DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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M E M 0 111S 
 
 ii 
 
 OF 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 SECOND UUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 BY 
 
 AGNES STRICKLAND. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE V O E U M E. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 BLANCHARD AND LEA. 
 
 1 8 5 3 . 
 
Printed by T X. & P. 0-. Collins. 
 
fza, 
 
 £ y 3£> F\ 
 
 PUBLISHERS’ 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 This volume, like the “ Memoirs of the Queens of Henry 
 VIII.,” recently issued, is detached from Miss Strickland’s popu¬ 
 lar “Lives of the Queens of England.” The interest attaching 
 to Queen Elizabeth, and the many inquiries that have been made 
 for her memoirs in a separate form, have induced the publishers 
 to issue them in the present shape. Developing as they do the 
 life of the woman as well as the history of the queen, they may 
 be regarded as a finished biography of the most distinguished 
 female sovereign of modern times. 
 
 Philadelphia, April, 1853. *1013 
 

 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI., 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 5 
 
 40 
 
 69 
 
 104 
 
 156 
 
 204 
 
 256 
 
 297 
 
 356 
 
 421 
 
 475 
 
 524 
 

ELIZABETH 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Birth of Elizabeth at Greenwich Palace—Chamber of the Virgins—Remark of 
 her mother, queen Anne Boleyn—Christening—Placed first in the succession 
 —Marriage negotiation with France — Execution of her mother — Elizabeth 
 declared illegitimate—Her governess—Want of apparel—Altered fortunes— 
 Appears at her brother's christening — j j~er early promise — Education — Her 
 first letter—Patronised by Anne of Cleves and Katharine Howard—Residence 
 with her sister Mary—Offered in marriage to the heir of Arran—Her letter to 
 queen Katharine Parr — Proficiency in languages — Her early compositions— 
 Her brother’s love for her—Shares his studies—Her father’s death—Her grief 
 —Wooed by Seymour, the lord admiral—Refuses his hand—Offended at his 
 marriage with the queen dowager—Princess Mary invites her to live with her 
 
 — She resides with queen Katharine Parr — Her governess, Mrs. Ashley, and 
 Roger Ascham—Freedoms of the admiral—The queen’s jealousy—Elizabeth 
 removes to Cheston — Her letters to the queen and admiral — Death and be¬ 
 quest of queen Katharine Parr — The admiral’s clandestine courtship of 
 Elizabeth — Injurious reports concerning it — Elizabeth's conferences with 
 Parry—Her governess, Ashley, sent to the Tower—Examination of Elizabeth 
 —Restraint at Hatfield—Defends her governess—Letter to the protector—Her 
 confessions—Her governess superseded by lady Tyrwhit—Disdainful conduct 
 of Elizabeth—She writes again to the protector—Serious scandals on Elizabeth 
 
 — She intercedes for her governess — Execution of the admiral — Elizabeth's 
 regard for his memory—The ladies of her household. 
 
 We now come to the most distinguished name in the annals of female 
 royalty, that of the great Elizabeth, second queen regnant of England. 
 The romantic circumstances of her birth, the vicissitudes of her child¬ 
 hood, and the lofty spirit with which she bore herself, amidst the storms 
 and perils that darkened over her during her sister’s reign, invested her 
 with almost poetic interest, as a royal heroine, before her title to the 
 regal succession was ratified by the voice of a generous people, and the 
 brilliant success of her government, during a long reign, surrounded 
 her maiden diadem with a blaze of glory which has rendered her the 
 most popular of our monarchs, and blinded succeeding generations to 
 her faults. 
 
 It is not, perhaps, the most gracious office in the world to perform, 
 with strict impartiality, the duty of a faithful biographer to a princess 
 so endeared to national pride as Elizabeth, and to examine, by the cold 
 1 * ( 5 ) 
 
6 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 calm light of truth, the flaws which mar the bright ideal of Spenser’s 
 “ Glorianna,” and Shakespeare’s 
 
 “ Fair vestal throned by the west.” 
 
 Like the wise and popular Augustus Caesar, Elizabeth understood the 
 importance of acquiring the good will of that class whose friendship or 
 enmity goes far to decide the fortunes of princes; the might of her 
 throne was supported by the pens of the master spirits of the age. 
 Very different might have been the records of her reign, if the reason¬ 
 ing "powers of Bacon, the eloquence of Sidney, the poetic talents of 
 Spenser, the wit of Harrington, and the genius of Shakespeare had been 
 arrayed against her, instead of combining to represent her as the imper- 
 sonification of all earthly perfection—scarcely, indeed, short of divinity. 
 
 It has been truly said, however, that no man is a hero to his valet de 
 chamlre, and it is impossible to enter into the personal history of Eng¬ 
 land’s Elizabeth without showing that she occasionally forgot the dig¬ 
 nity of the heroine among her ladies in waiting, and indulged in follies 
 which the youngest of her maids of honour would have blushed t to 
 imitate. The web of her life was a glittering tissue, in which good and 
 evil were strangely mingled, and as the evidences of friend and foe are 
 woven together, without reference to the prejudices of either, or any 
 other object than to show her as she was, the lights and shades must 
 sometimes appear in strong and even painful opposition to each other, 
 for such are the inconsistencies of human nature, such the littlenesses 
 of human greatness. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth first saw the light at Greenwich palace, the favourite 
 abode of her royal parents, Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn. Her birth 
 is thus quaintly but prettily recorded by the contemporary historian, 
 Hall:—“On the 7th day of September, being Sunday, between three 
 and four o’clock in the afternoon, the queen was delivered of a faire 
 ladye, on which day the duke of Norfolk came home to the christen¬ 
 ing.” 
 
 The apartment in which she was born was hung with tapestry re¬ 
 presenting the history of holy virgins, and was from that circumstance 
 called the Chamber of the Virgins. When the queen, her mother, who 
 had eagerly anticipated a son, was told that she had given birth to a 
 daughter, she endeavoured, with ready tact, to attach adventitious im¬ 
 portance to her infant, by saying to the ladies in attendance:—“ They 
 may now, with reason, call this room the Chamber of Virgins, for a 
 virgin is now born in it on the vigil of that auspicious day, on which 
 the church commemorates the nativity of the Virgin Mary.” 1 
 
 Heywood, though a zealous eulogist of the Protestant principles of 
 Elizabeth, intimates that she was under the especial patronage of the 
 blessed Virgin frr>m the hour of her birth, and for that cause devoted to 
 a maiden life. “ The lady Elizabeth,” says he, “ was born on the eve 
 of the Virgin’s nativity, and died on the eve of the Virgin’s annuncia¬ 
 tion. Even that she is now in heaven with all those blessed virgins 
 that had oil in their lamps.” 
 
 1 Leti's Life of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 7 
 
 Notwithstanding the bitter disappointment felt by king Henry at the 
 sex of the infant, a solemn Te Deum was sung in honour of her birth, 
 and the preparations for her christening were made with no less magni¬ 
 ficence than if his hopes had been gratified by the birth of a male heir 
 to the crown. 
 
 The solemnization of that sacred rite was appointed to take place on 
 Wednesday, 10th of September, the fourth day after the birth of the 
 infant princess. On that day the lord mayor, with the aldermen and 
 council of the city of London, dined together at one o’clock, and then, 
 in obedience to their summons, took boat in their chains and robes, and 
 rowed to Greenwich, where many lords, knights, and gentlemen, were 
 assembled to witness the royal ceremonial. 
 
 All the walls between Greenwich palace and the convent of the Grey 
 Friars were hung with arras and the way strewn with green rushes. 
 The church was likewise hung with arras. Gentlemen with aprons 
 and towels about their necks guarded the font, which stood in the mid¬ 
 dle of the church, it was of silver and raised to the height of three 
 steps, and over it was a square canopy of crimson satin fringed with 
 gold—about it, a space railed in, covered with red say. Between the 
 choir and chancel, a closet with a fire had been prepared lest the infant 
 should take cold in being disrobed for the font. When all these things 
 were ready, the child was brought into the hall of the palace, and the 
 procession set out to the neighbouring church of the Grey Friars; of 
 which building no vestige now remains at Greenwich. 
 
 The procession began with the lowest rank, the citizens two and 
 two led the way, then gentlemen, esquires, and chaplains, a gradation 
 of precedence, rather decidedly marked, of the three first ranks, whose 
 distinction is by no means definite in the present times; after them the 
 aldermen, and the lord mayor by himself, then the privy council in 
 robes, then the peers and prelates followed by the earl of Essex, who 
 bore the gilt covered basons; then the marquis of Exeter, with the 
 taper of virgin wax; next the marquis of Dorset, bearing the salt, and 
 the lady Mary of Norfolk (the betrothed of the young duke of Rich¬ 
 mond) carrying the chrisom, which was very rich with pearls and 
 gems; lastly came the royal infant, in the arms of her great-grand¬ 
 mother, the dowager duchess of Norfolk, under a stately canopy which 
 was supported by the uncle of the babe, George Boleyn lord llochford, 
 the lords William and Thomas Howard, the maternal kindred of the 
 mother, and lord Hussey, a newly made lord of the Boleyn blood. 
 The babe was wrapped in a mantle of purple velvet, with a train of 
 regal length, furred with ermine, which was duly supported by the 
 countess of Kent, assisted by the earl of Wiltshire, the grandfather of 
 the little princess, and the earl of Derby. On the right of the infant, 
 marched its great uncle, the duke of Norfolk, with his marshal’s stall-— 
 on the other, the duke of Suffolk. The bishop of London, who per¬ 
 formed the ceremony, received the infant at the church door of the 
 Grey Friars, assisted by a grand company of bishops and mitred ab¬ 
 bots ; and, with all the rites of the Church of Rome, this future great 
 Protestant queen received the name of her grandmother, Elizabeth of 
 
8 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 York. Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, was her godfather, and the 
 duchess of Norfolk and marchioness of Dorset her godmothers. Aflei 
 Elizabeth had received her name, garter king-at-arms cried aloud:— 
 « God of his infinite goodness, send a prosperous life and long, to the 
 high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth !” 
 
