by S B Chrimes
2 ibid. 240–81.
3 ibid. 278.
4 Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, 429 ff. ; Pollard, op. cit. I, 253.
5 ibid. 253–7.
1 L. & P., II, 125–46, esp. 133, 143.
2 cf. letter of Thomas Lopez to Emmanuel, king of Portugal, 10 October 1505, ibid. 146–50.
3 See below, p. 290.
4 Henry had lent £108,000 to Philip ‘for his next voyage to Spain’ on 25 April 1505, and another £30,000 on 27 September. Bentley, Excerpta, 132, 133, cited Pollard, op. cit. I, 257, fn. 2. £10,000 in silver had been lent to Maximilian in October 1502 (Bentley, op. cit. 129). It is reckoned that some £342,000 was provided in cash or plate and jewels for the use of Maximilian, Philip, or his son Charles during the years 1505–9. B. P. Wolffe, E.H.R., LXXIX (1964), 253, fn. 2, 254, fn. 1.
5 A detailed account of the social side of the visit up to 12 February written by an unknown contemporary is printed in Memorials, 282–303.
1 Mattingley, Catherine of Aragon, 67–8; Treaty of Windsor, Foedera, XIII, 123 if., epitome in Pollard, op. cit. III, 83–96. Mackie, op. cit. 184–5; Wernham, op. cit. 56, appear to underestimate the significance of this treaty.
2 Feodera, XIII, 127–32; and ibid. Ill, 96–100. Some of the delay is accounted for by Philip’s illness at Reading, which was kept as secret as possible, and by the reluctance of the council at Mechlin to surrender Edmund de la Pole when ordered to do so (Venetian Cal, I, No. 869; Pollard, op. cit. I, 277).
3 See above, p. 93. The extraordinary attitudes adopted by Suffolk, and the ramifications of his intrigues on the continent are too complicated to be unravelled here, but are well documented in Pollard, op. cit. I, 220, 222, 232, 252–7, 267–74; and L. & P., I, 134–51, 177–89, 225–9, 253–85; II, 381–5.
1 See above, p. 234.
2 L. & P., II, 153–64.
3 ibid. I, 301–4, 305–6.
4 According to Catherine of Aragon’s letter to her sister, see below, p. 292.
5 L. & P., I, 323–7; Pollard, op. cit. III, 124–8. Gairdner dated this document 1507, but Pollard, on not very conclusive grounds, thought that 1508 was the more likely year.
6 L. & P., I, 327–36; Pollard, op. cit. III, 119–24.
1 Foedera, XIII, 171, 189, 200, 212, 220, 229–33, 259–61; Pollard, op. cit. III, 128–33. It was in connection with these negotiations that Henry VII’s chaplain, Thomas Wolsey, was first employed on a continental diplomatic mission, though he had previously been sent to the court of James IV of Scotland. The voluminous letters between Henry VII and Wolsey are printed in L. & P., I, 426–52. It is evident from the letters that Henry VII had come to appreciate Wolsey’s abilities.
2 Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, 502; Pollard, op. cit. I, 290.
3 Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, 553; Pollard, op. cit. I, 300–2.
4 See above, fn. 2.
5 The overwhelming weight of the evidence which compels such conclusions was printed from the Spanish archives and commented on by G. A. Bergenroth as long ago as 1868 in The supplement to volumes I and II of letters, despatches, and state papers (Spanish), 47–430, respectively, and xxiv–lxxx. This volume was published seven and five years, respectively, after the publication of Gairdner’s two volumes of Letters and papers, and is not mentioned at all in Busch’s list of authorities. Inadequate consideration to this evidence was given in Garrett Mattingley’s allusions in Catherine of Aragon (1942), who, however, pp. 82–3, was well aware that Henry VII was highly suspicious about the allegations. Joanna did not die until 1555, and then in dreadful circumstances in her place of confinement at Tordesillas. Pollard, op. cit. cites the first part of Bergenroth’s volume, relating to Catherine of Aragon, but apparently not the second part relating to Joanna.
1 Memorials, 431–48; printed in full in Pollard, op. cit. III, 133–50. For John Stile, see Gairdner’s introduction to Memorials, liii–lv, and Mattingley, Renaissance diplomacy, 159.
