside was cut off, and Bedingfeld’s soldiers mounted guard over her. Her seclusion was almost as great as it had been at Woodstock. She was not permitted to see the Queen, but according to documents discovered a few years ago, and, of course, unknown to the early writers on this reign, Philip visited her within a few days of her arrival.[498]

“The next day 29 April, Madam Elizabeth came to this Court, whom the King went to visit two or three days after. She had been told beforehand by the Queen her sister, to be dressed as richly as possible, to receive the visit of the said King.”

What was said at this interview never transpired, but it is certain that not a word passed Elizabeth’s lips, that could be construed into a willingness to play the part of a repentant sinner. A demeanour of injured and haughty innocence had served the accused Princess well, when she was in imminent danger, and a prisoner in the Tower. She had found it successful at Woodstock, and it was not likely that now, when she was on the threshold of freedom, she would abate one iota of her dignity. She knew that if there had been evidence against her sufficient to convict, she would have been convicted long ago, and she knew also that without that evidence her life was safe. After a fortnight of solitude, she was allowed to see her great-uncle, Lord William Howard, whom she begged to procure her the favour of an interview with some members of the Privy Council. Accordingly, a few days later, Gardiner, Arundel, Shrewsbury and Petre paid her a visit. Foxe says:—

“Stephen Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester, kneeled down, and requested that she would submit herself to the queen’s grace; and in so doing, he had no doubt but that her majesty would be good to her. She made answer that rather than she would so do, she would lie in prison all the days of her life; adding that she craved no mercy at her majesty’s hand, but rather desired the law, if ever she did offend her majesty in thought, word or deed. ‘And besides this, in yielding,’ quoth she, ‘I should speak against myself, and confess myself to be an offender, which I never was towards her majesty, by occasion whereof, the King and the Queen might ever hereafter conceive of me an evil opinion. And therefore I say, my lords, it were better for me to lie in prison for the truth, than to be abroad and suspected of my prince.’ And so they departed, promising to declare her message to the queen.

“On the next day, the bishop of Winchester came again unto her grace, and kneeling down, declared that the queen marvelled that she would so stoutly use herself, not confessing that she had offended: so that it should seem that the queen’s majesty had wrongfully imprisoned her grace. ‘Nay,’ quoth the lady Elizabeth, ‘it may please her to punish me as she thinketh good.’ ‘Well,’ quoth Gardiner, ‘her majesty willeth me to tell you, that you must tell another tale, or that you be set at liberty.’ Her grace answered, that she had as lieve be in prison with honesty and truth, as to be abroad suspected of her majesty: ‘and this that I have said, I will,’ said she, ‘stand unto: for I will never belie myself’. Winchester again kneeled down, and said, ‘Then your grace hath the vantage of me, and other the lords, for your wrong and long imprisonment’. ‘What vantage I have,’ quoth she, ‘you know: taking God to record I seek no vantage at your hands, for your so dealing with me; but God forgive you and me also!’ With that the rest kneeled, desiring her grace that all might be forgotten, and so departed, she being fast locked up again.”[499]

Nevertheless, in spite of these bold words, so little was Elizabeth resigned to a life of captivity that she never ceased besieging her friends with letters, petitions that they would obtain her release, and assurances of her innocence.[500]

“A sevennight after,” continues Foxe, “the queen sent for her grace at ten of the clock in the night, to speak with her: for she had not seen her in two years before. Yet for all that, she was amazed at the so sudden sending for, thinking it had been worse for her than afterwards it proved, and desired her gentlemen and gentlewomen to pray for her, for that she could not tell whether ever she should see them again or no. At which time, coming in, Sir Henry Benifield [Bedingfeld] with mistress Clarencius,[501] her grace was brought into the garden unto a stair’s foot that went to the queen’s lodging, her grace’s gentlewomen waiting upon her, her gentleman-usher, and her grooms going before with torches; where her gentleman and gentlewomen being commanded to stay all, saving one woman, Mistress Clarencius conducted her to the queen’s bedchamber, where her majesty was. At the sight of whom, her grace kneeled down, and desired God to preserve her majesty, not mistrusting but that she should try herself as true a subject towards her majesty as ever did any; and desired her majesty even so to judge of her; and said that she should not find her to the contrary, whatsoever report otherwise had gone of her. To whom the queen answered, ‘You will not confess your offence, but stand stoutly in your truth. I pray God it may so fall out.’ ‘If it doth not,’ quoth the lady Elizabeth, ‘I request neither favour nor pardon at your majesty’s hands.’ ‘Well,’ said the queen, ‘you stiffly still persevere in your truth. Belike you will not confess but that you have been wrongfully punished.’ ‘I must not say so, if it please your Majesty, to you.’ ‘Why then,’ said the queen, ‘belike you will to others.’ ‘No, if it please your majesty,’ quoth she. ‘I have borne the burden, and must bear it. I humbly beseech your majesty to have a good opinion of me, and to think me to be your true subject, not only from the beginning hitherto, but for ever, as long as life lasteth.’ And so they departed, with very few comfortable words of the queen in English: but what she said in Spanish, God knoweth. It is thought that King Philip was there, behind a cloth, and not seen, and that he showed himself a very friend in that matter.”[502]

A week later, Sir Henry Bedingfeld’s task was done, and Elizabeth was free.