 Then a flourish of trumpets sounded, and the royal child was borne 
 to the altar, the gospel was read over her, and she was confirmed by 
 Cranmer, who, with the other sponsors, presented the christening gifts. 
 He gave her a standing cup of gold, the duchess of Norfolk a cup of 
 gold fretted with pearls, being completely unconscious of the chemical 
 antipathy between the acidity of wine and the misplaced pearls. The 
 marchioness of Dorset gave three gilt bowls, pounced, with a cover; and 
 the marchioness of Exeter three standing bowls, graven and gilt, with 
 covers. Then were brought in wafers, comfits, and hypocras, in such 
 abundance that the company had as much as could be desired. 
 
 The homeward procession was lighted on its way to the palace with 
 five hundred staff torches, which were carried by the yeomen of the 
 guard and the king’s servants, but the infant herself was surrounded by 
 gentlemen bearing wax flambeaux. The procession returned in the 
 same order that it went out, save that four noble gentlemen carried the 
 sponsor’s gifts before the child, with trumpets flourishing all the way 
 preceding them, till they came to the door of the queen’s chamber. The 
 king commanded the duke of Norfolk to thank the lord mayor and citi¬ 
 zens heartily in his name for their attendance, and after they had power¬ 
 fully refreshed themselves in the royal cellar, they betook themselves to 
 their barges. 
 
 The queen was desirous of nourishing her infant daughter from her 
 own bosom, but Henry, with his characteristic selfishness, forbade it, 
 lest the frequent presence of the little princess in the chamber of her 
 royal mother should be attended with inconvenience to himself. 1 He 
 appointed for Elizabeth’s nurse the wife of a gentleman named Hokart, 
 whom he afterwards ennobled; and he invested the dutchess-dowager 
 of Norfolk with the oflice of state governess to the new-born babe, 
 giving her for a residence the fair mansion and all the rich furniture, 
 which he had bestowed on Anne Boleyn when he created her marchioness 
 of Pembroke, with a salary of six thousand crowns. 2 
 
 The lady Margaret Bryan, whose husband, sir Thomas Bryan, was a 
 kinsman of queen Anne Boleyn, was preferred to the office of governess 
 in ordinary to Elizabeth, as she had formerly been to the princess Mary: 
 she was called “ the lady mistress.” 
 
 Elizabeth passed the two first months of her life at Greenwich Palace, 
 with the queen her mother, and during that period she was frequently 
 taken for an airing to Eltham, for the benefit of her health. On the 2d 
 of December, she was the subject of the following order in council:— 
 
 “The king’s highness hath appointed that the lady princess Elizabeth (almost 
 three months old) shall be taken from hence towards Hatfield upon Wednesday 
 next week: that on Wednesday night she is to lie and repose at the house of 
 the earl of Rutland at Enfield, and the next day to be conveyed to Hatfield, and 
 
 Leti. 
 
 3 Ibid 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 9 
 
 there to remain with such household as the king's highness has established for 
 the same.” 1 
 
 Hertford Castle was first named, but scratched through and changed 
 to Hatfield. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards she became, in virtue of the act of Parliament 
 which settled the succession, in default of heirs male to Henry VIII., on 
 the female issue of that monarch by Anne Boleyn, the heiress-presump¬ 
 tive to the throne, and her disinherited sister, the princess Mary, was 
 compelled to yield precedency to her. 
 
 Soon after this change in the prospects of the unconscious babe, she 
 was removed to the palace of the bishop of Winchester, at Chelsea, 2 on 
 on whom the charge of herself and her extensive nursery appointments 
 were thrust. When she was thirteen months old, she was weaned, and 
 the preliminaries for this important business were arranged between the 
 officers of her household and the cabinet ministers of her august sire, 
 with as much solemnity as if the fate of empires had been involved in 
 the matter. The following passages are extracted from a letter from sir 
 William Powlet to Cromwell, on this subject:— 
 
 “ The king's grace, well considering the letter directed to you from my lady 
 B.-ain and other my lady princess’ officers, his grace, with the assent of the 
 queen’s grace, hath fully determined the weaning of my lady princess to be 
 done with all diligence.” 
 
 He proceeds to state that the little princess is to have the whole of 
 any one of the royal residences thought best for her, and that conse¬ 
 quently he has given orders for Langley to be put in order for her and 
 her suite ; which orders, he adds— 
 
 This messenger hath, withal, a letter from the queen’s grace to my lady. 
 Brian, and that his grace and the queen s grace doth well and be merry, and all 
 theirs, thanks be to God.—From Sarum, Oct. 9th.” s 
 
 Scarcely was this nursery affair of state accomplished, before Henry 
 exerted his paternal care in seeking to provide the royal weanling with 
 a suitable consort, by entering into a negociation with Francis I. of 
 France for a union between this infant princess and the duke of Angou- 
 leme, the third son of that monarch. Henry proposed that the young 
 duke should be educated in England, and stipulated that he should hold 
 
 1 Strype, vol. i., p. 236. 
 
 3 The air of this beautiful village agreed so well with the rbyal infant, that 
 Henry VIII. built a palace there, of which the husband of her governess, lady 
 Bryan, was given the post of keeper; and so lately as the time of Charles II., 
 one room in the Manor-house, as it was afterwards called, was known by the 
 name of queen Elizabeth’s nursery. There is an old mulberry tree in the gar¬ 
 dens, which claims the honour of having been planted by her hand. The king 
 also erected a conduit at Kensington for supplying the nursery palace with spring 
 water. This conduit still exists within her majesty's forcing grounds, on the 
 west side of Kensington palace green; it is a low building, with walls of great 
 thickness, the roof covered with bricks instead of tiles : the roof is groined with 
 rude arches, and the water pours copiously into a square reservoir. Tradition 
 declares that it was used by queen Elizabeth, when a child, as a bathing house , 
 it is therefore regarded with peculiar interest. — Faulkner's Kensington, p. 26. 
 
 * The letter occurs in 1534. State Papers, Cromwell’s correspondence, in the 
 Chapter-house, Bunde P. 
 
10 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the duchy of Angouleme,' independently of the French crown, in the 
 event of his coming to the crown of England through his marriage with 
 Elizabeth. 2 
 
 The project of educating the young French prince, who was selected 
 for the husband of the presumptive heiress of England, according to the 
 manners and customs of the realm of which she might hereafter become 
 the sovereign, was a sagacious idea, but Henry clogged the matrimonial 
 treaty with conditions which it was out of the power of the king of 
 France to ratify, and it proved abortive. 
 
 The tragic events which rendered Elizabeth motherless in her third 
 year, and degraded her from the lofty position in which she had been 
 placed by the unjust and short-lived paternal fondness of her capricious 
 father, have been fully detailed in the memoir of her unhappy mother, 
 Anne Boleyn. By the sentence which Cranmerhad passed on the mar¬ 
 riage of her parents and her own birth, Elizabeth was branded with the 
 stigma of illegitimacy; and that she was for a time exposed to the sort 
 of neglect and contempt which is too often the lot of children to whom 
 that reproach applies, is evidenced by the following letter from lad} 
 Bryan to Cromwell, imploring for a supply of necessary raiment for the 
 innocent babe who had been so cruelly involved in her mother’s fall:— 
 “ My lord, 
 
 “After my most bounden duty I recommend me to your good lordship, be¬ 
 seeching you to be good lord to me, now in the greatest need that ever was; for 
 it hath pleased God to take from me hem (them) that was my greatest comfort 
 in this world to my great heaviness. Jesu have mercy on her soul! and now I 
 am succourless, and as a redles (without redress) creature, but only from the 
 great trust which I have in the king s grace and your good lordship, for now in 
 you I put all my whole trust of comfort in this world, beseeching you to * * * me 
 that I may do so. My lord, when your lordship was last here, it pleased you to 
 say that I should not mistrust the king's grace nor your lordship. Which word 
 was more comfort to me than I can write, as God knoweth. And now it boldeth 
 (emboldens) me to show you my poor mind. My lord, when my lady Mary’s 
 Grace was born, it pleased the king's grace to appoint me lady-mistress and 
 made me a baroness, and so I have been governess to the children his grace have 
 had since. 
 
 “Now it is so, my lady Elizabeth is put from that degree she was afore, and 
 what degree she is at (of) now, I know not but by hearsay. Therefore, I know 
 not how to order her, nor myself, nor none of hers that I have the rule of—that 
 js her women and grooms, beseeching you to be good lord to my lady, and to all 
 hers, and that she may have some raiment.” 3 
 
 Here Strype has interpolated a query for mourning. There is nothing 
 of the kind implied in the original. If Strype had consulted any female 
 
 'Herbert; Hall; Rapin. 
 
 3 This condition bears decidedly upon the now important question, whether the 
 husband of a queen-regnant of England be entitled to the style of king-consort. 
 It was Henry VIII.’s opinion, that the husband of his daughter, in the event of 
 her succeeding to the crown, might, by her favour, bear that title. Alary I., as 
 we have seen, overstepped the constitutional boundary, by actually associating 
 Philip of Spain in the executive power of the crown; but the law of nature and 
 of reason decides that the husband of a queen-regnant of England ought not to 
 occupy an inferior position in the state to the wife of a king of England, who 
 derives a regal title from her marriage. 
 
 3 Cott. MS. Otho. E. c. x. fol. 230. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 11 
 
 on the articles enumerated, he would have found that few indeed of 
 them indeed were requisite for mourning. The list shows the utter des¬ 
 titution the young princess had been suffered to fall into in regard to 
 clothes, either by the neglect of her mother, or because Anne Boleyn’s 
 power of aiding her child had been circumscribed long before her fall. 
 Let any lady used to the nursery read over the list of the poor child’s 
 wants, represented by her faithful governess, and consider that a twelve- 
 month must have elapsed since she had a new supply :— 
 
 “She,” continues lady Bryan, “hath neither gown nor kirtle (slip), nor petti¬ 
 coat, nor no manner of linen — nor forsmocks (day chemises), nor kerchiefs, nor 
 rails (night dresses), nor body-stitchets (corsets), nor handkerchiefs, nor sleeves, 
 nor mi fliers (mobcaps), nor biggens (night-caps). All these her grace must take. 
 I have driven off as long as I can, that by my troth I can drive it off no longer. 
 Beseeching you, my lord, that ye will see that her grace may have that which is 
 needful for her, as my trust is that ye will do. Beseeching ye, mine own good 
 lord, that I may know from you, by writing, how I shall order myself, and what 
 is the king's grace's pleasure and yours; and that I shall do in everything? And 
 whatsomever it shall please the king's grace or your lordship to command me at 
 all times, I shall fulfil it to the best of my power. 
 
