The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [3]
Will Somers to Catherine Knollys:
November 14, 1557. Kent.
Catherine, my dear:
Restrain yourself from tearing this letter to pieces in lieu of reading it. I do not blame you for your outburst. It was magnificent. A paradigm of outraged sensibility, morality, and all the rest. (Worthy of the old King himself! Ah, what memories it brought back!) But now admit it: the King was your father. This have you known always. You speak of dishonouring your father. Will you dishonour the King by your refusal to admit what is? That was perhaps his cardinal virtue (yes, my lady, he had virtues) and genius: always to recognize the thing as it was, not as it was generally assumed to be. Did you not inherit that from him? Or are you like your half-sister Queen Mary (I, too, regret your relationship with her), blind and singularly unable to recognize even things looming right before her weak eyes? Your other half-sister, Elizabeth, is different; and I supposed you were also. I supposed it was the Boleyn blood, added to the Tudor, that made for a uniquely hard, clear vision of things, not muddied by any Spanish nonsense. But I see I was wrong. You are as prejudiced and stupid and full of religious choler as the Spanish Queen. King Harry is dead indeed, then. His long-sought children have seen to that.
Catherine Knollys to Will Somers:
January 5, 1558. Basle.
Will:
Your insults must be answered. You speak of my dishonouring the King my father. If he were my father, did he not dishonour me by never acknowledging me as his own? (He acknowledged Henry Fitzroy, made him Duke of Richmond—the offspring of that whore Bessie Blount!) Why, then, should I acknowledge or honour him? First he seduced my mother before her marriage, and now you say he subsequently ct horror wherever he went. The only good he did, he did merely as a by-product of evil: his lust for my aunt, Anne Boleyn, caused him to break from the Pope. (Thus the Lord used even a sinner for His purposes. But that is to the Lord’s credit, not the King’s.) I spit on the late King, and his memory! And as for my cousin, Princess Elizabeth (the daughter of my mother’s sister, naught else), I pray that she may... no, it is too dangerous to put on paper, regardless of the trustworthiness of the messenger or the receiver.
Go thy ways, Will. I want no further correspondence from you.
Will Somers to Catherine Knollys:
March 15, 1558. Kent.
Catherine:
Bear with me yet a little. In your wonderfully muddled letter I sensed one essential question; the rest was mere noise. You asked: If he were my father, did he not dishonour me by never acknowledging me as his own?
You know the answer: He was taken out of his true mind by that witch (now I must insult you again) Anne Boleyn. She tried to poison the Duke of Richmond; would you have had her try her hand on you as well? Yes, your aunt was a witch. Your mother quite otherwise. Her charms were honest, and her thoughts and manner honest as well. She suffered for it, while your aunt-witch thrived. Honesty seldom goes unpunished, and as you know, your mother did not have an easy berth in life. He would have acknowledged you, and perhaps your brother as well (though he was less certain of his parentage), if the Witch had not prevented him. She was jealousical purposes, forbidden. Ostensibly this was for our protection. But it had the effect of cloistering us. No monk lived as austere, as circumscribed, as dull a life as I did for those ten years.
And that was fitting, as Father had determined that I must be a priest when I grew up. Arthur would be King. I, the second son, must be a churchman, expending my energies in God’s service, not in usurping my brother’s position. So, from the age of four, I received churchly training from a series of sad-eyed priests.
But even so, it was good to be a prince. It was good for elusive reasons I find almost impossible to set down. For the history of the thing, if you will. To be a prince was to be—special. To know when you read the story of Edward the Confessor or Richard