by Jean Plaidy
“But, my lady,” I stammered, “what of the Dauphin?”
My mother smiled tenderly at me. “That, my dearest, is over, and it greatly pleases me that this should be. It would have been a great tragedy. But let us rejoice. The Emperor Charles is the greatest ruler in Europe… next to your father,” she added quickly. “He is half Spanish… the son of my own dear sister Juana. It is what I have always wanted for you.”
I glowed with pleasure. If my mother wanted it, it must be good. And it was wonderful to see her so happy.
“Does my father wish this?” I asked.
She laughed. “He wishes it…or it would not be. You see, it is better for our country to be friendly with the Emperor than with France. Everything is good about this match. You are half Spanish through me … and the Emperor is through his mother. Friendship with the Emperor is better for England. The alliance with France brought us no good. It would have ruined the wool trade which is so important for England for our wool goes to Flanders, and Flanders is in the dominions of the great Emperor Charles—as is so much of Europe. But you are too young to understand…”
“Oh no, my lady. I want to know. I want to know … all.”
She took my face in her hands and kissed it. “This is a happy day for me,” she said.
So if it was a happy day for her, it must be for me, too.
After that my mother, Lady Salisbury and Lady Bryan talked to me often about the Emperor. They made me feel that I was the most fortunate girl in the world because I was to be his bride.
He was powerful; he was clever; he was handsome; he was everything that a young girl could hope for in a husband. By great good fortune I had been saved from a match with the wicked and corrupt Court of France, and now I was to be awarded the greatest prize in Christendom.
My bridegroom-to-be was twenty-three years old. I was six, so there did seem to be a certain disparity in our ages. This was nothing, my mother told me. I would soon grow up. I wanted to say that Charles would grow too and as I grew older so must he. In seven years, they told me, when I was fourteen, Charles would be in his prime.
It was wonderful to see everyone happy; so I was happy, too, for I believed that everything that pleased my mother must be good and right and please me.
One day she told me that Charles was so delighted with everything he had heard of me that he was coming to England to see me for himself and that if I pleased him there would be a formal betrothal.
I was a little anxious that I might not please him, but the Countess soothed my anxieties with a tender smile. “You are your father's daughter, Princess,” she said. “That is enough to please anyone.”
All the women of the household used to talk of my romance with the Emperor Charles.
“The Princess is in love,” they would say. “I declare she is always dreaming about her bridegroom. And who can wonder? Such a bridegroom! The great Emperor himself.”
It was a game to me. I laughed with them. It seemed wonderful to be in love because it made everyone so happy.
My mother came to Ditton. She was very excited.
“I have wonderful news for you, little daughter. The Emperor will soon be here.”
I clasped my hands. I should see him… this wonderful creature, this god who, in my mind, would be rather like my father but not frightening, tender like my mother, in spite of the fact that he was as powerful—or almost—as my father.
“Yes,” said my mother. “Although at this time he is engaged in a war, he is coming to see you.”
It seemed marvelous. No one told me that it was because he was engaged in a war, because he wanted my father's support against the French, that he had agreed to take me as his bride, even though he would have to wait years before I could take up that position, and that in his mind this was something which might never happen.
I believed then that he loved me. I had been told so, and it did not occur to me, at that time, that my elders did not always mean what they said. They had told me that I was going to live happily with him for the rest of my life, and this would begin as soon as I was old enough to go to him. What could be more enticing than a rosy future in the far distance, so that I could contemplate it with a comforting pleasure knowing that nothing could be changed for many years?
It seemed so simple as my inexperienced imagination grappled with the scraps of information I received. I saw the wicked King François, with his long nose and satanic eyes, who had betrayed my father at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, who, all the time he had been professing friendship, was trying to humiliate him, who had greeted him as brother merely because he wanted help against that knight of shining virtue, the Emperor Charles.
In due course Charles arrived in England. It was June, four months after my sixth birthday. I was at Greenwich, in a state of immense excitement because this most wonderful being would in due course arrive here and I should come face to face with him.
The Countess talked continually of him—of what I must do, of how I must not speak unless spoken to. I must practice the virginals, for he would surely wish to hear me play. I danced well, but I must dance better. I must outshine all other dancers. He would be interested in my learning perhaps more than my social graces. He was that sort of man. So I must be at my best in every way. There were discussions with the seamstress. What should I wear for the great occasion?
I was in a fever of excitement.
“The Princess is in love,” giggled the women.
Each day I awaited his arrival and was disappointed.
“Why does he not come?” I demanded of Lady Salisbury.
“Your father will not let him go,” she replied. “You see, the Emperor is a very great ruler. He is as important in his own country as your father is here. They will have much to speak of. Your father will wish to give him great entertainments and, although the Emperor would rather come to see his bride, etiquette demands that he must partake in all the banquets, witness the masques and enjoy the pleasures which have been prepared for him. That is why he cannot come immediately.”
