IN the meanwhile Philip was doing well in Spain. He had raised both men and money in plenty to reinforce the emperor, and Alba himself was sent to command them. He pushed on vigorously the negotiations for his marriage with his Portuguese cousin, whose dowry would once more provide the sinews of war. But King John III. was less liberal with a dowry for his sister than he had been for his daughter, and the project hung fire month after month on this ground alone, notwithstanding the efforts of Ruy Gomez, who was sent by Philip to Portugal in June 1553 to persuade the king to loosen his purse strings and send his sister to Spain with a rich dowry.

Then, almost suddenly, the whole aspect of affairs changed. It had been known for some time that the young King of England, Edward VI., was in failing health, and would probably die without issue, but the uncertain element in the situation had been the extent of the Duke of Northumberland’s power and the strength of Protestantism in the country. Hardly pressed as he was, Charles’s principal preoccupation with regard to England was to keep on good terms with it, although doubtless many a time his busy brain must have conjured up circumstances which would admit of fresh combinations being formed in which England should share. The events in Germany, the terms of the peace of Passau, and the unpopularity of Philip out of Spain, had convinced him that his dreams of ambition for his son in that direction were impossible of realisation. He must have seen also that the possessor of Flanders and Holland without the strength of the empire behind him, and with a covetous France on one flank and Protestant princes on the other, would be in an untenable position, unless he could depend upon England’s co-operation through thick and thin. This was the first manifestation of the evil results which logically followed his ill-starred action in attaching the dominions of the House of Burgundy permanently to the crown of Spain.

Edward VI. died on July 7, 1553, and the popular acclamation of Mary and the complete collapse of Northumberland’s house of cards, caused a new departure in the emperor’s political plans. The hollow crown of the empire might go, with its turbulent Lutheran princes and its poor patrimony, but if only rich England could be joined in a lasting bond to Spain, then France would indeed be humbled, Flanders and Italy would be safe, the road to unlimited expansion by the Mediterranean would be open, and Spain could give laws to all Latin Christendom, and to heathendom beyond.

No time was lost in commencing the preliminaries. The first thing evidently for the emperor to do was to consolidate Mary’s position on the throne by counselling prudence and moderation in religious affairs. The imperial ambassador was instructed immediately (July 29, 1553) to urge upon the new queen not to be in a hurry openly to avow herself a Catholic until she had sounded public opinion and conciliated the nobles who had helped her to the throne.

Mary entered London on August 3, and in the place of honour near her rode Simon Renard, the emperor’s ambassador. Only four days afterwards, on the 7th, he first hinted to the queen that the Prince of Spain would be a fitting husband for her. She affected to laugh at the idea, but, Renard thought, not unfavourably. The English people had almost unanimously fixed upon young Courtney as the queen’s future consort, and Mary was as yet uncertain how far she could venture to thwart them. “Do not overpress her,” wrote Granvelle, “to divert her from any other match, because if she have the whim she will carry it forward if she be like other women.” But Renard knew the human heart as well as any man, and his report to the emperor was satisfactory as far as it went. The next step was to consult Philip himself, the person principally interested. He was a dutiful son, it is true, but Charles must have known of his domestic arrangements with DoÑa Isabel Osorio, and could not be certain that a man of twenty-six would be absolutely docile. So Renard was instructed to say no more until a reply came from Spain. But tongues began to wag in London, and by September 6, Noailles, the French ambassador, knew what was in the wind. Henceforth it was a duel to the death between him and Renard. The emperor was still at war with France, burning to avenge the disaster of Metz; and if this marriage were effected it would be revenge indeed. From the French embassy accordingly flowed money in plenty to subsidise disaffection, hints that those who held Church property would be forced to disgorge it, and panic-striking rumours of what would happen if Spain got the upper hand in England. The hatred and prejudice aroused against Philip by Noailles for purely political reasons in 1553 have left an abundant crop of prejudice, even to our own times. Philip was a politician and a patriot before all things. However distasteful to him the marriage may have been, his own personal pleasure was never his aim, and he saw the increment of strength which the union with England would bring to his father’s cause and his own; so, like a dutiful son, he wrote, “I have no other will than that of your Majesty, and whatever you desire, that I will do.” On receipt of this news Renard opened the attack, and pressed Philip’s suit. Mary was coy and doubtful at first, mainly, it would seem, on personal grounds, but Renard’s persuasions prevailed even over the powerful Gardiner, and the Queen of England formally accepted the hand of the Spanish prince when Egmont came with his splendid embassy to offer it in January 1554. London was in a perfect whirlwind of panic, thanks mainly to Noailles, and the gallant Egmont himself and his followers were attacked in the streets by London prentices. Carews, Wyatts, and Greys struggled, rebelled, and fell, but the queen knew her own mind now, and in her sight the Spanish marriage meant the resurrection of her country and the salvation of her people. Philip and his father doubtless thought so too, in a general way; but that was not their first object. What they wanted was to humble France for good and for all, and make Spain henceforward the dictatress of Europe. It was a disappointment to Philip when, at Valladolid in the early spring, he learnt the conditions by which he was to be bound for life. They were very hard, for Mary’s council were determined that the marriage should not mean the political subjugation of England by Spain, and all Renard’s cunning and the emperor’s bribes failed to move them.