 “My lord, Mr. Shelton (a kinsman of Anne Boleyn) saith ‘he be master of 
 this house.’ What fashion that may be I cannot tell, for I have not seen it afore. 
 My lord, ye be so honourable yourself, and every man reporteth that your lord- 
 ship loveth honour, that I trust you will see the house honourably ordered, as it 
 ever hath been aforetime. And if it please you that I may know what your 
 order is. and if it be not performed, 1 shall certify your lordship of it. For I 
 fear me it will be hardly enough performed. But if the head (evidently Shel¬ 
 ton) knew what honour meaneth, it will be the better ordered—if not, it will be 
 hard to bring to pass. 
 
 “ My lord, Mr. Shelton would have my lady Elizabeth to dine and sup every 
 day at the board of estate. Alas, my lord, it is not meet for a child of her age 
 to keep such rule yet. I promise you, my lord, I dare not take it upon me to 
 keep her grace in health an’ she keep that rule. For there she shall see divers 
 meats, and fruits, and wine, which it would be hard for me to restrain her 
 grace from. Ye know, my lord, there is no place of correction there; and 
 she is yet too young to correct greatly. I know well an’ she be there, I shall 
 neither bring her up to the king's grace’s honour, nor hers, nor to her health, nor 
 to my poor honesty. Wherefore, I show your lordship this my desire, beseech¬ 
 ing you, my lord, that my lady may have a mess of meat at her own lodging, 
 with a good dish or two that is meet (fit) for her grace to eat of; and the rever¬ 
 sion of the mess shall satisfy all her women, a gentleman usher, and a groom, 
 which be eleven persons on her side. Sure am I it will be as great profit to the 
 king's grace this way—(viz., to the economy of the arrangement)—as the other 
 way. For if all this should be set abroad , they must have three or four messes 
 of meat, — whereas this one mess shall suffice them all, with bread and drink, 
 according as my Lady Mary's grace had afore, and to be ordered in all things as 
 her grace was afore. God knoweth my lady (Elizabeth) hath great pain with 
 her great teeth, and they come very slowly forth, which causeth me to suffer her 
 grace to have her will more than I would. I trust to God an’ her teeth were 
 well graft, to have her grace after another fashion than she is yet, so as I trust 
 the king's grace shall have great comfort in her grace. For she is as toward a 
 child and as gentle of conditions, as ever I knew any in my life. Jesu preserve 
 her grace! 
 
 “As for a day or two, at a high time (meaning a high festival), or whensoever 
 it shall please the king’s grace to have her set abroad (shown in public), I trust 
 so to endeavour me, that she shall so do as shall be to the king’s honour and 
 hers; and then after to take her ease again.” 
 
12 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 That is, notwithstanding the sufferings of the young Elizabeth with 
 her teeth, if the king wishes to exhibit her for a short time in public, 
 Lady Bryan will answer for her discreet behaviour, but after the drilling 
 requisite' for such ceremonial, it will be necessary for her to revert to 
 the unconstrained playfulness of childhood. Lady Bryan concludes 
 with this remark :— 
 
 “ I think Mr. Shelton will not be content with this. He need not know it is 
 my desire, but that it is the king's pleasure and yours that it should be so. Good, 
 my lord, have my lady’s grace, and us that be her poor servants, in your remem¬ 
 brance ; and your lordship shall have our hearty prayers by tire grace of Jesu, 
 who ever preserve your lordship with long life, and as much honour as your 
 noble heart can desire. From Hunsdon, with the evil hand (bad writing) of 
 her who is your daily bead-woman. AIargt. Bryasv’ 
 
 “ I beseech you, mine own good lord, be not miscontent that I am so bold to 
 write thus to your lordship. But I take God to my judge, I do it of true heart, 
 and for my discharge, beseeching you, accept my good mind. Endorsed to the 
 right noble and my singular good lord, my lord Privy Seal, be this delivered.” 
 
 This letter affords some insight into the domestic politics of the 
 nursery-palace of Hunsdon at this time. It shows that the infant Eliza¬ 
 beth proved a point of controversy between the two principal officials 
 there, Margaret lady Bryan and Mr. Shelton; both placed in authority 
 by the recently immolated queen Anne Boleyn, and both related to her 
 family. Her aunt had married the head of the Shelton or Skelton family 
 in Norfolk, and this officer at Hunsdon was probably a son of that lady, 
 and consequently a near kinsman of the infant Elizabeth. He insisted 
 that she should dine and sup at a state table where her infant importunity 
 for wine, fruit, and high-seasoned food could not conveniently be re¬ 
 strained by her sensible governess, lady Bryan. Shelton probably wished 
 to keep regal state as long as possible round the descendant of the Bo- 
 leyns; and, in that time of sudden change in royal destinies, had per¬ 
 haps an eye to ingratiate himself with the infant, by appearing in her 
 company twice every day, and indulging her by the gratification of her 
 palate with mischievous dainties. Lady Bryan was likewise connected 
 with the Boleyn family—not so near as the Sheltons, but near enough 
 to possess interest with queen Anne Boleyn, to whom she owed her 
 office as governess or lady mistress, to the infant Elizabeth. There can 
 scarcely exist a doubt, that her lamentation and invocation for the soul 
 of some person lately departed, by whose death she was left succourless, 
 refer to the recent death of Anne Boleyn. 1 It is evident that if Lady 
 Bryan had not conformed to king Henry’s version of the Catholic reli¬ 
 gion she would not have been in authority at Hunsdon, where she was 
 abiding not only with her immediate charge, the princess Elizabeth, but 
 with the disinherited princess Mary. Further there may be observed a 
 striking harmony between the expressions of this lady and those of the 
 princess Mary, who appealed to her father’s paternal feelings in behalf 
 
 1 For some reason best known to himself, Strype has omitted the opening clause 
 of this letter. Perhaps on account of the invocation for the soul of lady Bryan's 
 friend, which proves that Elizabeth's governess belonged to the Catholic church. 
 She was, indeed, the same person under whose care the princess Mary had im¬ 
 bibed that faith with such extraordinary fervency. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 13 
 
 of her sister the infant Elizabeth, a few weeks later, almost in the same 
 words used by lady Bryan in this letter. 1 A coincidence which proves 
 unity of purpose between the governess and the princess Mary, regard¬ 
 ing the motherless child. 
 
 Much of the future greatness of Elizabeth may reasonably be attri¬ 
 buted to the judicious training of her sensible and conscientious go¬ 
 verness, combined with the salutary adversity, which deprived her of 
 the pernicious pomp and luxury that had surrounded her cradle while 
 she was treated as the heiress of England. The first public action of 
 Elizabeth’s life was her carrying the chrisom of her infant brother, 
 Edward VI., at the christening solemnity of that prince. She was borne 
 in the arms of the earl of Hertford, brother of the queen her step-mother, 
 when the assistants in the ceremonial approached the font; but when 
 they left the chapel, the train of her little grace, just four years old, was 
 supported by Lady Herbert, the sister of Katharine Parr, as, led by the 
 hand of her elder sister, the princess Mary, she walked with mimic dig¬ 
 nity, in the returning procession, to the chamber of the dying queen. 2 
 
 At that period the royal ceremonials of Henry VIII.’s court were 
 blended with circumstances of wonder and tragic excitement, and strange 
 and passing sad, it must have been, to see the child of the murdered 
 queen, Anne Boleyn, framing her innocent lips to lisp the name of mo¬ 
 ther to her, for whose sake she had been rendered motherless, and 
 branded with the stigma of illegitimacy. In all probability the little 
 Elizabeth knelt to her, as well as to her cruel father, to claim a bene¬ 
 diction in her turn, after the royal pair had proudly bestowed their 
 blessing on the newly-baptized prince, whose christening was so soon 
 to be followed by the funeral of the queen his mother. 
 
 It was deemed an especial mark of the favour of her royal father, that 
 Elizabeth was considered worthy of the honour of being admitted to 
 keep company with the young prince her brother. She was four years 
 older than he, and having been well trained and gently nurtured her¬ 
 self, was “ better able,” says Hey wood, “ to teach and direct him, even 
 from the first of his speech and understanding.” Cordial and entire was 
 the affection betwixt this brother and sister, insomuch that he no sooner 
 began to know her but he seemed to acknowledge her, and she, being 
 of more maturity, as deeply loved him. On the second anniversary of 
 Edward’s birth, when the nobles of England presented gifts of silver and 
 gold, and jewels, to the infant heir of the realm, the lady Elizabeth’s 
 grace gave the simple offering of a shirt of cambric worked by her own 
 hands. 3 She was then six years old. Thus early was this illustrious 
 lady instructed in the feminine accomplishment of needle-w'ork, and 
 directed to turn her labours in that way to a pleasing account. 
 
 From her cradle, Elizabeth was a child of the fairest promise, and 
 possessed the art of attracting the regard of others. Wriothesley, who 
 visited the two princesses, when they were together at Hertford castle, 
 December 17th, 1539, was greatly impressed with the precocious under- 
 
 1 See Life of Queen Mary, vol. v. of this work. 
 
 •See the Memoir of Jane Seymour, vol. iv. 
 
 VOL. VI. -2 
 
 a Ellis. Royal Letters. 
 