2 Henry VII to Margaret of Savoy, 7 November 1508, L. & P., II, 365–7; Pollard, op. cit. 131–3: cf. Sir Edward Wingfield to Margaret of Savoy, Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, No. 600; Pollard, op. cit. I, 307–10.
1 See above, p. 235.
2 See J. J. Scarisbrick, Henry VIII, esp. 54–7.
3 See above, p. 285.
4 Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, No. 327; Pollard, op. cit. I, 225–8. ‘It is clearly known for a certainty,’ Isabella wrote, ‘that the said princess of Wales our daughter, remains as she was here (for so Doña Elvira has written to us).’ Hernan Duque was not the duke of Estrada, see Mattingley, Catherine of Aragon, 328.
5 Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, 287–8: and Pollard, op. cit. 228–31.
1 The text of the declaration made by Prince Henry to Bishop Fox, witnessed by Daubeney, Somerset, Thomas Ruthall, and others, is printed in G. Burnet, History of the Reformation, ed. N. Pocock, IV, Collection of records (1865), 17–18; cf. Scarisbrick, op. cit. 9, 182. Henry was said by Sir Edward Wingfield in November 1508 not to be eager to pursue the secret project of Prince Henry’s marrying Margaret of Angoulême except as a means of dissolving the alliance between France and Ferdinand. Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, No. 600; Pollard, op. cit. 307–10.
2 The only full account, which is largely followed here, of Catherine’s life as widow is in G. Mattingley, Catherine of Aragon, based for the later years on the little used but invaluable Correspondence de Gutierre Gomez de Fuensalida, ed. duke of Berwick and Alba (Madrid, 1907).
1 It should be remembered that Henry VII was justifiably doubtful about the allegation as to Joanna’s madness, and Philip died somewhat suspiciously some three months after his meeting with Ferdinand at Villa Fafilla in April to May, at which an unexpected agreement on plans was reached.
2 Pt I of Bergenroth’s supplementary volume prints some more of the relevant Spanish correspondence, 1501–15, pp. 1–47, and commentary, xiii–xxiii, additional to the large amount of material in his Calendar, I.
3 Her capacity in this respect is well revealed in her letter to Ferdinand dated 4 October 1507 (Cal. S.P. Spanish, I, No. 551).
4 Not a grandee, but of high social standing and knight commander of Membrilla.
Epilogue
THE KING’S GRACE
To form an appraisal of Henry VII as a man and monarch is not an easy task. He died too early for Holbein to paint him from the life. Genuine portraits of him are hard to find, and his death mask, striking as it is, suffers from the obvious defect that it has no life and moreover is partly false.1 If we wish to get as near as we can to the real man, we must avoid being mesmerized by seductive Baconian phrases and beautifully rounded sentences. The imaginative power of Francis Bacon, splendid as it was, must not be allowed to get between us and the contemporary evidence.2 That evidence, on the personal side, is not very extensive. Very rarely, so far as we know, did Henry VII reveal himself in record, as distinct from his policies and actions. We are, therefore, largely dependent upon the comments made about him by other people in his own lifetime or soon after, and these may, of course, differ in veracity and reliability. There is, however, a substantial degree of consensus of opinion among his contemporaries as to his appearance, demeanour, and general characteristics.
The fullest and on the whole probably most reliable description of Henry is provided by Polydore Vergil, who, although writing several years after his death – doubtless all the more candid for that reason – had certainly seen and talked with him in the flesh. Polydore wrote of him:3
His body was slender but well built and strong; his height above the average. His appearance was remarkably attractive and his face was cheerful, especially when speaking; his eyes were small and blue, his teeth few, poor and blackish; his hair was thin and white; his complexion sallow.1 His spirit was distinguished, wise and prudent; his mind was brave and resolute and never, even at moments of the greatest danger, deserted him. He had a most pertinacious memory. Withal he was not devoid of scholarship. In government he was shrewd and prudent, so that no one dared to get the better of him through decei
t or guile. He was gracious and kind and was as attentive to his visitors as he was easy of access. His hospitality was splendidly generous; he was fond of having foreigners at his court and he freely conferred favours on them. But those of his subjects who were indebted to him and who did not pay him due honour or who were generous only with promises, he treated with harsh severity. He well knew how to maintain his royal majesty and all which appertains to kingship at every time and in every place. He was most fortunate in war, although he was constitutionally more inclined to peace than to war. He cherished justice above all things; as a result he vigorously punished violence, manslaughter and every other kind of wickedness whatsoever. Consequently he was greatly regretted on that account by all his subjects, who had been able to conduct their lives peaceably, far removed from the assaults and evil doing of scoundrels. He was the most ardent supporter of our faith, and daily participated with great piety in religious services. To those whom he considered to be worthy priests, he often secretly gave alms so that they should pray for his salvation. He was particularly fond of those Franciscan friars whom they call observants, for whom he founded many convents, so that with his help their rule should continually flourish in his kingdom. But all these virtues were obscured latterly by avarice, from which he suffered. This avarice is surely a bad enough vice in a private individual, whom it forever torments; in a monarch indeed it may be considered the worst vice since it is harmful to everyone, and distorts those qualities of trustfulness, justice and integrity by which the State must be governed.