Philip was a gallant suitor withal, and determined to do the thing handsomely if it were to be done at all. First he sent a special envoy, the Marquis de las Navas, to England, sumptuously attended, with “a great table diamond mounted as a rose in a superb gold setting, valued at 50,000 ducats; a necklace of eighteen brilliants, worth 32,000 ducats; a great diamond with a fine pearl pendant from it, worth 25,000 ducats; and other jewels, pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies of inestimable value for the queen and her ladies.” Never before had so much magnificence been witnessed in Spain as in the preparations for Philip’s voyage to England. He left Valladolid on May 14, with nearly 1000 horsemen and half the nobility of Spain, all glittering and flashing with splendour. Puling little Carlos, with his big head and frail limbs, was by his side for a day on the way to Corunna, and when Philip left him he was to see him no more as a child. Passionate devotion and loyalty followed Philip on his progress through North-western Spain. He was a true national monarch, and his people knew it. Charles had always been a Fleming before all things, and his wide-spreading dominions had kept him mostly away from Spain; but the Spaniards knew well that, no matter what other nations fell under his sway, Philip would remain a true Spaniard to the end, and rule them all from the country he loved. It has been said that Philip was naturally grave and unexpansive, and in his previous voyage in Germany and Flanders his demeanour had made him extremely unpopular. Charles, indeed, had to remonstrate with him, when it was already too late, for his want of geniality. The emperor was determined that his son should not again fall into a similar error for want of timely warning, and sent him—as also did Renard—urgent exhortations to bear himself affably, and to conciliate the stubborn English by respecting all their prejudices and adopting their customs. It was against his very nature, but he had schooled himself to self-control and sacrifice, and his most intimate friends were astonished at the change in his manner from the day he set foot on English soil at Southampton on July 20, 1554. He was no longer the grave and moody prince they had known, but smiling, courteous, and frank. Gifts and favours were lavished on all sides, and although he came heavily handicapped by the prejudice against him, and London especially bitterly hated the Spaniards, and did not hesitate to show it, Philip himself became personally not unpopular during his stay in England. He brought with him in his fine fleet of 100 sail 6000 or 8000 soldiers to reinforce the emperor in his war with the French, and not a man of them was allowed to land in England; they and many of Philip’s courtiers proceeding to Flanders as soon as might be. The nobles and gentlemen who accompanied the prince were warned that they must in all respects make way for the English and take a secondary place. This was gall and wormwood to them, and their scorn and hatred grew as they became convinced of the fruitlessness of their sacrifice and that of their master.

