Mary Tudor (9 page)
Authors: Linda Porter
Mary is so closely identified, even today, with Roman Catholicism that it is difficult to disentangle the woman from her faith. Popular history books still refer to her as ‘the Catholic Queen’, implying that this was an impediment, an underlying flaw that may explain, but cannot condone, who she was. Yet nobody thought of her, during her childhood, as ‘a Catholic Princess’.What else would a princess of England be? Her own father had issued a learned broadside against the teachings of Martin Luther in 1521 and been awarded with the title of Defender of the Faith. In Mary’s early childhood, there was no irony in that. As she knelt before the priests of her household at mass, Mary would not have recognised herself as the pious practitioner of an old-fashioned, beleaguered creed.The religion that she followed was so much a part of her life that she probably did not dwell on it at all. It was the ritual she grew to love; the familiar cadences of the Latin, the superb, uplifting music, the colour and richness of the textures of robes and ornaments. Religion was beauty to Mary, a beauty that daily gave hope of eternal life. For at its centre was the miracle of the translation of the bread and the wine into the body and blood of Christ, a mystery that promised salvation to every soul. But her personal beliefs were unremarkable. Her father loved his mass as well, even when he had long since parted company with the rule of Rome. Mary was no different from her parents, her cousin the emperor or, in 1525, all but a small number of Englishmen who were beginning to be influenced by ideas from the nearby Continent. The worship of God was at the core of her life and would always be there.
When she translated the Prayer of St Thomas Aquinas into English at the age of 11, while still in Wales, she saw it primarily as a school exercise, something to prove to her mother that the Latin was going well. The prayer may have been suggested by Fetherstone but it could have been her own choice. Given its sentiments, it is tempting to think that the princess may have thought, as her life unfolded, of the lines she had translated when the world revolved around her:
Good Lord, make my way sure and straight to thee, that I fail not between prosperity and adversity, but that in prosperous things I may give thee thanks and in adversity be patient, so that I be not lifted up with the one, nor oppressed with the other … My most loving Lord and God, give me a waking heart, that no curious thought withdraw me from thee. Let it be so strong, that no unworthy affection draw me backward. So stable that no tribulation break it. And so free that no election by violence make any challenge to it.
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Religious practice was not confined to Church ceremony and Mary’s establishment played its part in the giving of alms to the poor and the sick.When Mary was a very small child this was obviously done in her name, but as she grew older she took an interest in the recipients themselves. She was a regular, though not extravagant, benefactress. It was part of her duty as a Christian and a great lady.
Mary passed from childhood to the threshold of womanhood while she was based in the Marches.This was, in itself, part of the reason for sending her there.The 16th century had no concept of adolescence, and if 12 seems young to be considered as an adult, it was also viewed as old enough to marry and cohabit.The girl herself, the real Mary, is elusive, but not invisible. The infant princess, who had expressed so early a love for music, charmed visiting French diplomats and endeared herself (though nothing more) as the child-fiancée of the emperor CharlesV, was becoming a young lady. She had poise and regal bearing and she loved her parents. Mary was solicitous for her mother’s health but enjoyed her father’s company, his
joie de vivre
(which she seems to have shared, for it was remarked that she was a joyful child) and the culture of his court. Her time in Wales was a progression in her training, not a banishment, and she returned to court for state occasions.The Christmas of her first year away she did not spend with her parents but the late summer of 1526 was passed with the king and queen in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. She journeyed with them west to Ampthill until 1 October, when she returned to Wales. Richard Sampson, diplomat and confidant of Wolsey, witnessed her arrival at Langley, near Woodstock. He was struck by her composure and bearing:‘My lady princess came hither on Saturday; surely, sir, of her age as goodly a child as ever I have seen, and of as good gesture and countenance. ’
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He was also impressed by Mary’s substantial retinue, many of whom were apparently present when she and her father greeted each other.
joie de vivre
(which she seems to have shared, for it was remarked that she was a joyful child) and the culture of his court. Her time in Wales was a progression in her training, not a banishment, and she returned to court for state occasions.The Christmas of her first year away she did not spend with her parents but the late summer of 1526 was passed with the king and queen in Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. She journeyed with them west to Ampthill until 1 October, when she returned to Wales. Richard Sampson, diplomat and confidant of Wolsey, witnessed her arrival at Langley, near Woodstock. He was struck by her composure and bearing:‘My lady princess came hither on Saturday; surely, sir, of her age as goodly a child as ever I have seen, and of as good gesture and countenance. ’
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He was also impressed by Mary’s substantial retinue, many of whom were apparently present when she and her father greeted each other.
Foreign commentators spoke highly of Mary as well, and it is from them that more can be discovered about her appearance. In the spring of 1527 the Venetian ambassador, Gasparo Spinelli, writing to his brother, was nearly breathless in his description of the princess and the magnificent pageant in which she had played a prominent part. This spectacle was part of the entertainment given by Henry VIII to honour the count of Turenne and other French dignitaries, as discussions continued about another French marriage for Mary. This time the prospective bridegroom was the second son of Francis I, the duke of Orléans, and Mary was very much on show.
