“I wish there was less of that in the world.”
“No one would strive to get on but for ambition. Life would be peaceful… but static, dear Stepmother. I do not think that would be entirely for our good. The point is, passions have to be moderated; they have to be used by us; it is only when they begin to use us that they become dangerous.”
“You are too clever for me, my dear. But it is nice to hear you talk. I hope beyond all things that you will find a nice husband whom you love and who loves you… and be happy for ever more.”
I kissed her. I thought she was more like a mother to me than my own had been.
She made Hever very pleasant during my stay there.
It did not last very long.
One day a messenger came from my father. He had found a place for me in the Queen's household. I was to be a maid of honor and should prepare to leave without delay.
The peaceful time was over. I was not entirely sorry, for peace to one of my nature was not always desirable for long. I found the atmosphere of Hever without my brother and Thomas Wyatt rather boring. And much as I loved my stepmother, she was hardly a stimulating companion.
So I could not help feeling a sense of expectation and excitement as I prepared to leave Hever.
Love Affair
AND SO I CAME TO COURT to be a maid of honor to Queen Katharine.
I was struck immediately by the difference between the French and English Courts, though oddly enough they were both presided over by a young, forceful, monumental figure of a King and a Queen who was retiring and pious. Manners were gallant at Henry's Court but less affectedly so; there was a lack of that intellectual quality which had been inspired by Marguerite and followed by François; culture was less in evidence here, although the King was a lover of music, poetry and all the fine arts. This was of a more robust nature. The masques were less subtle, the dances more strenuous, given to leaping, bounding and athletic prowess rather than grace. There was a vitality in the English Court which replaced the languid elegance of that of France.
It was very interesting to me and I felt alive as soon as I arrived. I realized, more than I had before, that the country was no place for me.
I was quickly initiated into my role of maid of honor. I was allowed a servant—a woman, of course—and one dog, which should be a spaniel. I was given a certain allowance of food for myself and my dog, and it was far more than our needs. Food was plentiful at Court, served plain, without the fancy sauces so beloved of the French; my maid, my dog and I breakfasted on bread and beef, and more ale than we could possibly drink was supplied to us. There were hens, pigeons, rabbits and all kinds of pies served for dinner and supper; and on Fridays we had salted eels, plaice, gurnet and whiting… and almost any fish one could think of.
I had never been interested in food—but it did show a concern for our welfare.
My sister Mary was one of the first to greet me.
She was well and happy and showed no sign of any shame, though it was well known what terms she was on with the King. He had been right when he had said it was considered an honor to be chosen by the monarch.
Mary was looking very pretty and pleased with life. When I came to think of it, she always had. She had not been entirely crestfallen even when she had been expelled from the Court of France. Mary took everything in her philosophical way.
She embraced me warmly and said how pleased she was to see me at Court.
“You will find the Queen a little… serious.” She grimaced.
“I imagine she is rather like Queen Claude.”
Mary nodded.
“She is very much the daughter of the King and Queen of Spain… and never forgets it. And she is very religious. There will be a great deal of praying. Your knees may get sore.”
“And you, Mary?”
She laughed. “I do very well.”
“And what of Will?”
“He does very well, too.”
“Of course I know about you and the King.”
She laughed in that carefree way of hers and dimpled prettily. I thought how strange it was that I should have such a sister. There could scarcely be two people less alike than Mary and myself.
“The King is very kind to me.”
“Mary…do you love him?”
“Of course.”
“And Will?”
“Will is my husband. Of course I love him.”
I could see that it was impossible to come to any understanding about these matters with Mary. She loved everyone…particularly men. She could see no harm in coupling, I gathered. How could there be anything wrong in giving pleasure? She pleased the King; she pleased her husband. Of course, Will had to accept the fact that the King liked her. This he did with good grace, for being Will, he had not the strength to do anything else. He was a Squire of the Body. It was as good a post as Will could expect; and neither he nor Mary thought of asking for special privileges.
It was true that our father had profited from the relationship and was rising high in the King's favor. He was a good ambassador, a loyal and faithful subject, but he was rewarded also because he had a beautiful daughter who pleased the King very much indeed.
I said to Mary: “Has the King ever said anything to you about the visit he paid to Hever?”
“Yes, he did mention it. He said our stepmother had talked to him of recipes, and he attributed the excellence of the table to her good work.”
“Was that all?”
“He thought it a pleasant spot. I can think of nothing more.”
So he had not thought of me after that strange interview. But perhaps he cared for Mary too much to bother her with an account of her sister's deplorable behavior.
I was greatly impressed by the Queen when she received me, which she did with the utmost grace. Regality sat naturally upon her. One was immediately struck by her calmness. She had an oval face with rather heavy features. I noticed at once her high forehead. Her figure was rather squat and solid; she had endured much childbearing, although the only royal child so far was the Princess Mary, who must have been some six or seven years old at this time. If Queen Katharine had been beautiful once, she was no longer so. She was dressed in very dark blue velvet which was almost black; her straight sleeves were ruffled and slashed at the wrists and a great crucifix hung about her neck. She had no need to proclaim her piety; it was obvious. Moreover we all knew that she fasted on Fridays, Saturdays and all saints’ days. She was with her confessor twice a week at least, although what sins she had to confess it was hard to imagine; and she received the eucharist every Sunday. Each day one of her attendants read to her for two hours after dinner from a book of devotions—a task which often fell to me, for she said I had a musical voice.
I had a great respect for her but she was not the sort of person to whom one could get close. I think she always felt she was in an alien land.
Maria de Salinas, who had accompanied her as a maid of honor, when she came to England from Spain, and who was married to Lord Willoughby d'Eresby, was one of the few women friends she had. For the rest of us she showed a rather gentle tolerance. But she was always considerate of us and kindly toward us. We liked her but it was hard to feel that affection which I had had for Queen Claude or the deeper feeling I had cherished for Marguerite.
I knew her story, and in a way it seemed rather a tragic one. She had been only sixteen when she had come to England to marry Prince Arthur, who was fourteen at the time. I could imagine her childhood and the rigorous upbringing in the Spanish household. There would have been a lack of warmth, a formality which must have been rather frightening to a young child. Yet she had had a passionate adoration for her mother, Queen Isabella. Her father, Ferdinand, had shown a rather cynical disregard for his daughter after her mother had died. So, as an innocent girl of sixteen, she had been married to Prince Arthur, who had died a few months after the ceremony. The marriage had never been consummated because they had all been afraid for Arthur's health and they thought that exertion and excitement, to which he was unaccustomed, might kill him. Poor boy, he had died without that excitement, and there had followed for Katharine, the virgin widow, a time of great anxiety. Her mother, whom she adored, and who would have brought her back to Spain, had died and the poor little widow was left bereft in an alien land where her only worth seemed to be through her dowry, over which King Henry VII and Ferdinand of Spain were haggling for a long time. Consequently for eight years she lived wretchedly in England with very little money, until the old King died and the new King, eighteen-year-old Henry VIII, came to the throne and, flushed with romantic chivalry and having a certain fancy for the daughter of Spanish kings, married her.