The queen’s first interview with her husband was at night on July 23 in the bishop’s palace at Winchester. He was dressed in a suit of white kid covered with gold embroidery, and wore a French grey satin surcoat, “and very gallant he looked.” He was surrounded by ten of the highest nobles in Spain, and from the first moment the queen saw him she seems to have fallen in love with him. She had fervently invoked divine guidance in her choice, and had managed to work herself into a condition of religious exaltation, which rendered her peculiarly open to hysterical influences—for she too was a granddaughter of Isabel the Catholic. All that pomp and expenditure could do to render the marriage ceremony at Winchester for ever memorable was done. Philip himself and his friends had no illusions about the matter. They all confess with depressing unanimity that the bride was a faded little woman with red hair, and no eyebrows, and that the Spanish objects in the marriage were purely political. But Mary looked upon it in quite a different light. She was taking part in a holy sacrament which was to bring salvation to thousands of souls, and make her for ever memorable as the saviour of her country and her race. Philip acted like a gentleman, under very difficult circumstances. He treated his wife with gentle courtesy, returning her somewhat embarrassingly frequent endearments with apparent alacrity, and never by word or deed hinting that her charms were on the wane. On the day of the marriage Charles had equalised his son’s rank with that of Mary by making him King of Naples, but still English suspicion and jealousy resented the idea of his coronation, or even his aspiring to equal place with the queen. “He had only come,” said the Londoners, “to beget an heir to the crown, and then he might go—the sooner the better.” So by the time when the king and queen entered the city in state on August 27 it was clear that, come what might, Philip would never be allowed to govern England. “The real rulers of this country,” wrote one of Philip’s courtiers, “are not the monarchs, but the council,” and the councillors, though ready enough to accept Spanish gold, were Englishmen above all things, and would never submit to Spanish government. The hard terms of the marriage contract had been accepted by Charles and Philip in the belief that they could be nullified after the marriage by the influence of the husband over the wife. It was now seen that however great this influence might be, the queen herself was almost powerless in the hands of the council and the nobles who had raised her to the throne.

Philip whilst in England showed his usual diplomacy. He carefully abstained from publicly interfering in the government, but he had not failed to draw to his side some of the principal members of the council, and his influence certainly made itself felt, if it was unseen. His efforts were at first entirely directed to the conversion of England to the faith by preaching and persuasion, the subsequent object, of course, being the complete return of the country to the papal fold, which would be but a stepping-stone to the political domination by Spain. But Charles and Philip were statesmen first, and religious zealots afterwards. On this occasion, as on several subsequent ones in Philip’s career, the zeal of the churchmen outran the discretion of the politicians, and the king-consort’s influence, such as it was, had to be exercised mainly in the direction of moderation and temporisation.

Immediately after Mary’s accession the pope had appointed Cardinal Pole to negotiate for the submission of England to the Holy See, and the cardinal was eager to set his hand to the work at once. He was an Englishman of royal blood, a firm Catholic, who had no other end in view than to bring back his country to what he considered the true faith. Mary at first was just as eager as Pole, but Charles saw from afar that, if affairs were to be directed into the course he wished, they must be managed gently. The new pope, Julius III., was a docile and vicious pontiff, and was soon brought round to the emperor’s views. He was induced to alter Pole’s appointment to that of legate, with instructions first to go to Brussels and endeavour to mediate in the pope’s name between the emperor and the King of France, and then await a favourable opportunity for proceeding to England.

The great difficulty in the English question was the restitution of the property taken from the Church during the previous reigns. It was evident to the emperor that, if an uncompromising stand were taken up on that point, the whole edifice would collapse. Pole was all for complete and unconditional restitution, and his powers, indeed, gave him little or no discretion to compromise or abandon the claim of the Church. The first point therefore agreed upon by Charles and Philip was to delay Pole’s voyage to England until the pope had been induced to confer large discretionary powers on Pole, and the latter had been made to promise that he would do nothing except in accord with Philip. When this had been effected, and Renard, at Philip’s instance, had seen Pole and obtained a promise that he would not insist upon restitution of the property that had passed into private hands, he was allowed to proceed to England. Forty years afterwards, one of Philip’s English adherents, Father Persons, told him that all the ill-fortune that had attended his efforts in England was due to the impious omission at this juncture of insisting upon some sort of restitution of the ecclesiastical property in private hands.

