I
was working on my Scandinavian chapter, but parts felt disunified without covering
this event first. Mary's wedding! This is also a pretty monumentous chapter: I've hit a hundred pages of text in word, and almost 80k words. I wanted to thank everyone who's read, commented, or even just liked posts. It means a lot, and I never even thought that this story would get one or reader, let alone the amount we've got now, or the fact the thread has grown to 24 pages! Thank you everyone, and I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 22. In the Queen’s Realm
1532-1534; England
“Her Grace, having reached her majority is now in full possession
of her imperial crown and the state which pertains to it.”
— Proclamation issued upon Queen Mary’s Majority
Music Accompaniment: La My
Queen Mary of England, Flemish School; c. 1532.
As 1532 dawned in England, the long regency of Queen Mary had finally ended. Her mother, Catherine of Aragon, had now been divested of the regency and was merely queen dowager, the widow of Henry VIII. Despite Mary’s often difficult relationship with Catherine as a teenager, one of Mary’s first acts as queen in her own right was to the benefit of Catherine—she assigned her mother lands and revenues from the royal domain for a life worth some £2900 per annum—while also allowing her to keep the additional lands and revenues worth £3000 that she had been granted in 1513 at the onset of her regency. This meant that Catherine’s annual revenues reached over £10,000, making her the wealthiest landowner within the kingdom—aside from the queen herself. Though Catherine had relinquished the heavy office that she had occupied for so many years, she did not stray far from court and decided that she would make her home at Hanworth Manor, one of Henry VIII’s former hunting retreats. Catherine immediately embarked on a building program, and while she maintained a small coterie of ladies about her as a court, two women were her dearest friends: Maria de Salinas and Margaret Pole.
In January, Mary and her court came to reside for a period at the Palace of Westminster—the first time the court had come to reside there since fire had ravaged the royal apartments in 1512. The residential section had been rebuilt and refurbished under Catherine’s aegis—but it never became a favored residence of the young queen.
“I remember the first night I spent as queen in my own right,” Mary would write in her private diary.
“Not the first night, but the one I still remember—at Westminster, that vile cacophony of stone. Though my mother had refurbished it brilliantly, and my chambers had every creature comfort that I might desire… I spent one of the most miserable nights of my reign there. Cold, dank, and drafty—I awoke the next morning with a terrible chill; though my ladies attempted to care for me, I was in the foulest of moods for the remainder of the day. Never again would I spend a night under the roof at Westminster. A queen must have her castle or palace—she must not share the same roof with little lawyers and the sundry other administrators of the crown.” Mary’s more favored residences were more well-known.
“The Queen adored Greenwich, where she had been born,” one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting wrote.
“And she enjoyed hosting Christmas celebrations at Eltham as well as Richmond—where the queen hunted with great passion. Windsor was her escape—and she would spend very many happy times there.”
While Mary settled into her majority, Prince John of Denmark remained ensconced at Oldhall.
“The prince improves daily, madam,” the Duke of Norfolk wrote in a letter to Catherine of Aragon.
“I do not believe he shall ever be a scholar—but he is every inch a prince, and so will be every inch a king.” John certainly was not as academically minded as Queen Mary—but he was a skilled athlete, and he enjoyed hunting in the forests near Oldhall, along with roughhousing with his boyish companions. At fourteen he was already beginning to grow into the man he would soon become—and his time at Oldhall was punctuated with visits to the court, where he participated in court entertainments and was allowed to meet with his betrothed, albeit in a heavily controlled environment.
“The little prince comes again, this month,” Queen Mary was said to have reported dryly and with annoyance when she learned that John was due to visit her—yet with a small smile upon her face as she spoke.
“The queen was not fond of the Prince of Denmark at first, that is true,” one courtier wrote anonymously in a letter home.
“But as he grew—and so did she, she did become fond of him—especially when she learned that he was just as avid hunter as she was.” It perhaps was not a relationship born of romance or passion—but one of mutual interest, and that was better than nothing at all.
“Her Majesty had little interest in the young prince when he first arrived. He was a boy of twelve, and she—nearly a grown woman. Some whispered that her disinterest in Prince John was because of her interest elsewhere—in young Charles Blount, a member of her household and friend since her youth…” Certainly, Charles Blount—son of the Baron Mountjoy and one of Catherine of Aragon’s Spanish attendances, Inés de Venegas was considered one of the dandies of Queen Mary’s court—he was handsome and debonair and had a reputation of being flirt—most especially with the queen.
“He could be overly familiar with the queen—who enjoyed bawdy jokes. But she never forgot her dignity or who she was. Yes, she did love Charles Blount—but as a brother. The queen knew where her duty lay—and that was with Prince John.” Charles Blount would benefit from his friendship with Mary—and early in her reign was named as her Master of the Horse.
Portrait of a Young Man, c. 1533. Believed to be Prince John of Denmark.