There were accounts of what was happening. London, I heard, was eager to welcome the Emperor. I thought this was because everyone was aware of his excellence. I did not know that our recent friendship with the French had threatened the trade in wool which was our country's greatest export, and that the merchants realized that alliance with the Emperor was more beneficial to us than that with France. I did not know that the Emperor was most anxious for England's support against his enemy King François and that there was nothing more calculated to make firm alliances between countries than marriages. I also did not know that betrothals were undertaken with an ease only to be compared with that with which they were set aside when it was expedient to do so.
How could I at the age of six be expected to know such things? It is only by bitter experience that one learns.
So I listened to the reports of the meeting between my father and the Emperor, and I could visualize the banners in the streets, the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen, so splendidly attired, all the citizens of London, and the King and the Queen riding out to welcome my betrothed, surrounded by their retinue of noblemen, each trying to outdo the others in his glory.
I imagined the pageants, the speeches of welcome, the plays performed for the Emperor's enjoyment. I wished that I could see them: the wonderful tableaux which sprang to life as the Emperor approached, representing the two rulers embracing. There was one, I heard, representing England. It was quite magical. It was of the countryside and depicted birds and animals, and above it was an image of God with a banner proclaiming: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they are the children of God.”
Every day I heard of the tournaments and masques which were performed for the Emperor's pleasure. They were very extravagant and many of them reviled the wicked French and depicted the determination of the new allies to suppress the sly François.
“The Emperor,” said the Countess, “is a very serious young man. It is said that he would pr
efer to talk of diplomacy, but the King is determined to show him how he welcomes his friends.”
What the Emperor wanted was something more than a mockery of the French; he wanted more than sympathetic talk; he wanted action from my father; in other words, he wanted the English to declare war on France; and in exchange for this he was ready to be betrothed to the King's daughter.
My mother came to Greenwich. There was great excitement. At last it was about to happen. I was to see my bridegroom.
My mother was all smiles and happiness. She said to me, “He is coming to see you. Your father and he have come to an agreement. All is going well.” Then she took me into her arms. “This is the dearest wish of my life. My dear sister's boy and my own daughter. If I could only tell you what this means to me!”
She was brisk suddenly. “Now we must prepare,” she told me. “We must be ready when he comes. We must not disappoint him. We must make sure that you are all that he has been led to believe you are.”
There was little time left. I practiced the virginals. I danced, twirling as I had never twirled before; and in due course I donned the most splendid garments I had ever worn and was standing beside my mother when the barge containing my betrothed came sailing along the river to Greenwich.
I could hear the music and the cheering of the people on the banks of the river. I felt my mother's reassuring touch on my shoulder.
“Soon now, daughter,” she murmured. “Soon he will be here.”
He stood there beside my father in the barge. The contrast was great. Every man looked insignificant beside my father so I was accustomed to that. In cloth of gold with diamonds in his bonnet my father scintillated; and with him was the Cardinal in his magnificent red. Charles…he was so different. His clothes were black and somber, lightened only by the heavy gold chain about his neck. But when he took off his cap I saw how fair his hair was, and I thought: He is as kingly as my father and he does not need fine clothes to remind people of this. They had told me that I was in love with him and I believed I was. It suddenly seemed to me that there was something more dignified in garments that were somber than those of a gaudy richness. Such thoughts might have been disloyal to my father, but I had to remember that I was in love. I must be, because they had told me so; and I was happy to see my mother so contented.
My mother and he looked at each other in silence for a few moments, then they embraced.
He spoke to her in Spanish and she answered him. There was a trill of happiness in her voice. She told me afterward that meeting him brought back memories of her childhood and her sister and dear mother. His first words were of the happiness it gave him to see his dear aunt and his charming cousin, whom he already loved.
Then he knelt and, as I had been told to do, I stretched out my hand; he took it and kissed it.
I was able to study him. He was tallish, though no man looked tall beside my father. Being so fair, he did not look Spanish. His father had been Austrian and one of the handsomest men in Europe. He had been known as “Philip the Fair.” Charles was very pale, and his eyes were of light blue. His teeth were a little discolored and he had a heavy jaw which I learned he had inherited from the Hapsburgs. He was not handsome after the manner of my father, but his eyes were gentle and his smile told me that he liked me.
My father was watching with good humor, so I knew that all was well. It was a happy time. I played the virginals for him; I danced; and he looked on with approval.
People said: “The Princess is enchanting.”
I suppose those were some of the happiest days of my life.
It seemed that he was with us for a long time. When I look back, I feel sure that he looked without amusement upon those merry masques. When my father entered the great hall in an assumed disguise—as if his royal dignity could ever have been concealed; he was himself and there was none other like him—Charles would rather have been discussing ways of defeating the French than partaking in frivolous dances.