14 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 standing of the young Elizabeth, of whom he gives the following pretty 
 
 account:— 
 
 «* I yen; then to my lady Elizabeth's grace. and to the same made his majesty's 
 most hearty commendations, declaring that :.is highness desired to hear of her 
 hea th. and sent his biesstrig; she gave humble thanks, inquiring after his 
 majesty's welfare, and that with as great a gravity as she had been forty years 
 old. If she be no worse educated than she now appearetb to me, she will 
 prove of no iess honour than beseemeth her fatner's daughter, whom the Lord 
 long preserve." 1 
 
 The feelings of ’eak>us dislike, which the princess Mary naturally 
 fel: t: wards her infant rival, were gradually subdued, by the endearing 
 caresses of the innocent child, when they became sisters in adversity. 
 When Marv aeam incurred the displeasure of her capricious sire, and 
 was forbidden to come within a certain distance of the court. Elizabeth 
 became once more the associate of her tide brother's sports, and after¬ 
 wards shared his studies. The early predilection of these royal children 
 for their learning was remarkable. “As soon as it was light they called 
 for their books; so welcome." says Hey wood, “ were their hcrra mat-a¬ 
 nna that they seemed to prevent the night's repose for the entertain¬ 
 ment of the morrow’s schooling." They took no less delight in the 
 practice of their leligious exercises aDd the study of the Scriptures, to 
 which their first hours were exclusively devoted. u The rest of the i 
 forenoon." continues our author. *■ breakfast, alone, excepted, they were 
 instructed in languages and science, or moral learning, collected out of 
 such autr ors as md best conduce to the instruction of princes, and 
 v hen be was called out to his more active exercises in the open air, she 
 betook herself to her lute or idol, and when wearied with that, employed 
 her time in needle-work.” 
 
 On the marriage of the king, her father, with Anne of Cleves. in 1540, 
 the your.£ E-izanetn expressed the most ardent desire to see the new 
 queen, and to be permitted to pay her the homage of a daughter. When 
 her governess mao- mis request, in the name of her royal pupil, to the 
 ktr.g. he is said to have replied. - That she had had a mother so different 
 from the queen, that she ought not to wish to see her, but she had his 
 permission to write to her majesty." 2 On which, the following letter, 
 probably the firs; ever written by Elizabeth, was addressed by her to 
 her Dew step-mother. 
 
 - Madame, . | 
 
 : r twc c ontending wishes—one is — my impatient , 
 
 desire to see your majesty, the other that of rendering the obedience I owe to 
 the corn mauds of the ting my father, which prevent me from leaving my | 
 h_',.se cd he has g'ven me full permission to do so. But 1 hope that I shail be 
 a :r sh my to gratify both these desires In the meantime, I entreat your ma-. 
 jesry to permit roe to show, by this biilet. the zeal with which I devote my ■ 
 respect to you as my queen, and my entire obedience to you as to my mother, j 
 1 am to young and feeble to have power to do more than to felicitate you withi , 
 a. my hear in this eommeu .ement of your marriage. I hope that your majesty 
 will nave as muc:. good will for me as 1 have zeal for your service." 5 
 
 - Mate Papers. 30th Hen. VUL a Led s Life of Elizabeth. 
 
 ’Let s Elizabeth. Leri always modernizes not only the orthography but the 
 phraseology of me documents he quotes. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 15 
 
 This letter is without date or signature, and Led, who rarely gives 
 his authorities, does not explain the source whence it was derived t hut 
 there is no reason to dispute its authenticity. He tells us •• that Anne 
 of Cleves, when she saw Elizabeth, was charmed with her beauty, wit, 
 and endearing caresses — that she conceived the most tender affection for 
 her — and when the conditions of her divorce were arranged, she re¬ 
 quested, as a great favour, that she might be permitted to see her some 
 times — addin?. “ that to have had that young princess for her daughter 
 would have been greater happiness to her than being queen.” The pa¬ 
 ternal pride of Henry was gratified at this avowal, and he agreed that 
 she should see Elizabeth as often as she wished, provided that she was 
 only addressed by her as the lady Anne of Cleves. 1 . . 
 
 Elizabeth found no less favour in the eyes of her new step-mother, 
 the young and beautiful Katharine Howard, who being cousin-german 
 to her unhappy mother, Anne Boleyn. took the young princess under 
 her especial protection, and treated her with every mark of tenderness 
 and consideration. On the day that she was publicly acknowledged by 
 Henry as his queen, she directed that the princess Elizabeth should be 
 placed opposite to her at table because she was of her own blood and 
 lineage. It was also observed that at all the fetes and public shows 
 which took place in honour of her marriage with the king, queen Katha¬ 
 rine gave the lady Elizabeth the place of honour nearest to her own 
 person, saying - that she was her cousin.” 2 It was supposed that this 
 partial step-mother intended to use her powerful influence with the king 
 for the repeal of the act of parliament which had pronounced Elizabeth to 
 be illegitimate, and thus would she have been given a second time the pre¬ 
 ference to her elder sister in the succession. Notwithstanding the favour 
 which was shown to Elizabeth by the Howard queen, she was always 
 entreating the king her father to allow her to remain with the lady Anne 
 of Cleves. for whom she ever manifested a very sincere regard. The 
 attachments formed by Elizabeth in childhood and early youth were of 
 an ardent and enduring character, as will be hereafter shown. 
 
 After the disgrace and death of queen Katharine Howard. Elizabeth 
 resided chiefly with her sister Mary, at Havering Bower. In the sum¬ 
 mer of 1543, she was present when Mary gave audience to the imperial 
 ambassadors;* * she was then ten years old. Soon after, king Henry 
 offered her hand to the earl of Arran for his son, in order to win his co¬ 
 operation in his dariing project of uniting the crowns of England and 
 Scotland by a marriage between the infant queen. 31 ary Stuart- and his 
 son prince Edward. Perhaps the Scottish earl did not give Henry credit 
 for the sincerity of a proposal so derogatory to the dignity of the prin¬ 
 cess Elizabeth, for he paid little attention to this extraordinary ofier, and 
 espoused the interest of the French court. According to Marillac, Henry 
 had previously mentioned his intention of espousing Elizabeth to an 
 intant of Portugal, but all Henry's matrimonial schemes for his children 
 were doomed to remain unfulfilled, and Elizabeth, instead of being sacri ¬ 
 ficed in her childhood in some political marriage, had the good fortu ne 
 
 1 Leri. 1 Leri's Elizabeth. 
 
 * State Paper MS. See Memoir of Mary, vol. v. 
 
16 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 to complete a most superior education under the auspices of the good 
 and learned Katharine Parr, Henry’s sixth queen and her fourth step¬ 
 mother. Katharine Parr was well acquainted with Elizabeth before she 
 became queen, and greatly admired her wit and manners. On her mar¬ 
 riage with the king she induced him to send for the young princess to 
 court, and to give her an apartment in the palace of Whitehall, contigu¬ 
 ous to her own, and bestowed particular attention on all her comforts. 
 According to Leti, Elizabeth expressed her acknowledgments in the fol¬ 
 lowing letter:— 
 
 “ Madame, 
 
 “The affection that you have testified in wishing that I should be suffered to 
 be with you in the court, and requesting this of the king my father, with so 
 much earnestness, is a proof of your goodness. So great a mark of your tender¬ 
 ness for me obliges me to examine myself a little, to see if I can find anything 
 in me that can merit it, but I can find nothing but a great zeal and devotion to 
 the service of your majesty. But as that zeal has not yet been called into action 
 so as to manifest itself, I see well that it is only the greatness of soul in your 
 majesty which makes you do me this honour, and this redoubles my zeal towards 
 your majesty. I can assure you also that my conduct will be such that you shall 
 never have cause to complain of having done me the honour of calling me to 
 you; at least, I will make it my constant care that I do nothing but with a design 
 to show always my obedience and respect. I await with much impatience the 
 orders of the king my father for the accomplishment of the happiness for which 
 I sigh, and I remain, with much submission, your majesty’s very dear 
 
 “ Elizabeth.” 1 
 
 There is no date to this letter, and as Elizabeth certainly was present 
 at the nuptials of her royal father with Katharine Parr, it is more pro¬ 
 bable that it was written after the return of Henry and Katharine from 
 their bridal progress, as she addresses the latter by her regal title. Eli¬ 
 zabeth at that time was a child of extraordinary acquirements, to which 
 were added some personal beauty and very graceful manners. She had 
 wit at command, and sufficient discretion to understand when and 
 where she might display it. Those who knew her best were accus¬ 
 tomed to say of her, “ that God, who had endowed her with such rare 
 gifts, had certainly destined her to some distinguished employment in 
 the world.” At the age of twelve she was considerably advanced in 
 sciences, which rarely, indeed, at that era, formed part of the education 
 of princesses. She understood the principles of geography, architecture, 
 
 1 This and the preceding, addressed to Anne of Cleves, are the earliest letters 
 ever written by Elizabeth. There is another, two or three years later, addressed 
 by her to sir Thomas Carden, who was one of her father's gentlemen of the 
 privy chamber, a great favourite of his, and a very greedy recipient of church 
 property. This person had the care of the castle and lands of Donnington, once 
 belonging to Chaucer, and afterwards part of the spoils confiscated to the crown 
 on the attainder of De la Pole, and at this time an appanage presented to Eliza¬ 
 beth by her father. She afterwards, by her own account, forgot she had such a 
 house as Donnington, nevertheless she was perfectly well informed as to its mi¬ 
 nutest details before the death of Henry VIII. The letter itself is not worth 
 transcribing, being a perplexed piece of composition, in which the young prin 
 cess, commencing — “Gentle Mr. Carden,” proceeds to exonerate herself from 
 having listened to an enemy of his, “one Mansel, a person of evil communica¬ 
 tion and worse life,” she subscribes herself, “ Your loving friend, Elizabeth.” 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 17 
 
 liie mathematics, and astronomy, and astonished all her instructors by 
 the facility with which she acquired knowledge. Her handwriting was 
 beautiful, and her skill in languages remarkable. Hentzner, the German 
 traveller, mentions having seen a little volume in the royal library at 
 Whitehall, written by queen Elizabeth, when a child, in French, on vel¬ 
 lum. It was thus inscribed: 
 
 “A treshaut, et tres puissant, et redoubte prince Henry YHI., de ce nom, roy 
 d'Angleterre, de France et de Irelande, defenseur de ia foy. 
 
