Of Virtue Rare
Page 15
The bride was a plump adolescent with waist-long auburn hair. At her wedding she wore a white mantilla bordered with gold, pearls, and precious stones. Her gown fanned out from the waist in tiers of hoops, and its sleeves were large and draped. The fair-haired Arthur, considerably slimmer than his wife, also wore white: coat, breeches, hose, and shirt of white satin.
As was the custom, Henry, Elizabeth, and Margaret Beaufort watched the wedding ceremonies from behind a specially constructed latticed box so that the honored pair could bask in unadulterated admiration.
“Every day endeth, and night ensueth,” Hall reminds us, but what happened on the wedding night was, later, open to much conjecture. Hall left no doubt as to how the night was spent. “This lusty prince and his beautifull bryde were brought and joyned together in one bed naked, and there did that acte whiche to the performaunce & full consummacion of matrimony was moost requysite and expedient.” The next morning, Arthur summoned his servants and asked for water, claiming an unquenchable thirst. “At which thinge one of hys chambrelaynes mervallynge, required the cause of his drouth. To whorne he answered merely saiyng, I have thys nyght bene in the middest of Spayne, whiche is a hote region, & that journey maketh me so drye, and if thou haddest bene under that hote clymate, thou wouldest have bene dryer then I.”[145]
Arthur and Catherine set up their court at Ludlow, where the prince of Wales reigned. Soon Arthur became ill, perhaps from plague, perhaps from a new outbreak of the puzzling sweating-sickness. Five months after his wedding, he was dead. Henry was grief-stricken, but his first duty was to his mourning wife, who nearly collapsed at the news. After he comforted her, he too succumbed to profound sorrow. Elizabeth would not leave his side; she told him that he must think of England and of her, and not allow himself to be undone by the tragedy. “And,” she added, “remember that my lady, your mother, had never no more children but you only, yet God, by his grace, has ever preserved you and brought you where you are now. Over and above, God has left you yet a fair prince and two fair princesses; and God is still where he was, and we are both young enough …”[146]
God was still in his heaven, but Elizabeth was thirty-six. On February 11, 1503, she gave birth to a daughter, Katherine. Just a month before, William Parron, the court astrologer, had predicted that Elizabeth would live to be eighty. She died within days of her daughter’s birth. To her adoring subjects, the death of the young queen was a great loss.
O ye that put your trust and confidence,
In worldly joy and frayle prosperitie,
That so lyve here as ye should never hence,
Remember death and loke her uppon me.
Ensaumple I thynke there may no better be.
Your self wotte well that in this realme was I,
Your quene but late, and lo now here I lye.
Was I not borne of old worthy linage?
Was not my mother queene my father kynge?
Was I not a kinges fere [wife] in marriage?
Had I not plenty of every pleasaunt thyng?
Mercifull god this is a straunge reckenyng.
Rychesse, honour, welth, and auncestry
Hath me forsaken and lo now here I ly.
Yet was I late promised otherwyse,
This yere to live in welth and delice.
Lo whereth commeth thy blandishyng promyse,
Of false astrolagy and devynatrice,
Of goddes secretes makyng thy self so wyse.
How true is for this yere thy prophecy.
The yere is lasteth, and lo now here I ly.
Where are our Castels, now where are our Towers,
Goodly Rychmonde sone art thou gone from me,
At Westminster that costly worke of yours,
Myne owne dere lorde, now shall I never see.
Almighty god vouchesafe to graunt that ye,
For you and your children well may edefy.
My palace bylded is, and lo now here I ly.
Adew my owne dere spouse, my worthy lorde,
The faithfull love that dyd us both combyne,
In marriage and peasable concorde,
Into your handes here I cleane resyne,
To be bestowed uppon your children and myne.
Erst we you father, & now must ye supply,
The mothers part also, for lo now here I ly.
Farewell my doughter lady Margarete,
God wotte full oft it greved hath my mynde,
That ye should go where we should seldome mete [Scotland]
Now am I gone, and have left you behynde.
O mortall folke that we be very blynde.
That we least feare, full oft it is most nye,
From you depart I fyrst, and lo now here I lye.
Farewell Madame my lordes worthy mother,
Comfort your sonne, and be ye of good chere.
Take all a worth, for it will be no nother.
Farewell my doughter Katherine [of Aragon] late the fere,
To prince Arthur myne owne chylde so dere
It booteth not for me to wepe or cry,
Pray for my soule, for lo now here I ly.
Adew lord Henry my loving sonne adew.
Oure lorde encrease your honour and estate,
Adew my doughter Mary bright of hew.
God make you vertuous, wyse and fortunate.
Adew swete hart my litle doughter Kate,
Thou shalt swete babe such is thy desteny
Thy mother never know, for lo now here I ly.
Lady Cicyly, Anne and Katheryne.
