All the Queen's Men (21 page)

The Queen was equally determined that any changes in the nation's religious procedures should be of a moderate nature. She did not wish any significant innovations carried out during her reign to be considered in any way harsh or unjust. At all times, she wanted her citizens' private and personal beliefs to be respected: ‘Not liking to make windows into men's souls and secret thoughts',
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as Francis Bacon so memorably murmured. The Queen was not prepared to allow extremism in any direction, even though this might dismay her Protestant supporters. Elizabeth was ultra keen for England to be a nation of moderate religious practices with all her citizens living together in harmony. This somewhat idealistic attitude enabled England to successfully avoid the disruptive religious wars that occurred in other European nations such as France, and, when Philip II of Spain finally launched his Armada against England in 1588 in an attempt to restore Roman Catholicism within her nation, the majority of the Queen's citizens who were still Catholic remained loyal to the Crown.

Elizabeth had also displayed her open-minded attitude towards Catholics by retaining the Marquess of Winchester as well as the Earls of Arundel, Derby and Shrewsbury on her Privy Council, all of whom were of Catholic persuasion and had served on Queen Mary's Council. Later, she was to appoint Sir James Croft to her Council, regardless of the fact that he was a practising Catholic, while she favoured a number of prominent courtiers such as the Earl of Oxford who were also openly Catholic. Across the country, recusants – those who declined to attend Protestant services in their local church – initially went unpunished, as did the continuing practice of Mass within the private chapels of large country houses in the first half of the Queen's reign. Elizabeth herself displayed a crucifix and candles on the altar of her own private chapel, where her organist William Byrd was staunchly Roman Catholic.

The Queen was fortunate that Queen Mary's Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal Reginald Pole, had conveniently died of a fever very shortly after Mary's death, leaving the way clear for Elizabeth to appoint a new archbishop of her own choosing to this key clerical appointment, someone of her thinking who would establish the Church of England in precisely the manner she had in mind. She selected a man who had been known to her since her early childhood, Matthew Parker, who had been made Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University during the reign of Edward VI, and was then defrocked during Mary's reign because he was married. Unlike many Protestants, Parker had not gone into exile abroad during Mary's reign and thus had not been subject to the radically reforming religious zeal prevalent in places such as Geneva. He therefore retained the moderate outlook favoured by the Queen.

Parker had been chaplain to Anne Boleyn, the Queen's mother; indeed, it was primarily on account of this that he accepted the post of archbishop, having promised Anne Boleyn that he would look after her daughter's spiritual needs. The prospect of becoming Archbishop of Canterbury filled Parker with deep foreboding: he was a shy, scholarly man from a relatively humble background, his father having been a weaver in Norfolk. Matthew Parker had been a student at Corpus Christi, a college where he later became Master, and he was happiest mulling over his books amid the cloistered calm of Cambridge. He dreaded having to be Elizabeth's Church leader, head of a spiritual task force dedicated to converting the English nation to the path of Protestant righteousness. ‘Onward Christian Soldiers' was definitely not Parker's style, but the Queen could be extremely persuasive when she wanted someone for such an important task as becoming her first Archbishop of Canterbury. Nevertheless, more than six months were to elapse between Parker first being approached and his consecration as archbishop. Among those witnessing the ceremony was Miles Coverdale.

As a student, Parker had attended the White Horse Inn, the Cambridge meeting place for Protestant debate where Coverdale, Latimer, Ridley and other reformers had been regular attenders. At this time he became friends with William Cecil and Nicholas Bacon, by now prominent members of Elizabeth's Privy Council, and both strongly supportive of Parker becoming archbishop. He was probably the best available choice in the circumstances: the majority of the existing bishops appointed during Mary's time were of strong Catholic persuasion, while the priests now flooding back into England from exile abroad were invariably far too radical for Elizabeth's tastes. It was noticeable that relatively few of those returning were consecrated as bishops, as together the Queen and Parker began restructuring the clerical hierarchy across the nation.