Politically, Mary sought to mold her policies. She appointed a member of her household, Walter Devereaux, Baron Ferrers to the Council of Wales. She also sought to innovate the government by reestablishing the Council of the North which had lapsed following the death of Henry VII. The Council was charged was administering justice in the northern counties of England, with Mary naming Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland as head of the Council. Compared with her mother who preferred clergymen and Bishops to staff her councils, Mary preferred the aristocracy—little surprise, given that she had grown up in her household surrounded by the sons and daughters of them.
“The queen trusts the nobility, but not blindly,” one councilor wrote in a letter to another.
“She seeks an even, prosperous administration—and believes that those who have a stake in the kingdom will do better than those who do not.” Mary was dutiful in her duties as sovereign—she awoke every morning before the sun rose, and after breakfast, she attended mass and would meet with the council, before spending her morning answering letters and dealing with administrative tasks. After lunch, she would spend the afternoons in audiences and further meetings. While the evenings were often capped off with feasts, masques, and other entertainments, Mary would often continue to work for several hours even after she retired to her chamber for the evening.
Mary, like her mother, was dedicated to her faith.
“Her Majesty was dutiful in her religious observances—her faith served as her anchor. Her religion had been instilled by her mother—though, unlike Catherine, her faith did not consume her. Her Majesty believed that her faith was something which completed her—it did not dominate her.” one lady-in-waiting wrote in a private letter.
“Her faith is tempered by an English practicality.” Mary’s government continued the policies pursued by Catherine that sought to reorganize the church in England—most especially in terms of monastic life, with hopes that the practical benefits would offer the most striking refutation to arguments made by the Protestant reformers. Despite this, Mary, like her cousin Charles V, showed little support for the Council of Bologna summoned by Pope Pius V, mainly because of the overwhelming French influence upon it. Despite this, Mary had a cordial relationship with Pius V—the first pontiff of her majority.
“I am most glad of the friendship of England in these trying times,” Pope Pius V wrote in a letter to Queen Mary.
“And happier that England has been blessed with a queen who is and remains a pious daughter to the Pope and the Holy See. Continue to follow in the footsteps of your blessed father of memory and your mother—and you shall have the brightest reign—and one most deserving, for England’s first queen.” Pius V was certainly more indulgent with the Queen of England than he was with the emperor—in 1533, the Pope rewarded both Queen Mary and her mother Catherine with the
Golden Rose—while Mary was honored with the title of
Most Pious Majesty, like the styles enjoyed by the Kings of Spain and France. This marked a new position for the sovereigns of England—and their position in Europe.
Prince John of Denmark celebrated his sixteenth birthday in February of 1534—to the relief of the queen’s councilors, who were eager to see the marriage of their sovereign come to fruition.
“Of course, we are not displeased with the queen,” one councilor wrote in a letter to another.
“But the fact remains that she is a woman, and the business of government is too heavy for her alone. England has suffered without a king for nearly twenty years now, under the tyranny of a petticoat government. The Prince of Denmark is our salvation and our aid—he shall be the son that our late king always desired.” Mary herself seemed more subdued when John’s birthday was celebrated with great pomp at Windsor Castle—with a great feast and celebrations that carried late into the night.
“They see him as a man when he is still a boy,” Mary lamented privately to Anne Parr.
“While I am a woman who is seen as a girl. He is the rising star now—their future king.” It was perhaps Mary’s greatest fear—that her marriage would see her position forever altered, and the position which her mother had raised her for would disappear completely. Would she still be Queen of England, and be obeyed, once there was a man who was king? The Privy Council met several days later, pressing the queen to name a date for the marriage. Unsurprisingly, the queen exploded before the council in a characteristic flash of her Tudor anger:
“Sniveling, insignificant little men—sirs, do you truly think to command me as you do your wives? I am your prince, your sovereign—I may be a woman, and I may be young, but am not weak nor am I feeble, and I challenge any man to discharge my duties as well as I have. It is monstrous that you would think to direct me—you do as I say, I do not do as you say.” Mary dismissed the council in a fit of anger—stating that she alone would decide the date of her wedding.
Triumph of Caesar, Andrea del Sarto.
The queen’s reaction to the marriage date caused great unease among the council—they found themselves forced to seek out the advice of the queen dowager, who advised calm.
“The queen knows what must be done,” Catherine advised the councilors.
“But she has not yet acclimated herself completely to the idea. Knowing it was once years away, but now merely weeks or months—it has frightened her. Give her the evening to cool—even tempers will prevail in the morning.” Catherine asked that John’s secretary, Johan von Weze visit Mary—along with growing closer to John, Mary had become quite fond of his secretary where he fulfilled the role of a paternal father figure for the queen. Johan von Weze was more than pleased to pay a visit to the young queen—and he spent the evening closeted with her within her privy chamber.
“She trusted von Weze without reservations,” Anne Parr would later write.
