by Linda Simon
On November 24, 1487, Elizabeth left her suite at the Tower and made her way to Westminster. Her train was carried by her sister Cecily. Henry’s uncle, Jasper, rode as grand steward. Lord Stanley was high constable. The next morning she walked upon the traditional carpet of striped cloth to Westminster Abbey. A crowd pressed so close to see her and to snip off portions of the carpet as a remembrance that several were trampled to death. The king and his mother, allowing Elizabeth sole grandeur on her day, watched the coronation from behind the latticework of a private box.
Again at the coronation feast, while throngs of noblemen gorged on a lavish banquet, Henry and Margaret sat together at the rear of the hall, hidden behind a screen. The next day, when the queen heard mass at St. Stephen’s Chapel, her husband was with her, and her mother-in-law was beside her. Their prayers were for England.
X - Of Virtue Rare
MARGARET BEAUFORT rose daily at five and began to pray. She said matins with one of her gentlewomen, then again, alone with her chaplain. She heard four or five masses each day, kneeling until her back throbbed with pain. She ate no breakfast and only a frugal dinner, unless it was one of the fast days, all of which she rigorously kept. Throughout the day she returned to the altar, said dirges and commendations, evensongs and psalms. At night, in her private chapel, she again prayed. At confession, which she made every third day, she wept copiously. At ceremonies and celebrations, onlookers were struck by her outpouring of tears.
Several times each week she wore hair shirts or girdles of hair, sometimes one and sometimes the other. Often her skin was pierced and raw from the abrasive cloth. When she was in her mid-fifties, with her husband very much alive, she obtained Thomas Stanley’s permission to take a vow of chastity, and lived out the remainder of her life in celibacy.
In the presence of my Lord God Jesu Christ & his blessed Mother the glorious Virgin St. Mary & of all the whole company of Heaven & of you also my Ghostly Father I Margaret of Richmond with full Purpose & good Deliberation for the Weale of my sinfull Soule with all my Hearte promise from henceforth the Chastity of my Bodye. That is never to use my Bodye having actuall knowledge of manner after the common usage in Matrimonye … & now eftsence I fully confirm it as far as in me lyeth beseeching my Lord God That He will this my poor wyll accept to the Remedye of my wretched Lyfe & Relief of my sinfull soule and that He will give me his Grace to perform the same …[126]
At Hatfield, one of her manors, she kept twelve poor aged men and women, providing them with food, lodging, and clothing, nursing them if they became ill and burying them when they died. Strangers were welcome. Food and drink were denied to no one. Her servants were treated fairly, and any grievances they had were dealt with immediately. Her households were paragons of efficiency, with written ordinances read four times a year and instructions handed down in minute detail.
Her supervision of the king’s family included even her son’s bedchamber, for which she issued a doctrine regarding the making of his bed. A yeoman was to bring in the bedclothes, draw the curtains, and an usher was to hold the curtains together. Then two squires were to position themselves at the head of the bed and two yeomen at the foot. The bedclothes were to be laid on a carpet. A yeoman was to leap onto the bed, jump up and down, beat the featherbed into airy softness, and smooth it evenly. After the mattress was thus prepared, the sheets were to be laid and the pillows arranged precisely as the king wanted them. Last, holy water was sprinkled on the bed. All that accomplished, the yeomen and squires were advised to partake of the refreshment that had been readied for them: meat, bread, ale, and wine, and “to drinke all togeder goodly.”
Margaret allowed no detail to be overlooked. Whenever Elizabeth withdrew for the birth of a child, Margaret had removed from the queen’s bedchamber all tapestries with representations of human figures so that during Elizabeth’s labor she did not become frightened by “figures which gloomily glare.”[127]
With her own penchant for hair shirts, it was understandable that Margaret looked with disdain at the elaborate fashions of her contemporaries. She herself dressed in somber colors, though in her youth she had been seen at festivities in gowns of crimson or shimmering cloth of gold. Her scorn of the flamboyant styles was especially directed toward funeral apparel, and she composed a special ordinance for the “reformation of apparell for princesses and great estates with other ladies and gentil women for the tyme of mornyng …” These ordinances prescribed the size of the mantle, the form of the gown, the length of the train for the greatest estates, the lowest, and all gentlewomen in between. Only one other lady was allowed to wear apparel as sumptuous as that of the queen: the king’s mother.