 *• Elisabeth, sa tres humble fille, rend salut et obedience .” 1 
 
 Among the royal manuscripts, in the British Museum is a small vol¬ 
 ume, in an embroidered binding, consisting of prayers and meditations, 
 selected from different English writers by queen Katharine Parr, and 
 translated and copied by the princess Elizabeth, in Latin, French, and 
 Italian. The volume is dedicated to queen Katharine Parr, and her 
 initials, R. K. P., are introduced in the binding between those of the 
 Saviour, wrought in blue silk and silver thread by the hand of Eliza¬ 
 beth. It is dated Hertford, December 20,1545. Camden also mentions 
 a “ Godly Meditation of the Soule, concerning love towardes Christe our 
 Lorde,” translated by Elizabeth from the French. Her master for the 
 Italian language was Castiglione. Like her elder sister, the princess 
 Mary, she was an accomplished Latin scholar, and astonished some of 
 the most erudite linguists of that age by the ease and grace with which 
 she conversed in that language. French, Italian, Spanish, and Flemish, 
 she both spoke and wrote, with the same facility, as her native tongue. 
 She was fond of poetry, and sometimes made verses that were not de¬ 
 void of merit, but she only regarded this as the amusement of her 
 leisure hours, bestowing more of her time and attention on the study 
 of history than anything else. To this early predilection she probably 
 owed her future greatness as a sovereign. Accomplishments may well 
 be dispensed with in the education of princes, but history' is the true 
 science for royal students, and they should early be accustomed to re¬ 
 flect and draw moral and philosophical deductions from the rise and fall 
 of nations, and to trace the causes that have led to the calamities of 
 sovereigns in every age; for neither monarchs nor statesmen can be fit¬ 
 ted for the purposes of government unless they have acquired the faculty 
 of reading the future by the lamp of the past. 
 
 Elizabeth was indefatigable in her pursuit of this queenly branch of 
 knowledge, to which she devoted three hours a day, and read works in 
 all languages that afforded information on the subject. It was, however, 
 in this predilection alone that she betrayed the ambition which formed 
 the leading trait of her character. While thus fitting herself in her 
 childhood for the throne, which as yet she viewed through a vista far 
 remote, she endeavoured to conceal her object by the semblance of the 
 most perfect humility, and affecting a love for the leisure and quiet ot 
 private life. 2 
 
 In the treaty between Henry VIII. and the emperor Charles, in 1545, 3 
 
 1 Hentzners Visit to England 
 
 3 Herbert's Henry VIII 
 2 * 
 
 B 
 
 * Leti. 
 
IS 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 there was a proposal to unite Elizabeth in marriage to Philip of Spain 
 who afterwards became the consort of her elder sister Mary. The ne¬ 
 gotiation came to nothing. The name of Elizabeth was hateful to 
 Charles V. as the child of Anne Boleyn. During the last illness of the 
 king her father, Elizabeth chiefly resided at Hatfield House,' with the 
 vouno- prince her brother, whose especial darling she was. It is said 
 she shared the instruction which he there received from his learned pre¬ 
 ceptors. sir John Cheke, doctor Cox, and sir Anthony Cooke. Eliza¬ 
 beth, after her accession to the throne, made Cox bishop of Ely, and 
 bestowed great favour on Cooke and his learned daughters, lady Bacon 
 and ladv Burleigh. They were the companions of her youth, and after¬ 
 wards the wives of two of her most esteemed ministers of state. 
 
 The tender love that endeared Edward and Elizabeth to each other, 
 in infancy, appears to have ripened into a sweeter, holier friendship, as 
 their kindred minds expanded, “ for,” says sir Robert Naunton, “ besides 
 the consideration of blood, there was between these two princes a con¬ 
 currence and sympathy of their natures and affections, together with the 
 celestial bond, conformity in religion, which made them one.” in De¬ 
 cember, 1546, when the brother and sister were separated, by the re¬ 
 moval of Elizabeth to Enfield and Edward to Hertford, the prince was 
 so much afflicted that she wrote to him, entreating him to be comforted, 
 and to correspond with her; he replied in these tender words: 
 
 The change of place, most dear sister, does not so much vex me as your de¬ 
 parture from me. But nothing can now occur to me more grateful than yout 
 letters. I particularly feel this, because you first began the correspondence and 
 challenged me to write to you. I thank you most cordially both for vour kind¬ 
 ness and the quickness of its coming, and I will struggle vigorously that if 1 
 cannot excel you I will at least equal you in regard and attention. It is a com¬ 
 fort to my regret that I hope shortly to see you again if no accident intervene. " 1 * 3 
 
 The next time the royal brother and sister met was on the 30th of 
 January, 1547, when the earl of Hertford and sir Anthony Brown 
 brought young Edward privately from Hertford to Enfield, and there, in 
 the presence of the princess Elizabeth, declared to him and her the death 
 of the king their father. Both of them received the intelligence with 
 passionate tears, and they united in such lamentations as moved all pre- 
 
 1 Henry VIII. had forced Goodrich, bishop of Ely, to surrender this residence, 
 which was a country palace pertaining to his see, in exchange for certain lands 
 in Cambridgeshire, and established it as a nursery palace for his children: it 
 had been used as such in his father's reign, for the youngest son of Elizabeth of 
 York and Henry VII. Edmund, duke of Somerset, died there. It is (for the 
 structure still exists) a venerable witness of the past, situated on the brow of a 
 pleasant hill, overlooking the ancient town of Bishop's Hatfield, with the river 
 Lea winding through its grounds : the most antiquated part of the building was 
 erected by Morton, bishop of Ely, in the reign of Edward IV., and a little square 
 pleasure-garden, with its hedges clipped in arches, is kept precisely in the same 
 state as when Elizabeth sported therein with her little brother. She received a 
 grant of this demesne from her brother's regency in 1550, and resided with some 
 splendour and magnificence therein during the last years of her sister's life. 
 The cradle of Elizabeth is shown here.—History of Hatfield House, by P. F 
 
 Robinson, F. A. S. 
 
 ’ Strype. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 19 
 
 sent to weep. “Never,” says Hayward, “ was sorrow more sweetly set 
 forth, their faces seeming rather to beautify their sorrow than their sor¬ 
 row to cloud the beauty of their faces.” 1 
 
 The boy-king was conducted the next day to London, preparatory to 
 his inauguration; but neither the grief which he felt for the death of 
 his parent, nor the importance of the high vocation to which he had 
 been thus early summoned, rendered him forgetful of his sweetest sis¬ 
 ter, as he ever called Elizabeth; and in reply to the letter of condo¬ 
 lence, which she addressed to him, on the subject of their mutual 
 bereavement, he wrote—•“ There is very little need of my consoling 
 you, most dear sister, because from your learning you know what you 
 ought to do, and from your prudence and piety you perform what your 
 learning causes you to know.” In conclusion, he compliments her on 
 the elegance of her sentences, and adds, “ I perceive you think of our 
 father’s death with a calm mind.” 
 
 By the conditions of her royal father’s will, Elizabeth was placed the 
 third in the order of the royal succession after himself, provided her 
 brother and sister died without lawful issue, and neither queen Katha¬ 
 rine Parr nor any future queen bore children to the king. In point of 
 fortune, she was left on terms of strict equality with her elder sister— 
 that is to say, with a life annuity of three thousand pounds a year, and 
 a marriage portion of ten thousand pounds, provided she married with 
 the consent of the king her brother and his council; otherwise she was 
 to forfeit that provision. 
 
 More than one historian 2 has asserted that sir Thomas Seymour made 
 .a daring attempt to contract marriage with the youthful princess Eliza¬ 
 beth, before he renewed his addresses to his old love, Katharine Parr. 
 He had probably commenced his addresses to the royal girl before her 
 father’s death, for her governess, Katharine Ashley, positively deposed 
 that it was her opinion that if Henry VIII. had lived a little longer, she 
 would have been given to him for a wife. Leti tells us, that the admiral 
 offered his hand to Elizabeth, immediately after king Henry’s death: 
 she was then in her fourteenth year. According to Sharon Turner, the 
 ambitious project of the admiral was detected and prevented by the 
 council; but Leti, who, by his access to the Aylesbury MSS., appears 
 to have obtained peculiar information on the private history of the 
 reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI., assures us, that the refusal pro¬ 
 ceeded from Elizabeth herself. He gives us a truly frenchified version 
 of the correspondence which passed between her and Seymour, exactly 
 a month after the death of Henry VIII. ; 3 for Seymour’s letter, in which 
 he requests the young princess to consent to ally herself to him in mar¬ 
 riage, is dated Eebruary 26, 1547; and Elizabeth, in her reply, Feb¬ 
 ruary 27, tells him, “ That she has neither the years nor the inclination 
 to think of marriage at present, and that she would not have any one 
 imagine that such a subject had ever been mentioned to her, at a time 
 when she ought to be wholly taken up in weeping for the death of the 
 king her father, to whom she owed so many obligations, and that she 
 
 1 Life of Edward VI. 
 
 * I.eti's Life of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 * Sharon Turner; Burnet. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 ‘JO 
 
 intended to devote at least two years to wearing black for him, and 
 mourning for his loss; and that even when she shall have arrived at 
 years of discretion, she wishes to retain her liberty, without entering 
 into any matrimonial engagement.” 
 
 Four days after the admiral received this negative, he was the ac¬ 
 cepted lover of his former Jiancie , the queen-dowager Katharine Parr. 
 Elizabeth, who had been, on the demise of the king her father, con¬ 
 signed by the council of the royal minor, her brother, to the care and 
 tutelage of queen Katharine, with whom she was then residing, was, 
 according to our author, much displeased at the conduct of that lady, 
 not only on account of the precipitation with which she had entered 
 into a matrimonial engagement, which was considered derogatory to the 
 honour due to the late king’s memory, but because she had induced het 
 to reject the addresses of the admiral, by representing to her how un¬ 
 suitable such an alliance would be to her, in every point of view. Now, 
 although the queen-dowager only performed her duty, as the widow of 
 the deceased majesty of England, in giving such counsel to the orphan 
 princess, to whom she had undertaken the office of a mother, her own 
 proceedings, by rendering the motives of her advice questionable, ex¬ 
 cited reflections little to her advantage in the mind of Elizabeth, and 
 perhaps sowed the first seeds of the fatal jealousy which afterwards 
 divided them. 
 