Farewell my welbeloved sisters three,
O lady Briget other sister myne,
Lo here the end of worldly vanitee.
Now well are ye that earthly foly flee,
And hevenly thynges love and magnify,
Farewell and pray for me, for lo now here I ly.
Adew my lordes, adew my ladies all,
Adew my faithfull servauntes every chone,
Adew my commons whom I never shall
See in this world, wherfore to the alone,
Immortall god verely three and one,
I me commende, thy infinite mercy,
Shew to thy servant, for lo now here I ly.[147]
The queen’s body was buried in Henry’s newly constructed chapel at Westminster.
Now, for the second time, Margaret Beaufort assumed the role of mother. But instead of caring for a single son, a boy only she believed would be king, she took on the nurturing of the king’s family, the recognized heirs to the Tudor throne. She doted especially on her only surviving grandson, Henry. At twelve Henry was still a frail youth, just gaining strength after a sickly childhood. He was never alone — watched over carefully, since on him alone the kingship descended. He could leave his rooms only to sport in an enclosed park, and even then he was closely guarded. He was instructed not to speak in public, except to his father, and to allow no one to speak to him. Though he was now prince of Wales, he was not sent to Ludlow to carry on Arthur’s duties, probably for fear that he too would succumb to illness.
Yet within the confines of the palace at Richmond, he managed to develop into an athletic youth, excelling at tilting, riding, archery, tennis. He showed exceptional talent for music, learning to play lute, virginal, and organ. He could sing well, sight-reading the popular songs of the day, often accompanied by one of his courtiers. He composed several instrumental pieces, songs, and rounds.
Margaret engaged as one of his tutors John Skelton, the poet laureate and a cleric, whose cynical and often lewd verses were unknown to the pious Margaret. She was aware only of his court verses, such as his homage to the king in 1488, at the feast of St. George.
O moste famous noble king! thy fame doth spring and spreade,
Henry the Seventh, our soverain, in eiche regeon;
All England hath cause thy grace to love and dread,
Seing embassadores secke fore protectyon,
For ayd, helpe, and succore, which lyeth in thie electyone
.
England, now rejoyce, for joyous mayest thou bee,
To see thy kyng so floreshe in dignetye.
This realme a seasone stoode in greate jupardie,
When that noble prince deceased, King Edward,
Which in his dayes gate honore full nobly;
After his decesse mighe hand all was marr’d;
Eich regione this land dispised, mischefe when they hard:
Wherefore rejoyse, for joyous mayst thou be,
To see thy kynge so floresh in high degnetye …
0knightly ordere, clothed in robes with gartere!
The queen’s grace and thy mother clothed in the same;
The nobles of thie realme riche in araye, aftere,
Lords, knights, ladyes, unto thy great fame:
Now shall all embassadors know thie noble name,
By thy feaste royal; nowe joyeous mayst thou be;
To see thie king so florishinge in dignetye …[148]
Skelton was a prolific poet, whose inspiration could come even from his assignment to the prince of Wales.
The honour of Englond I learnyd to spelle,
In dygnyte royalle that doth excelle:
Note and marke wyl thys parcele;
1gave hym drynke of the sugryd welle
Of Eliconys waters crystallyne,
Aqueintyng hym with the Musys nyne.
Yt commyth the wele me to remorde,
That creaunset was to thy sofre[yne] lorde:
It plesyth that noble prince royalle
Me as hys master for to call In hys lernyng primordialle.[149]
Besides overseeing her grandchildren, Margaret was concerned with the fate of the lonely widowed Catherine, whose welfare depended on her father and father-in-law, both of whom saw her as a pawn in their diplomatic game. Naturally, Margaret hoped that her son would succeed in keeping Catherine in England to marry the new prince of Wales, Henry. The Spanish princess was too important for England’s international influence, and for the Tudor dynasty, to allow her to be returned to Spain, as her father at first insisted.
Ferdinand, whose own wife had recently died, wanted his daughter returned and refused to pay any more of her dowry to her late husband’s family. Catherine, for her part — though her part was little considered — objected to marrying a twelve-year-old child and wished to go home.
Though Margaret Beaufort and her husband had entertained Spanish diplomats before and after Catherine’s marriage to Arthur, she could hardly communicate with the young woman and knew little of her. She had once advised Catherine, by letter, that she would do well to learn French so that she could better assimilate herself into the English nobility, but apparently Catherine did not take her advice at the time. Though Margaret was sympathetic to Catherine’s plight, there was little she could do to ease the unhappiness the young woman felt.
Catherine’s letters to her father bared her pain at being forced to live in what she described as near-poverty and at being ignored in all her requests. She reminded her father that, as his daughter, she could do nothing but rely on his mercy. She was in debt not for jewels, plate, or frivolities, but for food for herself and her servants. She explained to Ferdinand that she had gone to Henry in tears but that he had replied that he was not responsible for her. She was growing thin, she said, and her health was deteriorating.