He was always kind and attentive to me. We rode together. He told my mother that I must learn the Spanish tongue, and she agreed with him. She had spoken it with me now and then, so that I was not entirely ignorant of it—a fact which pleased Charles very much.
AFTER A WEEK or so at Greenwich, we traveled to Windsor, where the matrimonial treaty was signed. It was a very solemn ceremony presided over by the Cardinal, and when it ended I was the affianced bride of the Emperor, destined one day to rule over many lands.
It was awe-inspiring, and I thought I should be happy for the rest of my days.
I learned that I was to be married when I was twelve years old.
England had declared war on France, and my father and the Emperor had agreed as to how they would divide that country between them when they had conquered it.
I was dismayed when I heard that Charles wished me to go to Spain that I might be brought up in the Spanish manner. Fortunately my parents would not allow this. I was delighted and flattered that they did not want to part with me.
My father said that, if I was to be brought up as a Spanish lady, who better to supervise the upbringing than my own mother?
I could see that the idea delighted her, for she could spend more time with me than previously her duties as Queen had allowed her to.
There always had been a special love between my mother and me and as we grew closer she talked to me more openly than she had before. I was growing up; and she was delighted that I was destined for Spain.
“My dearest child,” she said. “I always knew that a daughter has to leave her mother at some time. I left mine to come to England. But I shall know that you will be in Spain, my country… the land where I spent my childhood, and you will go there as a bride. You will love Spain, Mary. You will love it because it was your mother's home and you will love it for itself and because it will become yours. We are more serious than the English. We are more restrained … more formal. Your father is one whom the English love—although in truth he is half Welsh … but he has become an ideal Englishman. He is greatly loved by his subjects. You, my child, are more as I am. Spain will be your natural home. I am so happy for you.”
She talked then of her mother and her father, Isabella and Ferdinand. “My mother was the most wonderful lady I ever knew. She was a great ruler and a loving mother. It is not always easy to be both. You are an only child.” I saw the look of terror pass over her face, and it frightened me. “I was the youngest of the family,” she went on. “I had a brother and three sisters. I was happy in my family, and in spite of the fact that my mother was much engaged in matters of state, she had always time to spend with us, to listen to what we had to say and to make us understand that, whatever else she was, she was first our mother.”
Her sad eyes looked back to those days and I saw them light up with the pleasure which comes from happy memories, even though they must be tinged with sorrow because they are past.
“I was only five…more or less your age… when my sister Isabel was betrothed in Seville to Alfonso of Portugal. It was a grand ceremony. My sisters Juana and Maria were with me. Two years later I was present at the triumphant entry into Granada. That was when my parents had driven out the Moors. They were stirring times… and yet I remember more clearly our family life than these great events.”
“You must have been sad, my lady, to leave it.”
“Ah, my dear child, how sad I was…and how frightened! I was sixteen years old when I set sail for England. I came to marry your Uncle Arthur, you know. Poor Arthur, he died soon after our marriage.”
“And then you married my father.”
“Yes, but it was not until some time after.” She shut her eyes as though this was something too painful to contemplate.
“So you have had two husbands, my lady.”
“Arthur was not really a husband. Well, we had gone through the ceremony but he was too young for marriage, and all the time we were together he was ill…so ill.”
“You loved him, did you?”
“It is hard to imagine my father's being anything but King, and certainly not a priest.”
She nodded. “Yes. He was made for kingship. Ah, I grow sad, thinking of the old days, and now we have so much for which we can rejoice. You are going to be happy, my daughter. And we have to prepare you for your future. I am glad Dr. Linacre is with us. He was tutor to Prince Arthur and I know his value.”
I liked Dr. Linacre. He was a very old man—a scholar as well as a doctor of medicine. He had written several books—chiefly on grammar. There was one he had produced for Prince Arthur and he had done another for me. He was rather feeble now and very different from Johannes Ludovicus Vives, whom my mother had brought from Spain to supervise my studies.
With the coming of this man, my life changed. It was my first encounter with a fanatic. He was pale, aesthetic and lean. He was one of those people who enjoy tormenting themselves as well as other people. It was his firm belief that we were not set on Earth to enjoy our lives, and that there was a great virtue in suffering. The more thorny our earthly path, the greater glory we should come to in Heaven. He was completely different from my father, who, while he always kept a wary and placating eye on the life to come, had a great determination to enjoy his time on Earth; and I was sure he believed that it was God's will, since he had been endowed with special means to do so. They had one thing in common though; they were both tyrants, but I did not discover this in my father until later. It is amazing, looking back, how clearly one sees things. My firm belief in the Catholic Faith and my conviction that all those who diverged from it were sinners who deserved to die were instilled into me at an early age—and I could never rid myself of them. My frail health might have been due to long hours spent over my books and anxiety to please my exacting tutor.