When I was four years old, my parents went to France. There was a great deal of excitement about this visit because it was meant to mark a new bond of friendship between France and England. The King of France and my father were going to show the world that they were allies; but mainly they were telling this to the Emperor Charles, who was the rival of them both.
I wondered whether they would take me with them. But they did not. Instead I was sent to Richmond. This was a change from Ditton, although I had my household with me and the Countess and Lady Bryan were in charge. But the Countess did try to impress on me that it was different because my parents were out of the country and that put me into a more important position than I should have been in if they were here. I tried to grasp what this meant but the Countess seemed to decide that she could not explain. I heard her say to Lady Bryan, “How can this be expected of a child?”
There was a great deal of talk about what was happening in France and there were descriptions of splendid tournaments and entertainments. The occasion was referred to as “The Field of the Cloth of Gold,” which conjured up visions of great grandeur in my mind. My mother told me later that it was not all they had thought it was while it was in progress.
I have always deplored the fact that I missed great events and that they came to me by hearsay. I often told myself that, if I had been present, if I could have experienced these important occasions when they happened, I could have learned much and been able to deal more skillfully with my own problems when they arose.
It was while my parents were in France that three high-ranking Frenchmen came to the Court.
This threw the Countess into an agony of doubt. I heard her discussing the matter with Sir Henry Rowte.
“Of course, we have to consider her position. But such a child…Oh, no, it would be impossible, and yet…”
Sir Henry said, “Her extreme youth must be considered by everyone. Surely…”
“But who is to receive them? She is… who she is…”
I understood that they were talking about me.
A decision was arrived at. The Countess came to my schoolroom where I was having a lesson on the virginals.
“Princess,” she said, “important gentlemen have come from France. If the King or Queen were here, they would receive them, but as you know, they are in France. So … as their daughter … you must greet these arrivals.”
It did not occur to me that this would be difficult, and I suppose, as I felt no fear, I carried off the meeting in a manner which, on account of my youth, surprised all who beheld it. I knew how to hold out my hand to be kissed. I knew that I must smile and listen to what was said and, if I did not understand, merely go on smiling. It was easy.
I was aware of their admiration, and the Countess looked on, pursing her lips and nodding her head a little as she did when she was pleased.
One of the gentlemen asked me what I liked doing most. I considered a while and then said that I liked playing on the virginals.
Would I play for him? he asked.
I said I would.
I heard afterward that everyone marvelled at my skill in being able to play a tune without a fault. They said they had never known one so young such a good musician.
The Countess was gratified. She said my parents would be delighted to hear how I had entertained their guests during their absence.
Often during the years that followed, I would look back on those early days and fervently wish that I had never had to grow up.
In due course my parents returned from France. There was still a great deal of talk about the brilliant meeting of the two kings. I kept my ears open and heard scraps of conversation among the courtiers when I was with the Court. I learned how the two kings had vied with each other, how they were determined to show the world—and the Emperor Charles—that they were the best of friends. When they were in church together, each king had stood aside for the other to kiss the Bible first, and at length the King of France had prevailed on the King of England to do so, as he was a guest on French soil. My mother and the Queen of France had been equally careful of each other's feelings. I knew my mother had great sympathy with Queen Claude. I heard the whispers: François was a libertine with whom no woman was safe, and poor crippled Claude had a great deal to endure.
That occasion when the King of France had forced his way into my father's bedroom when he was in bed was much discussed. My father had said, “I am your prisoner,” but the King of France had charmingly replied, “Nay, I am your valet.” And he had handed him his shirt. It was all elaborate play-acting to show the amity there was between them and to warn the Emperor Charles—who was a most ambitious young man—that he would have to face the might of the two countries, so he had better not think about attacking one of them.
On that occasion my father gave François a valuable jeweled collar, and François responded by giving him a bracelet of even greater value. That was how it was at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Each king had to outdo the other; and because of the shift in interests, because of the wily and unpredictable games they played, very soon it became clear to both participants that the entire venture had been an enormous waste of time and riches.
When my mother returned from France, young as I was, I detected that she was not happy. I understood later that she did not like the French; she did not trust François—and how right she was proved to be in that. Moreover, she had been most uneasy because the entire farce of the Field of the Cloth of Gold had been an act of defiance against the Emperor Charles. My mother was Spanish and, although she was devoted to my father, she could not forget her native land. She had loved her mother as passionately as I was to love her and she me. It could not give her any pleasure, considering her strong family feeling, to witness her husband joining up with an ally in order to stand against her own nephew.
At this time there were three men of power astride Europe; they were François Premier of France, Charles, Emperor, the ruler of Spain, Austria and the Netherlands, and my father, the King of England. They were all more or less the same age—young, ambitious, determined to outdo each other. There was a similarity between François and my father; Charles was different. Not for him the extravagances, the lavish banquets, the splendid tournaments, the glittering garments. He was quiet and serious.
My mother was torn between husband and nephew. It grieved her greatly to think of them as enemies. She could not, of course, explain this to me at that time.
When my parents returned from France, after a short stay with them I went back to Ditton Park; but the following Christmas I was with them. Although I dearly loved the Countess of Salisbury, Lady Bryan and all my household, I looked forward with great pleasure to being with my parents. My father was such a glittering figure, and it delighted me, even at that early age, to see how he inspired a certain awe in everyone near him; even the greatest men, like the Cardinal, whom all respected and feared, bowed to my father. He had a loud laugh and when he was merry his face would light up with joy and everyone around him would be happy. I had seen him, though rarely, in a less than merry mood. Then his eyes would be like two little points of blue ice and his mouth would be such a small thin line that I thought it would disappear altogether. A terrible fear would descend on the company, and it appeared to me that everyone would try to shrink out of sight. It was awesome and terrible. Someone usually hurried me out of the way at such times.
So, while I worshipped him, I did experience a little fear even in those days. But that only made him the more godlike.