Parker may have had a shy and retiring nature, but he possessed a sound judgement and was gentle but firm in his approach to the task that Elizabeth had given him, one far more difficult than the Queen had envisaged and one which would require a particularly delicate balance of tact and determination. Fortunately for Elizabeth her first archbishop, a wise and saintly man, proved equal to the immense task that she had thrust upon him.

The Queen's first major initiative in re-establishing the Protestant faith as the official religion in her kingdom was to persuade Parliament to pass an Act of Supremacy, thereby confirming her as head of the Church of England, as her father Henry had been. In this issue, Elizabeth was to experience the first setback of her reign. While the bill passed easily through the Puritan-dominated House of Commons, it ran into considerable opposition from the House of Lords, being vetoed
en bloc
by the Catholic bishops and by a considerable number of the nobility, many of them also being Catholics. A distinctive feature of Protestantism in England compared with France was that the strength of the English movement was among the intellectuals and in the growing middle classes, whereas across the Channel it was the aristocracy who favoured the movement. The bill was finally passed by the Upper House only after the Queen agreed to a change of title from ‘Supreme Head of the Faith' to that of ‘Governor of the Faith'.

The Act of Uniformity, the next major piece of legislation put before Parliament by Queen and Council, met with even more opposition. The Act of Uniformity contained modifications to the church service, in particular the wording in the prayer book involving the communion service and the taking of the sacrament. Herein lies one of the fundamental distinctions between the Catholic and Protestant faiths: the Catholic concept of transubstantiation, the belief that bread and wine actually becomes the body and blood of Christ, as opposed to the Protestant doctrine that it is purely symbolic. Again the Queen was fortunate that the late Archbishop Pole had neglected to fill a number of vacant sees, and as a result, the total number of bishops was rather less than it should have been. Their numbers were further reduced as a pair of bishops had been conveniently imprisoned on a charge of disobedience to common authority. When the vital vote came, the Bishop of Lincoln and the Bishop of Winchester were languishing in the Tower of London, while another was unaccountably absent; this proved to be highly convenient for, despite a number of peers voting against the proposal, including three Privy Councillors, the Act of Uniformity was passed by the slim margin of three votes. Elizabeth had been successful in an issue that was vital to the establishment of the Church of England. It was, however, a narrow victory, raising contentious issues and causing the young and inexperienced Queen considerable anxiety. The majority of the recalcitrant bishops subsequently refused to take the Oath of Supremacy required by the Act, and were subsequently deprived of office and dispatched to prison. Archbishop Parker gradually replaced them with Protestant priests, while most of the rest of the clergy, being all for a quiet life, were willing to conform to the new theology. The well-known Vicar of Bray was a cleric in the diocese of Salisbury throughout this period.

By this time John Knox, one of the most fanatical flag-bearers of the Protestant cause, had returned to his native Scotland after living in exile in Geneva throughout Mary's reign, having been a royal chaplain in the Court of Edward VI. While in Geneva, Knox was to meet Jean Calvin. Back in his homeland, Knox lost no time in preaching a series of characteristically fiery sermons which steadily undermined both the position of the Scottish Queen and the Catholic faith in Scotland. It might be thought that Elizabeth would have welcomed this threat to her Scottish cousin and the possibility of the Catholic faith being replaced north of the border, but she thoroughly disapproved of anyone attempting to overthrow the legitimate ruler of a nation, Catholic or otherwise, even one hostile to her own kingdom. Furthermore, Elizabeth felt that Knox's inflammatory publication,
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women
, was directed as much against her as Mary, Queen of Scots, and considered its publication the very year she came to the throne to be particularly significant.

