If the reputation of Mary I suffered due to the Reformation, what of her husband, Philip of Spain? Surely England’s one time joint ruler was not the humourless fanatic of Protestant caricature, whose anger at being spurned resulted in his disastrous launch of the Armada against this country? For a start, Philip liked England. On his first visit, he meant to stay a fortnight but spent a year here. He enjoyed the minutiae of government and adopted a collegiate approach towards the Privy Council.
He had, says Harry Kelsey, a “stolid composure” – but this was an advantage in getting things done.
One success was introducing legislation for a return to Roman Catholicism. A stumbling block existed between the Vatican and the new owners of church lands confiscated during the dissolution of the monasteries. Philip used his influence to persuade Rome to drop its claims. His marriage to Mary was strategic; he was pressured into it by his father, Charles V, driven by a desire to form an alliance against France. Ever the dutiful son, Philip was also a dutiful husband – and did not take mistresses, at least while in England.
One awkward issue left unresolved was his official position. In the marriage treaty, he could enjoy the “kingly name” and was allowed to partake in government, but this would end if the queen predeceased him. Philip wanted a coronation but Parliament dragged its heels fearing that, if crowned, his heirs (by Mary or anyone else) would turn England into a Hapsburg satellite. Was this fear justified? Was Philip trying to re-negotiate the treaty? Did the absence of a crown fatally undermine his status? And did he always agree with his wife?
Kelsey says Mary was prepared to “allow the new religion to continue in areas where the people preferred it”, but she executed far more Protestants than her predecessor Edward VI killed Catholics. Historians argue over the exact number – were the leaders of the Wyatt rebellion killed for being Protestants or for being traitors? – but 300 is the accepted figure. Kelsey, erring on the conservative side, argues it was “perhaps 200 in all”.
What was Philip’s view? We know he approved of the execution of a man who attempted to murder a monk – standard for the time – but what of the execution
of the Archbishop of Canterbury,
Thomas Cranmer, architect of the English Reformation? Did Philip support Cranmer’s death? Or express caution? Was he consulted and, if not, why not? The decision to burn Cranmer at the stake was pivotal in Bloody Mary being perceived – and not just by Protestants – as vengeful, yet this book ignores it.
Calais was another debacle. Kelsey lays the responsibility entirely at the doors of the Privy Council, whose members were not prepared to pay for its defence. Were they too tightfisted? Or did they think it not worth defending?
The last chapter is a diatribe against Elizabeth, a “shameless flirt, frolicking in bed with her guardian, Thomas Seymour” – a highly contentious claim. Kelsey even suggests Elizabeth may have been a man with deformed genitalia – “the evidence is contradictory”. Possible, I suppose, but highly unlikely. There are more obvious reasons for her rejection of Philip’s marriage proposal. Finally, Kelsey claims that in refusing the King of Spain’s “great gift”, Elizabeth began “a global conflict between England and Spain that lasted for the next four centuries and may not yet be ended”. Now, even Philip might have found that funny.