 According to Leti, the princess Mary, who was no less offended than 
 Elizabeth, at the indecorous haste of their royal stepmother’s marriage, 
 wrote to Elizabeth, offering her a residence in her house, entreating her 
 to quit that of the queen-dowager, and come to her, that both might 
 unite in testifying their disapproval of this unsuitable alliance. 
 
 Elizabeth, however, young as she was, had too much self-command 
 to commit herself by putting a public affront on the best-loved uncle 
 of the king her brother, who was by no means unlikely to supersede 
 Somerset in his office of protector; neither did she feel disposed to 
 come to a rupture with the queen-dowager, whose influence with king 
 Edward was considerable: therefore, in reply to her sister, she wrote a 
 very political letter, 1 “ telling her that it behoved them both to submit 
 with patience to that which could not be cured, as neither of them were 
 in a position to offer any objection to what had taken place, without 
 making their condition worse than it was; observing, that they had to 
 do with a very powerful party, without themselves possessing the 
 
 1 The whole of this curious letter may be seen in Leti's Life of Elizabeth; but, 
 upfortunately, our author’s desire of rendering his book entertaining has led him 
 to modernize the language and construction so considerably, that very few traces 
 are discernible of the peculiar style of that princess. The readers of the 17th 
 and 18th centuries neither understood nor valued documentary history; hence 
 Leti, who had access to so many precious and now inaccessible records, in the 
 collection of his friend the earl of Aylesbury, and also to our national archives, 
 as nistoriographer to king Charles II., only availed himself of such facts as were 
 of a romantic character, and presented the royal letters of the 16th century in 
 phraseology more suitable to the era of Louis XIV. than that of Edward VI.; 
 consequently, many things that were true in substance have been doubted, be 
 cause of the inconsistent form in which they were introduced. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 21 
 
 slightest credit at court; so that the only thing they conld do was to 
 dissemble the pain they felt at the disrespect with which their father’s 
 memory had been treated. She excuses herself from accepting Mary’s 
 invitation, “ because,” she says, “ the queen had shown her so much 
 friendship, that she could not withdraw herself from her protection 
 without appearing ungrateful;” and concludes in these words:—I 
 shall always pay the greatest deference to the instructions you may 
 give me, and submit to whatsoever your highness shall be pleased to 
 ordain.” The letter is without date or signature. 
 
 For a year, at least, after the death of her royal father, Elizabeth con¬ 
 tinued to pursue her studies under the able superintendence of her ac¬ 
 complished stepmother, with whom she resided, either at the dower 
 palace at Chelsea, or the more sequestered shades of Hanworth. 
 Throckmorton, the kinsman of queen Katharine Parr, draws the fol¬ 
 lowing graceful portrait of the manners of the youthful princess at this 
 era of her life : 
 
 “Elizabeth there sojourning for a time, 
 
 Gave fruitful hope of blossom blown in prime. 
 
 “For as this lady was a princess born, 
 
 So site in princely virtues did excel; 
 
 Humble she was, and no degree would scorn, 
 
 To talk with poorest souls she liked well; 
 
 The sweetest violets bend nearest to the ground, 
 
 The greatest states in lowliness abound. 
 
 “If some of us that waited on the queen, 
 
 Did ought for her, she past in thankfulness, 
 
 I wondered at her answers, which have been 
 So fitly placed in perfect readiness; 
 
 She was disposed to mirth in company, 
 
 Yet still regarding civil modesty.” 1 
 
 The princess Elizabeth, while residing with queen Catharine Parr, had 
 her own ladies and officers of state, and a retinue in all respects suitable 
 to her high rank as sister to the reigning sovereign. Her governess, 
 Mrs. Katharine Ashley, to whom she was fondly attached, was married 
 to a relative of the unfortunate queen her mother, Anne Boleyn, and it 
 is to be observed that Elizabeth, although that mother’s name was to her 
 a sealed subject, bestowed to the very end of her life her chief favour 
 and confidence on her maternal kindred. 
 
 The learned William Grindal was Elizabeth’s tutor, till she was placed 
 under the still more distinguished preceptorship of Roger Ascham. The 
 following letter from that great scholar was addressed to Mrs. Katharine 
 Ashley, before he had obtained the tutelage of her royal charge, and, 
 both on account of the period at which it was written and its being in 
 English, it is very curious. 2 
 
 “Gentle Mrs. Astley, Would God my wit wist what words would express the 
 thanks you have deserved of all true English hearts, for that noble imp (Elizabeth) 
 by your labour and wisdom now flourishing in all goodly godliness, the fruit 
 whereof doth even now redound to her Grace's high honour and profit. 
 
 1 Throckmorton MS. 
 
 3 Whittaker's History of Richmondshire, vol. ii., p. 270. 
 
22 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “ I wish her Grace to come to that end in perfectness with likelyhood of her 
 wit, and painfulness in her study, true trade of her teaching, which your diligent 
 overseeing doth most constantly promise. And although this one thing be suf¬ 
 ficient for me to love you, yet the knot which hath knit Mr. Astley and you 
 together, doth so bind me also to you, that if my ability would match my good 
 will you should find no friend faster. He is a man I loved for his virtue before 
 I knew him through acquaintance, whose friendship I account among my chief 
 gains gotten at court. Your favour to Mr. Grindall, and gentleness towards me, 
 are matters sufficient enough to deserve more good-will than my little power is 
 able to requite. 
 
 “My good-will hath sent you this pen of silver for a token. Good Mrs., I 
 would have you in any case to labour, and not to give yourself to ease. I wish 
 all increase of virtue and honour to that, my good lady (Elizabeth), whose wit, 
 good Mrs. Astley, I beseech you somewhat favour. Blunt edges be dull and 
 (en-) dure much pain to little profit; the free edge is soon turned if it be not 
 handled thereafter. If you pour much drink at once into a goblet, the most part 
 will dash out and run over; if ye pour it softly, you may fill it even to the top, 
 and so her Grace, I doubt not, by little and little, may be increased in learning, 
 that at length greater cannot be required. And if you think not this, gentle Mrs. 
 Astley, yet I trust you will take my words as spoken, although not of the greatest 
 wisdom, yet not of the least good-will. I pray commend you to my good Lady 
 of Troye, and all that company of godly gentlewomen. I send my Lady 
 (Elizabeth) her pen, an Italian book, a book of prayers. Send the silver pen 
 which is broken, and it shall be mended quickly. So I commit and commend 
 you all to the Almighty’s merciful protection. Your ever obliged friend, 
 
 “ Roger Ascham. 
 
 “ To his very loving friend, Mrs. Astley.” 1 * 
 
 On the death of his friend, William Grindall, Ascham was appointed 
 tutor to the Lady Elizabeth, then about sixteen, with whom he read 
 nearly the whole of Cicero’s works, Livy, the orations of Isocrates, the 
 tragedies of Sophocles, and the New Testament in Greek. Some dis¬ 
 turbances in Ascham’s own family separated him from his royal pupil in 
 1550. 
 
 Sufficient account has been given, in the memoir of queen Katharine 
 Parr, of the rude and improper conduct of the lord admiral sir Thomas 
 Seymour to the fair young royal student, while under the care of his 
 consort the queen dowager, at Chelsea, Hanworth, and Seymour-Place. 3 
 The boisterous romping to which the queen was at first a party, was re¬ 
 peated in her absence, and when Mrs. Ashley remonstrated with the ad¬ 
 miral on the indecorum of his behaviour to the young princess, and en¬ 
 treated him to desist, he replied with a profane oath, “ that he would 
 not, for he meant no harm.” 3 
 
 Few girls of fifteen have ever been placed in a situation of greater 
 peril than Elizabeth was at this period of her life, and if she passed 
 through it without incurring the actual stain of guilt, it is certain that 
 she did not escape scandal. The queen-dowager, apparently terrified at 
 the audacious terms of familiarity on which she found her husband en¬ 
 deavouring to establish himself with her royal stepdaughter, hastened 
 to prevent further mischief by effecting an immediate separation between 
 them. 
 
 1 Ascham spells Elizabeth Ashley’s name, Astley. 
 
 * Vol v., Life of Katharine Parr. 
 
 Haynes’ State Papers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 23 
 
 The time of Elizabeth’s departure from the house and protection of 
 queen Katharine Parr, was a week after Whitsuntide 1548. She then 
 removed with her governess, Mrs. Katharine Ashley, and the rest of her 
 establishment, to Cheston, and afterwards to Hatfield and Ashridge. 1 * 
 
 That Katharine Parr spoke with some degree of severity to Elizabeth, 
 on the levity of her conduct, there can be no doubt, from the allusions 
 made by the latter, in the following letter, to the expressions used by 
 her majesty when they parted. Nothing, however, can be more meek 
 and conciliatory than the tone in which Elizabeth writes, although the 
 workings of a wounded mind are perceptible throughout. The pen¬ 
 manship of the letter is exquisitely beautiful. 
 
 “ The Princess Elizabeth to Katharine Parr.’ 
 
 “Although I could not be plentiful in giving thanks, for the manifold kind¬ 
 nesses received at your highness's hand, at my departure, yet I am something to 
 be borne withal, for truly I was replete with sorrow to depart from your high¬ 
 ness, especially seeing you undoubtful of health, and albeit I answered little, I 
 weighed it more deeper when you said,— 1 you would warn me of all evilnesses 
 that you should hear of me,’ for if your grace had not a good opinion of me, 
 you would not have offered friendship to me that way at all,—meaning the con¬ 
 trary. But what may I more say than thank God for providing such friends for 
 me, desiring God to enrich me with their long life, and me grace to be in heart 
 no less thankful to receive it than I am now made glad in writing to show it? 
 and although I have plenty of matter here, I will stay, for I know you are not 
 quick to rede. From Cheston, this present Saturday. 
 