In November 1554 England returned to the bosom of the Church, and Pole to this extent was satisfied; but he was no politician, and could never be brought round to the purely Spanish view of English politics, which may be said indeed of most of Mary’s advisers.

On the very day of Pole’s arrival it was officially announced that the queen was with child, and the new legate and the rest of the churchmen fell into what would now be looked upon as blasphemous comparisons, the people at large being suddenly caught up by the wave of rejoicing at the promise of an heir to the throne. The opportunity was discreetly taken by Philip to cause his instruments to propose in Parliament the sending by England of armed aid to the emperor against France, and the nomination of himself as Regent of England in the event of the looked-for heir outliving his mother. But again the over-zeal of the churchmen spoilt his game. Bonner and Gardiner began to think that persecution of Protestants was necessary and holy. Reaction in the country was the natural result, and Philip and Mary were obliged to dissolve Parliament in a hurry, without the political plans being effected.

Philip’s Spanish chaplains had been extremely unpopular. Such insults indeed had been offered to them, that they dared not appear in the streets in priestly garb. But they were really mild and conciliating, and when the fierce zeal of the English bishops led them to burn the Protestants, Philip’s principal confessor openly denounced them from the pulpit, doubtless at his master’s instance—certainly with his approval. The cruel persecution of the Protestants, indeed, was dead against the realisation of Spanish aims. Philip and Renard clearly saw that it would bring about reaction and hatred, and used their influence to stay it. Charles himself was appealed to by Renard. “If,” he said, “this precipitancy be not moderated, affairs will assume a dangerous appearance.” For nearly six months Philip’s efforts stayed the storm of persecution, and his active intercession saved many condemned to the stake.

But Charles was impatient for his presence in Flanders. The deadly torpor had already seized upon the great emperor. The man who had been indefatigable in his youth and prime had now sunk into indifference to the world. For weeks together no word could be got from him, and of action he was almost incapable. He had begged Philip to come to him before his honeymoon was over, and had continued to do so ever since. The king had waited and waited on, in the ever-deluded hope that Mary’s promise of issue would be fulfilled, but at last even she had become incredulous, and her husband could delay his departure no longer. By August 1555 the rogations and intercessions to the Almighty for the safe birth of a prince were discontinued, and the splendid plot was seen to be a failure.

Consider what this meant for Philip and for the Spanish power. An Anglo-Spanish dynasty ruling England, Spain, and Flanders, supreme over Italy and the Mediterranean, with the riches of the Indies in its hands, would have dominated the world. The German Protestant princes, without effective seaboard, must remain a negligeable quantity outside of their own country. France, shut in on every side by land and sea, could have progressed no more, and Spain would have become paramount more completely than if Charles’s first dream of the universal spread of the power of the Roman-Austrian empire had been realised.

But it was not to be, and Philip made the best of it without exhibiting disappointment. In vain Renard wrote to the emperor that as soon as Philip’s back was turned the fires of persecution would recommence in England; Charles would wait no longer, and peremptorily ordered his son to come to Flanders. On August 26 Mary accompanied her husband to Greenwich, where he took leave of her three days later. The queen was in deep affliction, but she bore up before the spectators of the scene. With one close embrace she bade the king farewell, but so long as the boat in which he went to Gravesend remained in sight from the windows of the palace, the unhappy queen, her eyes overflowing with tears, watched the receding form of her husband, who on his part continued to wave his hand as a signal of adieu, a quiet, courteous gentleman to the last, though his heart must have been heavy with disappointment, and his crafty brain full of plans for remedying it.