It may be that there are worse vices than avarice, even in a monarch, but Polydore was not alone in ascribing this characteristic, and it is one to which we must return later. John Fisher, bishop of Rochester, naturally did not think it fit to refer to vice of any kind when in 1509 he made the funeral oration1 for Henry, but in other respects Fisher made observations that support Polydore Vergil’s remarks.
His politic wisdom in governance was singular, his wit always quick and ready, his reason pithy and substantial, his memory fresh and holding, his experience notable, his counsels fortunate and taken by wise deliberation, his speech gracious in diverse languages, his person goodly and amiable, his natural complexion of the purest mixture, his issue fair and in good number; leagues and confederacies he had with all Christian princes, his mighty power was dreaded everywhere, not only within his realm but without also; his people were to him in as humble subjection as ever they were to king; his land many a day in peace and tranquility; his prosperity in battle against his enemies was marvellous; his dealing in time of perils and dangers was cold and sober with great hardiness. If any treason was conspired against him it came out wonderfully; his treasure and riches incomparable; his buildings most goodly and after the newest cast of all pleasure.
The comments of foreign ambassadors writing home to their masters sometimes provide an insight into a monarch’s character supplementary to the remarks of natives and subjects, even though ambassadorial comments might, of course, be jaundiced, prejudiced, biased, or mistaken.
It is evident from many sources that Henry was at great pains to cultivate the ambassadors at his court and to obtain information on foreign affairs from them and his own envoys and agents. The Milanese ambassador warned the duke of Milan that Henry was admirably well informed of affairs in Italy and elsewhere.2 The several Spanish envoys certainly had Henry under close observation and were addicted to sending their comments home.
In 1498 Pedro de Ayala informed Ferdinand and Isabella that:
… his crown is, nevertheless, undisputed, and his government strong in all respects. He is disliked, but the queen is beloved, because she is powerless. … The king looks old for his years but young for the sorrowful life he has led. One of the reasons why he leads a good life is that he has been brought up abroad. He would like to govern England in the French fashion, but he cannot. He is subject to his council, but has already shaken off some, and got rid of some part of this subjection. Those who have received the great est favours from him are the most discontented. He knows all that. The king has the greatest desire to employ foreigners in his service. He cannot do so; for the envy of the English is diabolical, and, I think, without equal. He likes to be much spoken of, and to be highly appreciated by the whole world. He fails in this because he is not a great man. He spends all the time he is not in public or in his council, in writing the accounts of his expenses with his own hand. … He is much influenced by his mother and his followers in affairs of personal interest and in others. The queen, as is generally the case, does not like it. …1
De Ayala appears to have suffered from a good many delusions in writing these remarks. Hernan Duque de Estrada, writing in 1504, had something more complimentary to say. Speaking of Henry’s devotion to his son Prince Henry, and his desire to ‘improve him’, he commented, ‘certainly there could be no better school in the world than the society of such a father as Henry VII. He is so wise and attentive to everything; nothing escapes his attention.’2
De Puebla in 1507 thought that ‘the king of England has no confidential advisers’.3 When it was all over in 1509 the Venetian envoy characterized Henry as having been ‘a very great miser but a man of vast ability’.4
This somewhat brusque and over-terse summary would certainly not have satisfied Margaret Beaufort, Henry’s mother. To her he was ‘my own sweet and most dear king and all my worldly joy’.5 She could write to him from Calais town, on St Agnes’s day, the day on which ‘I did bring into this world my good and gracious prince, king, and only beloved son’.6 Not many letters from Henry to Margaret survive, but the long letter which he wrote in his own hand to her in July, probably in 1501, is very revealing. It serves to remind us that by that date his burdens had begun to tell on him.