After a joust marred by the spring rains, the company went back to the palace at Greenwich to witness the kind of spectacle for which the English court was renowned. Spinelli said he had never witnessed the like, anywhere. The decorations, the plate used at the sumptuous banquet, even the decorum and silence in which such public entertainments were given, all amazed him. Yet most stunning of all was the princess Mary herself. She was one of eight damsels ‘of such rare beauty as to be supposed goddesses. They were arrayed in cloth of gold, their hair gathered into a net, with a very richly jewelled garland, surmounted by a velvet cap, the hanging sleeves of their surcoats being so long that they well nigh touched the ground.’ In this company, Mary outshone all the others: ‘Her beauty in this array produced such an effect on everybody that all other marvellous sights … were forgotten and they gave themselves up solely to contemplation of so fair an angel. On her person were so many precious stones that their splendour and radiance dazzled the sight.’ Mary and the ladies then performed a dance with great skill. And at the end, when Mary presented herself to her father, he ‘took off her cap, and, the net being displaced, a profusion of silver tresses as beautiful as ever seen on human head fell over her shoulders’.
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It is a wonderful description, but Spinelli’s Italian gallantry was perhaps overstated. Mary’s hair was auburn, not silver, unless it had been specially dressed for the occasion. Nor was his rapturous description of the princess’s appearance shared by the hard-headed Turenne. The French-man confined his compliments to Mary’s intellectual achievements, but his primary concern was to find a bride who could be married without delay. In his judgement, Mary was ‘too thin, spare and small’ to be married for the next three years. She did not look like childbearing materrial for the House of Valois.The French king took Turenne’s advice. He married his son, the future Henry II, to a plainer, podgier and very rich young Italian called Katherine de Medici. She failed, for many years, to produce children, but when she did, they came thick and fast. Her marriage was desperately unhappy and there is no reason to suppose that Mary would have fared any better, so perhaps it was a lucky escape.
So there were contrasting views of the princess, but they were not necessarily contradictory. Mary was described elsewhere as being small for her age, though before her teens her health does not seem to have been a problem. She was a small-framed person, which might explain Turenne’s comments about her weight.There were reports in 1528 that she was suffering from smallpox, but if she did it could not have been a serious bout of that often deadly and disfiguring ailment. One thing on which all observers would agree, throughout her life, was that she was blessed with a beautiful complexion. She seems also, as a girl, to have had a charming and endearing personality, not as extroverted as her father but less withdrawn than her mother, or, at least, as her mother had become. Her servants loved her devotedly and she frequently repaid them with lifelong support. She revered and loved her parents, and she was a dutiful god-daughter, writing to Wolsey in 1528 that she knew it was through his intercession that ‘I have been allowed, for a month to enjoy, to my supreme delight, the society of the king and queen my parents.’ The one thing that had vexed her, she told the cardinal, was that she had been unable to visit him and thank him personally for ‘your frequent favours vouchsafed to me and mine’. It is the earliest of Mary’s letters to survive, and it has about it an air of sincerity and warmth.
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Mary was a princess full of grace, with the presence of royalty and a mind well suited to the duties that lay ahead.
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Mary was a princess full of grace, with the presence of royalty and a mind well suited to the duties that lay ahead.
Another Italian, Mario Savagnano, was not so effusive as Spinelli when he met Mary four years later, at the palace of Richmond, though he acknowledged that she was attractive and accomplished. Mary came out to greet Savagnano and other members of an Italian deputation, supported by the faithful countess of Salisbury and six maids of honour. He described her as ‘not tall, [she] has a pretty face, and is well-proportioned [no longer, apparently so thin and spare], with a very beautiful complexion … she speaks Latin, French and Spanish, besides her own mother-English tongue and is well-grounded in Greek and understands Italian but does not venture to speak it’. This, if true, showed a formidable range of linguistic achievement. ‘She sings excellently and plays on several musical instruments, so that she combines every accomplishment. ’ After the Italian visitors had left, Mary, ever the perfect English hostess, sent them a present of wine and ale and white bread.
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The princess Mary was 15 when she received this testimonial, though four years had passed since she was recalled from the Marches. At the time, her return may not have been intended as permanent - she had come and gone on several occasions during her residence there - and the Council of the Marches continued to function at Ludlow till 1534. Yet Henry chose to keep his daughter in the south-east of England and her public appearances became less frequent.The reasons for this are not clear.There were concerns about the size and expense of her establishment in the west, but this could always have been managed differently. Far less easy for Wolsey, or anyone else among the king’s advisers, to soothe was their monarch’s underlying doubts about the wisdom of having Mary, no matter how well trained, succeed him at all.The failure of yet another French marriage negotiation could have played on Henry’s mind. The inescapable truth was that the future of the Tudors depended on a young girl and her ability to produce the male heirs that Henry himself did not have. Even if there was a realistic chance that she might do this by the age of 16, the interval in between would have been uncomfortable, given the state of European politics. And the personality of the king himself was hardly that of an indulgent grandfather.
There was no hint of tension or undercurrent of concern in the Italian account of the meeting with Mary, but by then both she and the countess of Salisbury knew that her life had lost the simple certainties of childhood. This unpalatable truth, complicated by the onset of menstruation, was made worse because it had been unspoken. The countess had seen it as her duty to protect Mary for as long as possible, rather than introduce her to emotional complexity or the harsh realities of power politics. This well-meaning reluctance only made the inevitable realisation of what was happening to her parents’ marriage harder for Mary to bear. Even when she grasped it, when it became impossible to shield her any longer, she still refused to face the implications for her own situation.
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