 “ Your highness's humble daughter, 
 
 “ Elizabeth.” 
 
 Superscribed—•“ To the Queen's highness.” 
 
 From another letter addressee] by Elizabeth to her royal stepmother, 
 which has been printed in the memoir of that queen, there is every 
 reason to believe that they continued to write to each other on very 
 friendly and affectionate terms. Queen Katharine even sanctioned a 
 correspondence between her husband and the princess, and the follow¬ 
 ing elegant, but cautious letter, was written by Elizabeth, in reply to an 
 apology which he had addressed to her for not having been able to ren¬ 
 der her some little service which he had promised. 
 
 “ The Lady Elizabeth to the Lord Admiral . 3 
 
 “My lord,— 
 
 “ You needed not to send an excuse to me, for I could not mistrust the not ful¬ 
 filling your promise to proceed from want of good-will, but only that opportunity 
 served not. Wherefore I shall desire you to think that a greater matter than 
 this could not make me impute any unkindness in you, for I am a friend not won 
 with trifles, nor lost with the like. Thus I commit, you and your affairs into 
 God s hand, who keep you from all evil. I pray you to make my humble com 
 mendations to the Queen’s highness. 
 
 “ Your assured friend, to my little power, 
 
 • “Elizabeth.” 
 
 Katharine Parr, during her last illness, wished much to see Elizabeth, 
 and left her, in her will, half her jewels, and a rich chain of gold. She 
 had often said to her, “ God has given you great qualities, cultivate 
 
 1 Haynes’ State Papers. 
 
 a State Paper MS., Edward VI.—No. 27. 
 
 ’Hearne's Sylloge. 
 
24 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 them always, and labour to improve them, for I believe that you are 
 destined by Heaven to be queeu of England.” 1 
 
 One of the admiral's servants, named Edward, came to Cheston, or 
 Cheshunt, where the lady Elizabeth was then residing with her gover¬ 
 ness and train, and brought the news of queen Katharine's death. He 
 told the officers of Elizabeth's household “ that his lord was a heavy.” 
 that is to say, a sorrowful "man, for the loss of the queen his wife.”* * 
 Elizabeth did not give Seymour much credit for his grief; for when her 
 governess. Mrs. Ashley, advised her. as he had been her friend in the 
 lifetime of the late queen, to write a letter of condolence to comfort 
 him in his sorrow, she replied, •• I will not do it, for he needs it not.” 
 " Then.” said Mrs. Ashley, " if your grace will not, then will I.” 3 
 She did, and showed the letter to her royal pupil, who, without com¬ 
 mitting herself in any way, tacitly permitted it to be sent. Lady Tyr- 
 whit. soon after, told Mrs. Ashley " that it was the opinion of many 
 that the lord-admiral kept the late queen's maidens together to wait on 
 the lady Elizabeth, whom he intended shortly to marry.” Mrs. Ashley 
 also talked with Mr. Tyrwhit about the marriage, who bade her •• take 
 heed, for it were but undoing, if it were done without the council’s 
 leave.'’ At Christmas the report became general that the lady Elizabeth 
 should marry with the admiral, but Mrs. Ashley sent word to sir Henry 
 Parker, when he sent his servant to ask her what truth were in this ru¬ 
 mour. •• that he should in no-wise credit it, for it was ne thought nt 
 meant.”* Mrs. Ashley.however, by her own account, frequently talked 
 with Elizabeth on the subject, wishing that she and the admiral were 
 married. Elizabeth, who had only completed her fifteenth year two days 
 after the death of queen Katharine Parr, had no maternal friend to di¬ 
 rect and watch over her—there was not even a married lady of noble 
 birth or alliance in her household—a household comprising upwards of 
 one hundred and twenty persons—so that she was left entirely to her 
 own discretion, and the counsels of her intriguing governess, Mrs. 
 Katharine Ashley, and the unprincipled cofferer, or treasurer of her 
 house. Thomas Parry, in whom, as well as in Mrs. Ashley, she reposed 
 unbounded confidence. These persons were in the interest of the lord- 
 admiral, and did every thing in their power to further his presumptuous 
 designs on their royal mistress. 
 
 Leti, who, from his reference to the Aylesbury MSS., had certainly 
 the best information on the subject, gives Elizabeth credit for acting 
 with singular prudence under these circumstances: he tells us, that 
 very soon after the death of queen Katharine, the lord-admiral presented 
 himself before Elizabeth, clad in all the external panoply of mourning, 
 bui having, as she suspected, very little grief in his heart. He came as 
 a wooer to the royal maid, from whom he received no encouragement, 
 but he endeavoured to recommend his cause to her through her female 
 attendants. One of her bedchamber women, of the name of Mountjoye, 
 took the liberty of speaking openly to her youthful mistress in favour 
 of a marriage between her and the admiral, enlarging at the same time 
 
 1 Leti's Elizabeth. 1 Haynes' State Papers. 
 
 * Haynes' State Papers, p. 101 
 
 5 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 25 
 
 on his qualifications in such unguarded language that Elizabeth, after 
 trying in vain to silence her, told her at last, “ that she would have her 
 thrust out of her presence if she did not desist.” 
 
 There can, however, be little doubt that a powerful impression was 
 made on Elizabeth by the addresses of Seymour, seconded, as they 
 were, by the importunity of her governess, and all who possessed her 
 confidence. The difference of nearly twenty years in their ages w'as, 
 probably, compensated by the personal graces which had rendered him 
 the Adonis of her father’s court, and she was accustomed to blush when 
 his name was mentioned, and could not conceal her pleasure when she 
 heard him commended. In a word, he was the first, and perhaps the 
 only, man whom Elizabeth loved, and for whom she felt disposed to 
 make a sacrifice. She acknowledged that she would have married him 
 provided he could have obtained the consent of the council. 1 To have 
 contracted wedlock with him in defiance of that despotic junta, by 
 which the sovereign power of the crown was then exercised, would 
 have involved them both in ruin; and even if passion had so far pre¬ 
 vailed over Elizabeth’s characteristic caution and keen regard to her 
 own interest, Seymour’s feelings were not of that romantic nature which 
 would have led him to sacrifice either wealth or ambition on the shrine 
 of love. My lord-admiral had a prudential eye to the main chance, and 
 no modern fortune-hunter could have made more particular inquiries 
 into the actual state of any lady’s finances than he did into those of the 
 fair and youthful sister of his sovereign, to whose hand he, the younger 
 son of a country knight, presumed to aspire. The sordid spirit of the 
 man is sufficiently unveiled in the following conversation between him 
 and Thomas Parry, the cofferer of the princess Elizabeth, as deposed 
 by the latter before the council : 2 — 
 
 “ When I went unto my lord-admiral the third and fourth time,” says 
 Parry, “ after he had asked me how her grace did ? and such things, he 
 had large communications with me of her, and he questioned me of 
 many things, and of the state of her grace’s house, and how many ser¬ 
 vants she kept, and I told him 1 120 or 140, or thereabouts.’ Then he 
 asked me what houses she had and what lands ? I told him where the 
 lands lay as near as I could—in Northamptonshire, Berkshire, Lincoln, 
 and elsewhere. Then he asked me if they were good lands or no ? and 
 I told him they were out on lease, for the most part, and therefore the 
 worse. 3 He asked me also whether she had the lands for term of life 
 or how ? and I said, I could not perfectly tell, but 1 thought it was 
 such as she was appointed by her father’s will and testament, the king’s 
 majesty that then was.” 
 
 The admiral proceeded to inquire if she had had her letters patent 
 out? and Parry replied, u No; for there were some things in them that 
 could not be assured to her grace yet, (probably till she was of age,) 
 and that a friend of her grace would help her to an exchange of lands 
 that would be more commodious to her.” The admiral asked, “ What 
 friend ?” and Parry replied, “ Morisyn, who would help her to have 
 
 1 Haynes' State Papers. 
 
 VOL. VI.- 3 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
26 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ewelm for Apethorpe.” On which the admiral proposed making an 
 exchange with the princess himself for some of their lands, and spake 
 much of his three fair houses. Bewdley, Sudeley. and Bromeham, and 
 fell to comparing his housekeeping with that of the princess, and that 
 he could do it with less expense than she was at, and offered his house 
 in London for her use. At last he said, - when her grace came to 
 Asheridge it was not far out of his way, and he might come to see her 
 in his way up and down, and would be glad to see her there.” Parry 
 told him, “ he could not so to see her grace till he knew what her plea¬ 
 sure was.” Why,” said the admiral, •* it is no matter now, for there 
 hath, been a talk of late that I shall marry my lady Jane!” adding, “ 1 
 tell vou this merrily—I tell you this merrily.”* 
 
 When these communications had been made to the lady Elizabeth, 
 she caused Mrs. Ashley to write two letters to the admiral; one de¬ 
 clares her good will, but requesting him not to come without the 
 council's permission for that purpose; the other declaring *• her accep¬ 
 tation of his gentleness, and that he would be welcome, but if he came 
 not. she prayed God to speed his journey;” concluding in these words 
 from Ashley herself—"No more hereof until I see my lord myself, for 
 my lady is not to seek of his gentleness or good will.” 
 