[Having agreed to dispense her from the statute of Mortmain to enable her to proceed with one of her foundations at Cambridge] all of which things according to your desire and pleasure, I have, with all my heart and good will given and granted unto you; and my dame, not only in this but in all other things that I know should be to your honour and pleasure, and weal of your soul, I shall be glad to please you as your heart can desire it, and I know well, that I am as much bounden so to do, as any creature living for the great and singular motherly love and affection that it hath pleased you at all times to bear me. Wherefore, mine own most loving mother, in my most hearty manner I thank you, beseeching you of your good continuance in the same.
These are more than conventional phrases, but it was in the postscript that he lifted the veil rather more.
Madame, I have encumbered you now with this my long writing, but me-thinks that I can do no less, considering that it is so seldom that I do write, wherefore I beseech you to pardon me, for verily, madame, my sight is nothing so perfect as it has been, and I know well it will appear daily wherefore I trust that you will not be displeased, though I write not so often with mine own hand, for on my faith I have been three days ere I could make an end of this letter.1
Little precision can be given to any estimate of Henry’s relations with his queen, for lack of appropriate material. He appears to have been a devoted and faithful husband and father, and Bacon’s facile phrase that ‘towards his queen he was nothing uxorious’2 has no justification, unless it was meant to convey that he did not indulge her desire (if she had any such) to interfere in matters of political decision. Queen Elizabeth is described by contemporaries as a very handsome woman and of great ability,3 as beloved,4 as a woman of the greatest charity and humanity.5 There seems, indeed, good reason to suppose that she was an admirable and wholly acceptable spouse in the king’s eyes. Certainly they shared fully in the social life of the court, both formal and informal, gave each other little presents, and generally gave the impression of a happy married life. Very few evidences survive of displays of affection by the couple, but it is not to be expected that there would be. This dearth, however, is more than compensated for by the following anecdote of what happened when n
ews of the death of Prince Arthur was brought to court. Its vividness demands quotation in full.
In the yeare of our Lord God 1502, the seconde daye of Aprill, in the Castle of Ludlowe deceased Prince Arthur first begotten Son of our Soveraigne Lord King Henry the VIIth and in the XVII yeare of his Raigne. Immediately after his death Sir Richard Poole1 his Chamberlaine, with other of his Councell, wrote and sente letters to the King and Councell to Greenwich, where his Grace and the Queene’s laye, and certified them of the Prince’s Departure. The which Councell discreetly sent for the Kings ghostly Father a fryer observant, to whom they shewed this most sorrowful and heavye Tydings, and desired him in his best manner to shewe it to the Kinge. He in the morning of the Tuesday following, somewhat before the tyme accustomed, knocked at King’s Chamber dore, and when the Kinge understood it was his confessor, he commanded to lett him in. The Confessor then commanded all those present to avoide, and after due salutation began to saie, Si bona de manu dei suscipimus, mala autem quare non sustineamus? [if we have received good things by the hand of God, wherefore should we not also sustain misfortunes?] and so showed his Grace that his dearest sonne was departed to God. When his Grace understood that sorrowful heavy tydings, he sent for the Queene, saying that he and his Queene would take the painful sorrows together. After that she was come and sawe the Kyng her Lord, and that naturall and paineful sorrowe, as I have heard saye, she with full great and constant comfortable words besought his Grace that he would first after God remember the weale of his own noble person, the comfort of his realme and of her. She then saied that my Ladye his mother had never no more children but him only, and that God by his Grace had ever preserved him, and brought him where he was. Over that, howe that God had left him yet a fayre Prince, two fayre Princesses and that God is where he was, and we are both young ynoughe. And that the prudence and wisdome of his Grace spronge over all Christendome, so that it should please him to take this accordingly thereunto. Then the King thannked her of her good comfort. After that she departed and came to her owne Chamber, naturall and motherly remembraunce of that great losse smote her so sorrowful to the hart that those about her were faine to send for the King to comfort her. Then his Grace of true gentle and faithful love, in good hast came and relieved her, and showed her howe wise counsell she had given him before, and he for his parte would thanke God for his sonn, and would she should doe in like wise.2