“But I wish…”
“I wish her to go to her nurses.”
“I want her with me.”
“You forget your state,” he said. “You have risen too high. You do not understand the ways of royalty.”
“You speak as though I am some kitchen slut.”
“Then pray do not behave like one.”
“Is it sluttish for a mother to love her daughter?”
“It is the duty of the Queen to remember her state.”
I wanted to scream: Very well, you do not want my daughter here. In that case I shall go with her. But I had had one example of his cold anger. Now and then would come to me the memory of those cruel eyes and the words: “I have raised you up. I could so easily lower you.” And I felt a tremor of fear.
I heard myself say in a quiet voice: “Very well, she must go to her nurses.”
“’ Tis the best place for her,” he said; he came to me and put an arm about my shoulders. I smiled at him, returning his kisses; but my heart was filled with misgivings.
In spite of his refusal to have her in our bedchamber, Henry gave a great deal of attention to Elizabeth's household. He approved as her nurse the wife of a gentleman named Hokart; he said the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk should be her state governess, which gave the old lady a very fine residence and 6,000 crowns a year. This seemed a good choice as I was a connection of the Howards. Another concession to me was the selection of Lady Bryan, whose husband was a kinsman of the Boleyns, to be her governess. I was delighted, for I knew Lady Bryan was a good woman. She had, as a matter of fact, been governess to the Princess Mary, so she was accustomed to the position.
I was very sad though when, at the age of two months, Elizabeth was sent to Hatfield, which was to be her home; with her went those people whom the King had selected.
I had to reconcile myself to her departure and promise myself that, whenever possible, I should be with my child.
In the meantime there was trouble with Mary.
She must now renounce her title that Elizabeth might have it.
She was a pale girl—delicate-looking—so that her boldness was amazing. She was defiant and seemed to care nothing for the wrath of the King.
I was determined she should submit. I had my Elizabeth to fight for; and it was an undisputed fact that, if Elizabeth were to have her rights, Mary must first give them up.
This the rebellious girl refused to do, and when members of the Privy Council went to her and told her she must resign her title, she refused to see them until she had assembled her entire household—and all those people who had looked after her for the last years, from officials of the household to the humblest kitchen maids. Then, before them all, she had the temerity to announce that she could not give up a title which had been bestowed on her by God and her parents. She was a Princess; she was the daughter of a King and Queen; and she had more right to her title than had the daughter of Madam Pembroke. She was the Princess of England and could not order her household to address her in any other way.
I was very angry when I heard this. By referring to Elizabeth as Madam Pembroke's daughter, she was implying that she was illegitimate. This I could not allow.
I sent orders that she was to lose her royal privileges; she was not to eat alone when she wished to; the custom of having her food tasted before she took it was to be stopped; and she was to have no communication with her mother. Perhaps this last was harsh; but I had begun to see that in Mary I had as formidable an enemy as I had had in Katharine; and I was incensed by her implications directed at my daughter.
Later I regretted the last injunction. Mary loved her mother with an almost fanatical devotion. Looking back, I can imagine what they must have meant to each other in those years when Katharine was fighting for her position and her daughter's; and indeed I think now, having a greater understanding of human nature, that each suffered more on account of the other than for themselves.
It was decided that Mary should be sent to Hatfield. I realized that she would consider this an added insult, for she would be in an inferior position in the household of the Princess Elizabeth who, she would consider, had usurped her place.
I thought it would be just punishment for I was smarting under the insults to me in daring to refer to the Queen of England as Madam Pembroke, with the implication that I was not the King's wife but his mistress.
Christmas was upon us, and this had to be a Christmas to outdo all others. It was my first as Queen. I surrounded myself with the wits of the Court—Weston, Bryan, Brereton, Norris, my brother and Wyatt. We laughed; we were very frivolous; we made amusing entertainments, and the King liked to be with us better than any others. With us he could forget certain anxieties which weighed heavily on him at times. Clement had now given the verdict, which was that the marriage between Henry and Katharine was valid, which meant, of course, that ours was not.
Henry had snapped his fingers at the Pope's verdict, obviously given under the orders of the Emperor Charles; but it put him in a dilemma. Excommunication would follow if he continued to live with me as his Queen, and it was not easy to defy such an edict. At least it might be for Henry himself but there were the people to consider. Many of them were staunch Catholics, and if Henry were excommunicated, that would entail the entire country. He had no alternative but to break with Rome; but this did not mean a rejection of the old religion: it was merely changing the Head of the Church. Everything could be as before—the same rituals, the same ceremonies—but the Church of Rome would now be the Church of England, and Henry would be the Head of that Church instead of the Pope.
It had been Cromwell's idea, and it seemed to Henry the only solution.
But it gave great cause for anxiety because of the reactions of the people.
There were already murmurings.
So therefore it must be a very merry Christmas. It was my nature to be able to assume an excess of gaiety when the future might be fraught with danger. There had always been an element of recklessness in me. Now it was close to hysteria. I laughed—perhaps a little wildly—and although at this time I did not realize what great danger threatened me, warnings kept flashing into my mind. I knew that I was on a hazardous course for I should never feel quite secure after that scene when Henry had pointed out his power to destroy me.
So that Christmas we danced and masqued and were very merry.
The facts could not be ignored. Henry had defied the Pope. There was only one course open to him if he were to withstand the disasters and the discord in the land which excommunication would bring about, and Henry had taken it.
In the new year he declared himself Head of the Church of England. He had broken with Rome. He made it clear that he had no wish to change the religion. In fact, he opposed Martin Luther's teachings; he was not in favor of doctrinal reform. The only difference was that the rights of the Pope now belonged to the Crown.
He was not alone in this departure for many of the German states who were firm adherents of Martin Luther had already done so. There was to be a translation of the Bible into English, which would be wonderful. Many people would be able to read it who had not done so before. Surely they would see the advantage of that.
That was a troubled year. Everything seemed to go wrong.
I was pregnant again. The King was delighted and his old tenderness returned. This time he was sure we would have a boy. Desperately I longed for that boy. He would be my security as my little Elizabeth could not. I saw her when I could. She was enchanting and, I was sure, far brighter than other children of her age. She was more like her father than me in looks. Her blue eyes were bright and inquiring, her hair shone like gold. She was a beautiful child.