My father said that, if I was to be brought up as a Spanish lady, who better to supervise the upbringing than my own mother?
I could see that the idea delighted her, for she could spend more time with me than previously her duties as Queen had allowed her to.
There always had been a special love between my mother and me and as we grew closer she talked to me more openly than she had before. I was growing up; and she was delighted that I was destined for Spain.
“My dearest child,” she said. “I always knew that a daughter has to leave her mother at some time. I left mine to come to England. But I shall know that you will be in Spain, my country… the land where I spent my childhood, and you will go there as a bride. You will love Spain, Mary. You will love it because it was your mother's home and you will love it for itself and because it will become yours. We are more serious than the English. We are more restrained … more formal. Your father is one whom the English love—although in truth he is half Welsh … but he has become an ideal Englishman. He is greatly loved by his subjects. You, my child, are more as I am. Spain will be your natural home. I am so happy for you.”
She talked then of her mother and her father, Isabella and Ferdinand. “My mother was the most wonderful lady I ever knew. She was a great ruler and a loving mother. It is not always easy to be both. You are an only child.” I saw the look of terror pass over her face, and it frightened me. “I was the youngest of the family,” she went on. “I had a brother and three sisters. I was happy in my family, and in spite of the fact that my mother was much engaged in matters of state, she had always time to spend with us, to listen to what we had to say and to make us understand that, whatever else she was, she was first our mother.”
Her sad eyes looked back to those days and I saw them light up with the pleasure which comes from happy memories, even though they must be tinged with sorrow because they are past.
“I was only five…more or less your age… when my sister Isabel was betrothed in Seville to Alfonso of Portugal. It was a grand ceremony. My sisters Juana and Maria were with me. Two years later I was present at the triumphant entry into Granada. That was when my parents had driven out the Moors. They were stirring times… and yet I remember more clearly our family life than these great events.”
“You must have been sad, my lady, to leave it.”
“Ah, my dear child, how sad I was…and how frightened! I was sixteen years old when I set sail for England. I came to marry your Uncle Arthur, you know. Poor Arthur, he died soon after our marriage.”
“And then you married my father.”
“Yes, but it was not until some time after.” She shut her eyes as though this was something too painful to contemplate.
“So you have had two husbands, my lady.”
“Arthur was not really a husband. Well, we had gone through the ceremony but he was too young for marriage, and all the time we were together he was ill…so ill.”
“You loved him, did you?”
She hesitated. “He was a kind, good boy, but he was so sick…so different from your father. It was hard to believe that they were brothers. We were sent down to Ludlow because, as he was Prince of Wales, he must have his own Court. We had only been there a few months when he died. Poor Arthur, his was a sad life. And then your father, who had been destined for the Church, became the Prince of Wales and future King.”
“It is hard to imagine my father's being anything but King, and certainly not a priest.”
She nodded. “Yes. He was made for kingship. Ah, I grow sad, thinking of the old days, and now we have so much for which we can rejoice. You are going to be happy, my daughter. And we have to prepare you for your future. I am glad Dr. Linacre is with us. He was tutor to Prince Arthur and I know his value.”
I liked Dr. Linacre. He was a very old man—a scholar as well as a doctor of medicine. He had written several books—chiefly on grammar. There was one he had produced for Prince Arthur and he had done another for me. He was rather feeble now and very different from Johannes Ludovicus Vives, whom my mother had brought from Spain to supervise my studies.
With the coming of this man, my life changed. It was my first encounter with a fanatic. He was pale, aesthetic and lean. He was one of those people who enjoy tormenting themselves as well as other people. It was his firm belief that we were not set on Earth to enjoy our lives, and that there was a great virtue in suffering. The more thorny our earthly path, the greater glory we should come to in Heaven. He was completely different from my father, who, while he always kept a wary and placating eye on the life to come, had a great determination to enjoy his time on Earth; and I was sure he believed that it was God's will, since he had been endowed with special means to do so. They had one thing in common though; they were both tyrants, but I did not discover this in my father until later. It is amazing, looking back, how clearly one sees things. My firm belief in the Catholic Faith and my conviction that all those who diverged from it were sinners who deserved to die were instilled into me at an early age—and I could never rid myself of them. My frail health might have been due to long hours spent over my books and anxiety to please my exacting tutor.
My half-sister Elizabeth, who at this time was not born, but who later became so important in my life that she seemed at times to dominate it, was given a similar education, but she was different. She never felt the same fidelity to religion; she had her eyes set on one goal throughout her life; she wanted to rule the country, and rarely did she stray from the path of selfinterest. She would have been a Catholic if that was what people wanted. She was not there to plague me at this time, but later I did fall into the habit of comparing myself with her.
Vives had made it clear that if he was to have charge of my education, he must have complete control. My mother was absolutely under his influence. He was Spanish and I was to be Spanish. From my marriage with her nephew, she could find consolation for all that she had suffered in England. As for my father, he was immersed in his own schemes at this time and they did not include me… only when I became a minor nuisance, but this was not so at this early stage.
He had said, “If the Emperor could search all Christendom for a mistress to bring up the Princess Mary and frame her after the manner of Spain, who could be found more meet than the Queen's Grace, her mother, who comes of the royal House of Spain and who, for the affection she beareth the Emperor, will nurture her and bring her up to his satisfaction.”
It sounded very flattering to my mother, and I was delighted that he was anxious that I should not go to Spain as the Emperor wished. In my innocence I thought it was a measure of my father's love for me.
How bitter I became later and it was small wonder. In fact, he did not wish me to go because in his heart he was already wondering whether the match would ever take place and whether he should soon reverse his loyalties and it would be the French for whom he would show friendship, which could mean offering up his daughter on a different sacrificial altar.
But at that time I lived in my dreams, and I must obey the rules which Vives had drawn up and submitted to my parents. I must be governed by these rules, and there must be no divergence from them. Then he said I should remember my mother's domestic example of probity and wisdom and, except if all human expectations fail, I should be holy and good by necessity.
My mother had been brought up most virtuously, but she had had sisters and a brother, and I used to long for some of my own. If only I had a sister—someone to play with, to share things with. I knew enough to realize that I was echoing the wishes of my parents.