Courtenay had been already released from his captivity at Fotheringhay Castle, and had received advice from the King and Queen, equivalent to a command, to travel for the improvement of his mind. He went first to Brussels, from which place the English ambassador wrote to Sir William Petre:—

“Last Sunday, the Earl of Devon was conducted to the Emperor by the Duke of Alva. Masone was not present but by report of the Duke and Chamberlain, whom the Earl has requested to be his interpreter if necessary, he demeaned himself very well, declaring, among other things, how much he was indebted to King Philip for helping him, through the Queen’s favour out of custody, and also for procuring him leave to see the world, whereby he might attain to such knowledge, as displeasant fortune had caused him hitherto to lack: for which reason, he had come to offer his services to the Emperor, the renown of whose court was so great. His Majesty embraced his offer most willingly, minding from time to time, to show him such signs of his favour, as the Earl should have no cause to forthink his journey hither. To this he said he was moved, not merely by the King’s and Queen’s recommendation, but for the sake of the Earl’s father, whose noble virtues were not unknown to him.”[503]

Courtenay afterwards went to Italy, where he died in 1556.

Meanwhile, elaborate preparations had been made for the advent of Mary’s passionately longed for child. Public prayers were offered for the Queen’s safety, and Parliament had petitioned Philip that “if it should happen to the queen otherwise than well, in the time of her travail, he would take upon himself the government of the realm during the minority of her majesty’s issue, with the rule, order, education and government of the said issue”.[504] In the Royal Library in Paris is a letter addressed to the Queen of Navarre, and describing an interview with Philip and Mary, at which the latter informed the writer, that the first desire of her heart was to have a son. Letters were written as the expected time approached, to announce the joyful intelligence of the birth of a child, blank spaces being left for the date and the sex to be filled in afterwards. But the time wore on and passed, and it was at last clear that what had been mistaken for the promise of motherhood, was but the beginning of a fatal disease. Mary clung to the hope long after her physicians had assured her that she would never give birth to a child, and most of those around her flattered the hope, while they pitied the delusion. One of her women was however more sincere and a contemporary document relates, “How Mrs. Clarentius and divers others, as parasites about her, assured her to be with child, insomuch as the Queen was fully so persuaded herself, being right desirous thereof, if God had been so pleased, that it might have been a comfort to all Catholic posterity, as she declared by her oration in the Guild Hall at London, at the rising of Wyatt, which was so worthy a speech made by her there, touching the cause of her marriage and why, that it made them that were there, though of contrary religion, to relent into tears, and hardly could she suffer any that would not say as she said, touching her being with child. Mrs. Frideswide Strelley, a good honourable woman of hers would not yield to her desire, and never told her an untruth....”[505]

The writer then describes that “when the rockers and cradle, and all such things were provided for the Queen’s delivery, that her time should be nigh, as it was supposed, and those parasites had had all the spoil of such things amongst them, and no such matter in the end ... then when the uttermost time was come, and the Queen thus deluded, she sent for Sterly (sic) her woman again, to whom she said, ‘Ah, Strelly, Strelly, I see they be all flatterers, and none true to me but thou,’ and then was she more in favour than ever she was before”.

As the hope of an heir was gradually abandoned, all other reasons for congratulation appeared also to fade away. De Noailles’ intrigues had prepared a fresh harvest of discontent, and with Elizabeth’s release, the turbulence of the Londoners assumed a more insolent character than ever. Hideous lampoons were circulated, bearing upon the Queen’s supposed condition, and to increase her agony of mind, Philip showed signs of a sickening conviction of the uselessness of his sacrifice.

A little book of prayers, once belonging to Queen Mary is to be seen at the British Museum.[506] Its leaves are worn and thumbed, and it opens of itself at a blurred and tear-stained page, on which is a petition for the unity of the Catholic Church, and another for the safe delivery of a woman with child. These oft-conned prayers afford us a glimpse into the Queen’s heart, which not all the despatches of ambassadors are able to give.