Besides religious devotion and the supervision of domestic affairs, Margaret Beaufort again had time for scholarly pursuits. She was a patron of William Caxton and his successor, Wynkyn de Worde, both of whom published books at her request. Among the works she sponsored were A Treatise Concerning the Fruitful Sayings of David, King and Prophet, Henry Watson’s translation of The Great Ship of Fools of This World, and William Atkinson’s translation from Latin of the first three books of The Imitation of Christ. This last work she wished she could have translated herself, but she did not have sufficient classical background.
She did, though, translate The Mirror of Gold for the Sinful Soul. The tract was written for perpetual penitents like Margaret, “to the extent that the synfull soule, sayled and defouled by synne, maye, in every chapitoure, have a new mirroure, wherein he may beholde and consider the face of his soule.” The seven chapters, one for each day of the week, dealt with the filthiness and misery of man, sins in general and their effects, penance, ways to flee from the world, false riches and vanity, death, and the joys of paradise countered with the pains of hell.
William Caxton was so grateful for Margaret’s patronage, no small aid for the precarious enterprise of publishing, that he dedicated to her his printing of Blanchardine and Eglantine, which appeared in 1489.
Unto the right noble puyssaunt and excellent pryncesse my redoubted lady my lady Margarete duchesse of Somersete, moder unto our natural and soverayn lord and most crysten kynge Henry the seventh by the grace of God kynge of englonde and of ffraunce lord of yrelond etc. I, Wyllyam Caxton and his most indigne humble subgette and lytil servaunt present this lytyl boke I late receyved in ffrenshe from her good grace and her commaundement wyth alle, for to reduce and translate it in our maternal and englysh tongue, whiche boke I had longe fore solde to my sayde lady and knewe wel that the storye of hit was honeste and joyefull to all vertuouse yong noble gentylmen and wymmen for to rede therin as for their passe tyme, for under correction in my jugement hystoryes of noble fayttes and valyaunt actes of armes and warre which have ben achyeved in olde tyme of many noble prynces, lordes and knyghts, as wel for to see and knowe their walyauntnes for to stand in the specyal grace and love of their ladyes. And in lyke wyse for gentyle yonge ladyes and damoysellyes for to learne to be stedfaste and constaunt in their parte to theym that they one have promysed and agreed to such as have put their lyves ofte in jeopardye for to playse theym to stande in grace …
The book dealt with the love of Prince Blanchardin for the Princess Eglantyne
And of the grete adventures, laborous anguysshes, and many other great dyseases of theym both to fore they myghte atteyne for to come to the finall conclusion of their desired love …[128]
As for Margaret, she had only one love. She addressed Henry VII as “my oune suet and most deere kynge and all my worldly joy.” Doubtless much of her praying was on her son’s behalf. “Our Lord gyve you as longe good lyfe, helthe and joy, as your most nobyll herte can dessyre, with as herty blessyings as our Lord hath gevyn me power to gyve you.”[129] “My derest and only desyred joy yn thys world,” she wrote on another occasion and ended her letter, written on his birthday, “At Calais town thys day of Seynt Annes, that y dyd bryng ynto thys world my good and gracyous prynce kynge and only beloved son.”[130]
Several Tudor hi
storians tried to explain the uncommon phenomenon of Margaret’s having had three husbands and only one child. In their ardor to glorify their king, some postulated that after having given such a gift to the world, there was no need for God to bless Margaret with any more children. But bearing a child when she was only an adolescent herself, a frail, thin, and small girl, may have made it impossible for her to bear any more children. It is unlikely that she had tried to prevent another pregnancy, since birth control was violently condemned by the Church. Even if she had, she would probably have failed.