Sir William Cecil had been watching events in Scotland with considerable interest. Elizabeth's new Principal Secretary had been keen for the Queen to meet Knox and had already had a number of meetings with Knox himself with a view of bringing him to Court. However, Elizabeth's animosity toward this Scottish firebrand who had written that being ruled by women was ‘repugnant to nature and contrary to God',
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grew to such an extent that Cecil's resolve weakened and Knox went back to Scotland without a meeting between himself and the feisty English sovereign. It would have been a memorable encounter but by that time alarm bells were ringing across her kingdom: ‘God keep us from such a visitation as Knox has attempted in Scotland,'
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muttered Parker to Sir William Cecil. John Knox's continual agitation against the Scottish Queen assisted her downfall and flight to England in 1568. He died four years later, having successfully established Presbyterianism in Scotland, together with the foundation of the Church of Scotland, a faith that has endured there until the present day.

Knox had little time for Elizabeth's efforts to establish Protestantism in her own kingdom, thundering, ‘Among many sins that have moved God to plague England . . . slackness to reform religion when time and place was granted was one.' The Queen had embarked on a difficult course of action in the manner she chose to adopt in order to establish the Church of England in the Protestant faith. Knox's stinging rebuke highlights the nature of her problem, for in deciding to steer a middle course between the old belief and the new theological thinking, the Queen risked considerable criticism from both sides. In positioning her Church between the heavy scent of Catholicism and the raw undercurrent of more radical doctrines, Elizabeth could well end up antagonizing many while pleasing few. Thus her archbishop was branded the ‘Pope of Lambeth' by disgruntled Protestants, while the Spanish ambassador sneered, ‘. . . what can be expected from a country governed by a Queen'.
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Traditionalists were alarmed by the changes, particularly when zealous Protestant commissioners toured the parishes demanding that altars and ornaments be removed. Statues, banners and roods were torn down in a frenzy of iconoclasm, much of which was later unfairly blamed on Cromwell's rampaging soldiers during the Civil War. This religious vandalism was all very sad and particularly pointless, as a great deal of fine medieval craftsmanship was deliberately destroyed in pursuit of theological correctness. A depressing feature of the sixteenth century was the amount of death and destruction which was instigated in the name of God.

Reformers, on the other hand, were concerned that the pace of change was insufficient. Priests were still required to be properly attired in vestments considered by some to be an outmoded Catholic relic. Due reverence and ritual had still to be observed at all times during the course of services. The old order changed, but not quickly enough to satisfy those of more extreme religious persuasion, particularly the Puritans, ‘those diligent barkers', as they were sometimes derisorily called – the very term ‘Puritan' had originated as a term of insult.

Arguably, Elizabethan reform was squeezing both majesty and mystery out of religious worship. Many of her citizens preferred the orderly ritual and the sheer theatre of the old medieval service, finding earnest Bible-reading rather boring and the tedious preaching of bumbling parsons not at all to their liking. Country folk in particular enjoyed the drama and reassuring mystique of the traditional service; in their eyes the liturgy was becoming far too serious, much too intellectual. Sixteenth-century Protestantism could well be described as appealing more to the head than the heart. Perhaps the Church was beginning to lose touch with its congregation, as the clergy stood in their newly installed pulpits six foot above contradiction. Attendances began to decline, in spite of the Act of Uniformity making church-going compulsory on the Sabbath and holy days. Questions were asked in Parliament but it was of no use, for at the same time Elizabethan society was becoming progressively more materialistic. Leisure activities, such as archery, dancing and football, were sometimes considered preferable to church-going, particularly by the younger generation.

Elizabeth had chosen Matthew Parker to be her archbishop despite the fact that he was married. The Queen preferred her clergy to be single and celibate. Married clerics were one of her pet aversions, a view which possibly resulted from her own chosen lifestyle. When she visited her archbishop's home at Lambeth Palace, where he lived in considerable style, she encountered Parker's wife, Margaret. When it was time for the Queen to take her leave she was for once uncharacteristically lost for words, finally blurting out, ‘Madam, I may not call you; mistress I am ashamed to call you so I know not what to call you but yet I thank you.'
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Margaret Parker sensibly maintained a low profile yet was nevertheless a strong and beneficial influence on her archbishop husband; when she died in 1570, Parker sorely missed her, and was never quite the same man again.