“He became just as much the queen’s advisor as the prince’s. She relied upon him—not only to give her sound advice—but to be honest with her. He spoke plainly when necessary and wasn’t afraid to tell the queen the truth—even when it displeased her.” There are no records of what von Weze and Mary discussed that evening following her explosion—but whatever they discussed, it had the desired effect. The next morning when she met with her Privy Council, she apologized for her outburst.
“You must understand that I am merely a woman,” Mary said in a pretty little speech—playing up her feminine frailty—just as the day before, she had dismissed such frailty as nonsense within the councilor’s heads.
“To embark upon marriage is a frightening prospect for me, a mere maid and virgin. Yet I know that this marriage has been arranged for the good of the realm; it must go onward. You may announce then, milords—to the court and the kingdom the date of my wedding: the twenty-third of April—the feast day of Saint George, in two months hence.” Whatever Mary’s true thoughts—she was doing what was being asked of her, for the good of the realm.
The last royal wedding held in England was that of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon at a chapel near the Palace of Greenwich. Given the extraordinary position of Mary as England’s first queen regnant, it was decided that the wedding should be held at Westminster Abbey—much like the marriage of Mary’s grandparents, which had also been held there. Preparations were handled by the surveyor of royal works, who carried out minor repairs within the abbey—while Mary’s chief usher, a gentleman called James Fanshawe—was ordered to construct a dais and to decorate the abbey with tapestries and hangings from the royal treasury. Three days before the wedding, Prince John made his ceremonial entrance into the city of London.
“The prince’s procession was bedecked in finery,” one participant wrote.
“Riding upon a white horse, he wore a cloak of crimson etched with cloth of gold thread; his doublet was of pale blue silk, with a black jerkin and crimson hose. A sword hung in his scabbard, and his boots were made of fine leather.” The streets had been swept, and several foreign ambassadors hosted entertainments for the common. After a procession through the city, Prince John took a royal barge to Greenwich Palace—where he was received by Queen Mary and the English court. Prince John bowed low to the queen to offer his obeisance—with Mary raising him and planting two kisses upon his cheeks. Before the court, Mary announced:
“My lords and ladies—this is the future King of England.” Entertainment was held at Greenwich for the days leading up to the wedding—with Prince John staying during that time at Greenwich Castle, a hunting lodge located at the foot of the hill where Greenwich Palace was located.
“The queen was in good spirits, though we could not pierce her reverie or inner thoughts,” Catherine Willoughby wrote in her juvenile journal.
“She sent Prince John numerous gifts—including several cloaks for his wedding attire.”
Wedding of Cana, Paolo Veronese.
The day of the wedding fell upon a Monday. Prince John was the first to enter Westminster Abbey—and Queen Mary followed an hour later. The queen’s outfit was especially ornate—a gown in the French style, it was a rich purple velvet, etched with golden cloth of gold thread—with a striking white brocade about the edges. The queen wore an ermine cloak decorated with roses and pomegranates, bedecked with pearls and diamonds and she wore some of her finest jewels, including a necklace of the cross which her mother had brought from Spain, and a girdle belt of gold. Prince John’s outfit was equally opulent, to emphasize his union with the Queen of England—the same white brocade which had been used upon Mary’s gown decorated his doublet. His robe was cloth of gold, etched with crimson thread and lined with soft crimson satin. Over his doublet, he wore a jerkin of dark blue silk, with golden thread and golden pearl buttons. About his neck, John wore the jeweled collar of the Order of the Garter which had been granted to him by the queen several days previously—having been commissioned by Mary for some £8000. The Abbey was sumptuously decorated with standards, streamers, and tapestries—including several that were emblazoned with the Danish regalia. A raised wooden platform stretched from the door of the abbey to the choir, where Fanshawe had erected the dais for the wedding ceremony. Both John’s suite and the queen’s ladies were sumptuously attired, as well.
The wedding was celebrated by Cuthbert Tunstall, the Archbishop of Canterbury—having succeeded Archbishop Warham in 1532. Archbishop Tunstall gave a speech that the wedding had been blessed and approved by Parliament—and was being carried out by the wishes of the realm.
“If there be any man that knoweth any lawful impediment between these two parties, that they should not go together according to the contract concluded between both realms,” the archbishop announced before the whole abbey.
“That they should come forth, and they should be heard.” When none answered, Tunstall then spoke in English and Latin—asking who would give the queen away. The honor was done by the Duke of Norfolk, the Countess of Salisbury, and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Derby in the name of the whole realm with Queen Catherine looking on proudly. Mary’s wedding ring had been chosen by the queen herself—a golden band with a large stone of lapis lazuli—inlaid with diamonds and opals. Following the marriage ceremony, both Mary and John proceeded to the high altar. After the marriage service, the Garter King of Arms, Thomas Wriothesley proclaimed Mary and John joint rulers—before proclaiming their titles in Latin, French, and English:
Rex et Regina Angliae et Franciae, Dominus et Domina Hiberniae, Rex et Regina Pius.”