Methods of contraception were often far removed from the site of conception and remained steeped in superstition. Various herbs were thought to be effective, and women tried teas of marjoram, thyme, parsley, lavender, or leaves from fruitless trees to induce sterility. Brides wore wreaths of rosemary or myrtle next to their breasts in an effort to stave off motherhood. Some women relied on amulets; others held a pebble of jasper during coitus, or pressed to their left temple a cloth soaked in the oil of a barberry tree. These last methods may have succeeded in distracting them from experiencing orgasm; it was commonly held that enjoyment of sex would surely lead to conception.
More sophisticated methods were introduced from other cultures, especially from the Middle East. Women learned that it was possible to stuff their vaginas with a cloth or sponge, and some moistened the material with diluted lemon juice, an effective spermicide. A half lemon, squeezed dry, was tried as a cervical cap. Some worldly women insisted on coitus interruptus. The only sure way to avoid pregnancy, they convinced their lovers, was “to let no drop reach me.”[131]
In general, contraception failed. Not only were most methods primitive, but the menstrual cycle was not yet understood. It was widely believed that conception would most likely occur during menstruation or immediately following, with a safe period coming at the midpoint of the cycle.
Even if Margaret had been able to bear more children, her own predilection toward asceticism made periods of celibacy likely even before she took her vow of chastity. Henry Stafford may have acceded to his wife’s preferences. There were rumors that Margaret’s marriage to Stanley was arranged with the stipulation that it not be consummated.[132]
Though her husbands may have offered her some companionship, it was not until 1494, when she was fifty-three, that she met the man with whom she could share an intimate friendship. Twenty-seven when he met Margaret in London, John Fisher was, until the end of her life, her confidant, counselor, and companion.
He was born in Beverly, the son of a mercer, Robert Fisher, who died when John was ten. At fourteen or fifteen, the youth entered Cambridge to prepare for ordination. He received his first degree in 1488, his master’s in 1491, and in December of that year was ordained at York.
Just three years later he was chosen to be a university proctor. In 1497 he was master of Michaelhouse College at Cambridge and had succeeded Richard Fitzjames as Margaret’s confessor. Fitzjames did not inspire in Margaret the same love and trust as Fisher did. He left Margaret’s service when he became bishop of Rochester, the smallest and poorest diocese in England. The bishopric was commonly regarded as the first step up the episcopal ladder. Its revenues were a mere £300 per year, and even its ancient cathedral, begun by St. Augustine, the first archbishop of Canterbury, in 604, did not inspire its clergy to remain.
Fitzjames became bishop of Chichester, then of London, a more eminent and lucrative position. Fisher succeeded him at Rochester, promoted by Henry VII with the blessings of his mother. But it was not only Margaret’s urging and prayers that won the post for the young minister. Richard Fox, then bishop of Winchester, also urged Henry to place Fisher at Rochester. “There are, perhaps, many who believe that his mother, the Countess of Richmond and Derby, that noble and incomparable lady, dear to me by so many titles, obtained the bishopric for me by her prayer to her son,” Fisher wrote to Fox. “But the facts are entirely different, as your lordship knows well.”[133]
Henry admitted that he decided on the appointment because he was impressed by Fisher’s wisdom, virtue, and especially by the conduct of his life: “I know well it shulde corage many other to lyve vertuosely.”[134]
For Fisher, Rochester was not a stopping place but a home. He stayed there, residing with “his flock” until his death. He was totally devoted to bringing the word of God to the common people. Earnest and serious in his work, he was, like Margaret, ascetic in his living. They felt an immediate kinship and a deep mutual respect.
In the fourteenth century, after the Black Plague, when the economy forced many off the land and out of work, common laborers and middle class alike resented the ostentatious living of men whose devotion should have been to higher values. The foremost opponent of the Church as it then existed was John Wycliffe, a Yorkshire-born, Oxford-educated priest, who, from his rectory at Lutterworth, issued books, pamphlets, and treatises — and the Gospels translated into the tongue of the people, English. Wycliffe held that the Bible, not the admonitions of priests, was the Church’s real medium of instruction, and he urged his followers to read the Scriptures for themselves. As literacy spread, men and women found, for the first time, that the word of God was accessible to them and could be interpreted in many ways. They could be self-sufficient, independent of the authority of the clergy. “This lore that Christ taught us is enough for this life,” said Wycliffe.