She described herself as if she were a prisoner, with no rights and no means of asserting her will, at the mercy of her keepers. She begged her father to send an ambassador with high authority and rank, “because he has more to do than your highness thinks, or I could tell you.”[150] She doubted that her father truly understood what she suffered, and hoped that an ambassador would report the truth and be believed. “I believe your highness would be frightened at that which I have passed through,” she wrote.
One explanation for Henry’s strange coolness toward his daughter-in-law, and his mother’s lack of intervention on Catherine’s behalf, was the young woman’s apparently indiscreet relationship with a friar who had been sent to her from Spain. One emissary reported to Ferdinand that Catherine was “so submissive to a friar whom she has as confessor, that he makes her do a great many things which very much grieved the King.” The incident involved a request that Catherine go to Richmond with the king and his family. Catherine at first agreed, but the friar allegedly instructed her not to go. The princess argued meekly; the friar insisted that she stay. Finally Catherine sent a message to Henry’s daughter Mary that she would not be able to go to Richmond because of illness. All around her were convinced that she was well and was acting only on the instructions of her confessor.
“These and other things of a thousand times worse kind the friar makes her do …” continued the emissary. “May God forgive me, but now that I know so well the affairs of the Princess’s household, I acquit the King of England of a great and very great portion of the blame which I hitherto gave to him, and I do not wonder at what he has done, but at that which he does not do, especially as he is of such a temperament as to wish that in house and kingdom that be done without contradiction which he desires and orders.”[151]
In another letter, the emissary, Membrilla, added, “I wrote to your Lordship about a friar who is here as confessor to the Princess, who would to God he were in his monastery, and not here, because he neither brings nor has brought any good, and if he is here much longer he will bring greater injury upon her Highness …” Membrilla urged Ferdinand to withdraw the friar, claiming that the English were becoming increasingly angered by his continued presence in their country. “May God destroy me,” he implored, “if I see in the friar anything for which she should have so much affection, for he has neither learning, nor appearance, nor manners, nor competency, nor credit, and yet if he wishes to preach a new law they have to believe it.”[152]
Catherine was well aware of Membrilla’s feelings, and his letter to Ferdinand accompanied her own, in which she urged her father not to believe his ambassador. “If he writes anything about my household and especially about my confessor,” she wrote, “your Highness will not credit it. For by my salvation, and by the life of your Highness, he does not tell the truth if he states anything except that [the confessor] serves me well and loyally … I shall not believe that your Highness looks upon me as your daughter if you do not punish it, and order the ambassador to confine himself to the affairs of his embassy, and to abstain from meddling in the affairs of my household.”[153]
The frightened adolescent who had come to England only a few years before had become a woman whose needs could not be set aside, yet she was always being manipulated. De Puebla, another Spanish representative who proved a great disappointment to Catherine, was much in favor of her marriage with Henry. He reported to Ferdinand, “There is no finer youth in the world than the Prince of Wales. He is already taller than his father, and his limbs are of a gigantic size. He is as prudent as is to be expected from a son of Henry VII.
“The Princess of Wales is well,” he continued, “and her health constantly improves. She suffers from no other evil than the anxiety she feels because she has heard that her marriage is not yet rendered indissoluble.”[154]
Finally Ferdinand agreed to the marriage, and Catherine herself was relieved that at least her penury would be alleviated. “It is impossible for me any longer to endure what I have gone through,” she wrote to her father. She had sold her household goods to pay for necessities; she had suffered a particularly humiliating encounter with Henry, during which he informed her that he was not at all obligated to provide food for her and her servants, but would continue to do so out of the love he still bore her. “From this,” Catherine wrote, “your Highness will see to what a state I am reduced, when I am warned that even my food is given to me almost as alms.”[155]
The date of the marriage was not fixed — the couple would not marry until 1510 — and Catherine, waiting, was still treated as an outcast. “May your Highness give me satisfaction before I die,” she pleaded
with her father, “for I fear my life will be short, owing to my troubles.”[156] She did not die, of course, nor were her troubles ended. In the next years, Henry VII grew ill, and, though he was only fifty, he felt himself to be an old man. Gout may have been complicated by consumption; his health deteriorated rapidly.
On April 21, 1509, the king died at Sheen. Margaret’s intense grief sent her into isolated prayer, with only Bishop Fisher to offer consolation. Fisher’s funeral sermon, delivered on May 9, offered in public the same consolation he had given to Margaret in the first hours of her son’s death. “The Court of King Edward, the court of King Richard, and the court of the king that now is dead, where be they now? All they were but counterfeit images and disguising for a time, it was but play for a time. But the court of heaven is alway stable in one point where the officers change never. There is the true nobleness, the sure honour, the very glory.”[157]