The clergy, as expected, found Wycliffe’s teachings heretical. But another of Wycliffe’s tenets won the support of some of the aristocracy, and that support enabled the radical theologian to continue his work. Wycliffe attacked the clergy for their accumulation of wealth and land, and such noblemen as John of Gaunt saw that attack as potentially beneficial to himself and his heirs. Church land, if confiscated, would revert to the original owners. Gaunt would stand to become even richer than he was if he could regain lost property. He supported Wycliffe, at least for a time, and buffeted the attacks of the clergy against him.
Wycliffe cut deeply into the entrenched rites of the Church. He attacked the Eucharist, claiming that the miracle of transubstantiation was not enacted at every mass, and believed that other sacraments were empty of meaning. He preached that there was another road to salvation: man must lead a good life. It was no wonder that throughout the last quarter of the fourteenth century and into the fifteenth, men and women who looked with sorrow on their turbulent world attached themselves to the teachings of Wycliffe. Called Lollards, their name derived from the French term for “babbling” and reflected the scorn that was heaped on the reformers from the first. Lollards were seen as heretics and were burned. The aristocracy, once the attack on Church lands failed, quickly moved away, and religious dissension became lodged only in the lower and middle classes. By the time Wycliffe died, in 1384, Lollardry had already become a formidable movement in England.
Many were fearful of Lollardry, both because it seemed antiorthodox and because it was a mass movement that threatened the values on which society had for so long been based. “Defend Us From All Lollardry,” implored one poet.
Lo, he that can be cristes clerc,
And knowe the knottes of his crede,
Now may se a wonder werke,
Of harde happes to take goud heede.
The dome of dethe is hevy drede
For hym that wol not mercy crie;
Than is my rede, for muche ne mede,
That no man melle of Lollardrye …
The game is nought to lolle so hie
Ther fete failen fondement;
and yut is a moch folie
for fals beleve to ben brent,
ther the bibell is al myswent,
To jangle of Job or Jeremye,
That construen hit after her entent
for lewde lust of lollardie.
Hit is unkyndly for a knight,
That shuld a kynges castel kepe,
To bable the bibel day & night
In restyng tyme when he shuld slepe;
& carefoly awey
to crepe,
for alle the chief of chivalrie.
wel aught hym to waile & wepe,
That suyche lust hath in lollardie …
I trowe ther be no knight alyve
that wold have don so open a shame,
for that crafte to studi or strive,
hit is no gentel mannes game;
but if hym lust to have a name
of pelour under ipocrasie,
& that wer a foule defame
to have suyche lose of lollardie …
and under colour of suiche lollynge,
To shape sodeyn surreccion
Agaynst oure liege lord kynge,
with fals ymaginacion.
& for that corsed conclusion,
by dome of knighthode & clergie,
Now turneth to confusion
the cory sekte of lollardie.
For holy writ berith witnes,
He that fals is to his kyng,
That shamful deth & hard distres.
shal be his dome at his endynge.
Than double deth for suyche lollynge
is hevy, when we shul hennes hye.
Now, lord, that madest of nought all thinge,
defende us all fro lollardie.[135]
Margaret Beaufort and John Fisher attempted to counter Lollardry by efforts that employed similar tactics. Instead of Wycliffe’s “poor priests,” who would bring the Gospels to the people, Margaret amply endowed well-educated theologians who could resurrect the strength of the church for her son’s subjects.
At the time she met Fisher, Margaret was interested in devoting her considerable wealth to God and the curing of souls rather than to the aggrandizement of the Church. Her interest had been in the Abbey of St. Peter at Westminster, but Fisher soon convinced her of the need for secular priests, rather than monks, to spread God’s word among the people. She shifted her attentions and her endowments from the abbey to Cambridge, where she first founded two readerships in divinity.