 There is no absolute evidence to prove that Seymour availed himself 
 of this implied permission to visit the princess, but every reason to 
 suppose he did. and that by the connivance of her governess and state 
 officers he had clandestine interviews with the royal girl, at limes and 
 places, not in accordance with the restraints and reserves with which a 
 maiden princess, of her tender years, ought to hjive been surrounded. 
 Reports of a startling nature reached the court, and the duchess of 
 Somerset severely censured Katharine Ashley u because she had per¬ 
 mitted my lady Elizabeth’s grace to go one night on the Thames in a 
 barge, and for other light parts,” saying, *• that she was not worthy to 
 have tire governance of a king’s daughter.” 3 
 
 When Elizabeth was preparing to pay her Christmas visit to court, 
 she was at a loss for a town residence, Durham house, which had for¬ 
 merly been granted to her mother, queen Anne Bolevn, before her mar¬ 
 riage with king Henry, and to which Elizabeth considered she had a 
 right, having been appropriated by king Edward’s council to the pur¬ 
 pose of a mint. Elizabeth made application bv her cofferer, Thomas 
 Parry, to the lord-admiral for his assistance in this matter, on which he 
 very courteously offered to give up his own town-house for her accom¬ 
 modation and that of her train.' 4 addin?, M that he would come and see 
 her grace.” u W hich declaration,” savs Parrv, “ she seemed to take 
 very gladly, and to accept it joyfully. On which,” continues he, 
 “ casting in my mind the reports which I had heard of a marriage be¬ 
 tween them, and observing, that at all times when, by any chance, talk 
 
 1 Haynes'State Tapers. 3 Ibid. 3 Ibid. 
 
 4 Bath Inn, a bouse of die bishops of Bath and Wells, which had been torn from 
 that see by die rapacious Seymours, was the town residence of the lord-admiral 
 at that time, which, with all its furniture, he offered to Thomas Parry for the use 
 of the princess Elizabeth during her stay in London.—Burghley's State Papers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 27 
 
 should be had of the lord-admiral, she showed such countenance that 
 it should appear she was very glad to hear of him. and especially would 
 show countenance of gladness when he was well spoken of, I took 
 occasion to ask her whether, if the council would ,ike it, she would 
 marry with him ? To which she replied, 4 When that comes to pass, I 
 will do as God shall put into my mind.’ ” 1 
 
 4 “ I remember well,” continues Parry, 44 that when I told her gTace 
 how that the lord-admiral would gladly, she should sue out her • letters 
 patents,’ she asked me, 4 whether he were so desirous or no, indeed ?’ I 
 said 4 yes, in earnest he was desirous of it;’ and, I told her farther, • how 
 he would have had her have lands in Gloucestershire, called Prisley, as 
 in parcel of exchange, and in Walesand she asked me, 4 what 1 thought 
 he meant thereby ?’ and I said. * I cannot tell, unless he go about to have 
 you also, for he wished your lands and would have them that way.’ ” 2 
 
 This broad hint Elizabeth received, as it appears, in silence; but when 
 Parry proceeded to inform her, that the admiial wished her to go to the 
 duchess of Somerset, and by that means to make suit to the protector 
 for the exchange of the lands, and for the grant of a house, instead of 
 Durham house, for herself; and so to pntertain the duchess for her good 
 offices in this affair, the spirit of the royal Tudors stirred within her, and 
 she said, 4 “ 1 dare say he did not say so, nor would.” 
 
 ‘•Yes, by my faith,” replied the cofferer. 
 
 41 Well,” quoth she, indignantly, 44 1 will not do so, and so tell him;” 
 she expressed her anger that she should be driven to make such suits, 
 and said, 4 * In faith I will not come there, nor begin to flatter now.” 3 
 
 Shortly after, the lady Elizabeth asked Parry, 44 whether he had told 
 Kate Ashley of the lord-admiral’s gentleness and kind offers, and those 
 words and things that had been told to her.” 
 
 44 1 told her, no,” said Parry. 
 
 44 Well,” said Elizabeth, 44 in any wise go tell it her, for I will know 
 nothing, but she shall know it. In faith, I cannot be quiet until ye have 
 told her of it.” 
 
 When Parry told the governess, she said— 44 that she knew it well 
 enough;” and Parry rejoined, 44 that it seemed to him that there was 
 good-will between the lord-admiral and her grace, and that he gathered 
 both by him and her grace.” 
 
 44 Oh,” said Mrs. Ashley, 44 it is true; but I had such a charge in this 
 that I dare nothing say in it, but I would wish her his wife of all men 
 living. 1 wis,” quoth she, 44 he might bring the matter to pass at the 
 council’s hands well enough.” 
 
 A long gossiping conversation between the cofferer and the governess 
 then followed, in which Airs. Ashley, after adverting to some passages 
 in the early stage of the princess’s acquaintance with the admiral, and 
 the jealousy queen Katharine Parr had conceived of her, suddenly recol¬ 
 lected herself, and told Parry she repented of having disclosed so many 
 particulars to him, especially of the late queen finding her husband, with 
 his arms about the young princess, and besought the cofferer not to re- 
 
 1 Haynes’ State Papers 
 
 'Ibid. 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
28 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 peat it, for if lie did, so that it got abroad, her grace should be disho¬ 
 noured for ever, and she likewise undone. 1 Parry replied, “ that he 
 would rather be pulled with horses than he would disclose it.” Yet it 
 is from his confession that this scandalous story has become matter of 
 history. 
 
 While the admiral was proceeding with this sinister courtship of 
 Elizabeth, and before his plans were sufficiently matured to permit him 
 to become a declared suitor for her hand, Russell, the lord privy-seal, 
 surprised him by saying to him, as they were riding together, after the 
 protector Somerset to the parliament house, “ My lord-admiral, there are 
 certain rumours bruited of you, which I am very sorry to hear.” When 
 Seymour demanded his meaning, Russell told him, “ that he was informed 
 that he made means to marry either with the lady Mary, or else with the 
 lady Elizabeth,” adding, “ My lord, if ye go about any such thing, ye 
 seek the means to undo yourself, and all those that shall come of you.” 
 Seymour replied, “ that he had no thought of such an enterprise,” and 
 so the conversation ended for that time. 2 A few days afterwards, Sey¬ 
 mour renewed the subject in these words, “*Father Russell, you are very 
 suspicious of me; I pray you tell me, who showed you of the marriage, 
 that I should attempt, whereof, ye brake with me the other day ?” Rus¬ 
 sell replied, “that he would not tell him the authors of that tale, but 
 that they were his very good friends, and he advised him to make no 
 suit of marriage that way.” 
 
 Though no names were mentioned, Seymour, who well knew the 
 allusion was to the sisters of their sovereign, replied significantly, “ It is 
 convenient for them to marry, and better it were, that they were married 
 within the realm, than in any foreign place without the realm; and 
 why,” continued he, “ might not I or another man, raised by the king 
 their father, marry one of them ?” 
 
 Then said Russell, “ My lord, if either you, or, any other within this 
 realm shall match himself, in marriage, either with my lady Mary or my 
 lady Elizabeth, he shall undoubtedly, whatsoever he be, procure unto 
 himself the occasion of his utter undoing, and you especially, above all 
 others, being of so near alliance to the king’s majesty.” And, after ex¬ 
 plaining to the admiral the perilous jealousies which would be excited 
 by his marrying with either of the heirs of the crown, he asked this 
 home question, “And pray you, my lord, what shall you have with 
 either of them ?” 
 
 “ He who marries one of them shall have three thousand a year,” 
 replied Seymour. 
 
 “ My lord, it is not so,” said Russell; “ for ye may be well assured 
 that he shall have no more than ten thousand pounds in money, plate, 
 and goods, and no land; and what is that to maintain his charges and 
 estate, who matches himself there ?” 
 
 “ They must have the three thousand pounds a year also,” rejoined 
 Seymour. 
 
 Haynes’ State Papers, p. 06. 
 Tytler's State Papers, vol. ii., p. 6. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 29 
 
 • 
 
 Russell, with a tremendous oath, “ protested that they should not;” 
 and Seymour, with another, asserted, “ that they should, and that none 
 should dare to say nay to it.” 1 
 
 Russell, with a second oath, swore, “ that he would say nay to it, for 
 it was clean against the king’s will;” and the admiral, profligate as he 
 was, finding himself outsworn by the hoary-headed old statesman, de¬ 
 sisted from bandying oaths with him on the subject. 
 
 The most remarkable feature in this curious dialogue is, however, the 
 anxiety displayed by Seymour on the pecuniary prospects of his royal 
 love. He sent one of his servants, about this time, to lady Brown (cele¬ 
 brated by Surrey under the poetic name of Fair Geraldine) who appears 
 to have been a very intimate friend and ally of his, advising her to break 
 up housekeeping, and to take up her abode with the lady Elizabeth’s 
 grace to save charges. Lady Brown replied, “ that she verily purposed 
 to go to the lady Elizabeth’s house that next morning,” but she appears 
 to have been prevented by the sickness and death of her old husband. 
 It was suspected that Seymour meant to have employed her in further¬ 
 ing some of his intrigues. 2 
 
 The protector and his council, meantime, kept a jealous watch on the 
 proceedings of the admiral, not only with regard to his clandestine 
 addresses with the lady Elizabeth, but his daring intrigues to overthrow 
 the established regency, and get the power into his own hands. There 
 was an attempt, on the part of Somerset, to avert the mischief by sending 
 the admiral on a mission to Boulogne; and the last interview the prin¬ 
 cess Elizabeth’s confidential servant, Parry, had with him was in his 
 chamber, at the court, where he was preparing for this unwelcome 
 voyage. 3 The following conversation then took place:—The admiral 
 asked, “How doth her grace, and when will she be here?” 
 
 Parry replied, “ that the lord protector had not determined on the 
 day.” 
 
 “ No,” said the admiral, bitterly; “ that shall be when I am gone to 
 Boulogne.” 
 
 Parry presented Mrs. Ashley’s commendations, and said “ it was her 
 earnest wish that the lady Elizabeth should be his wife.” 
 
 “ Oh !” replied the admiral, “ it will not be,” adding, “ that his brother 
 would never consent to it.” 4 
 
 On the 16th of January, the admiral was arrested on a charge of 
 high treason, having boasted that he had ten thousand men at his com¬ 
 mand, and suborned Sharrington, the master of the mint at Bristol, to 
 coin a large sum of false money to support him in his wild projects. 
 He was committed to the Tower, and not only his servants, but the 
 principal persons in the household of the princess Elizabeth were als> 
 arrested, and subjected to very strict examination by the council, in 
 order to ascertain the nature of the admiral’s connexion with the prin¬ 
 cess, and how far she was implicated in his intrigues against the govern¬ 
 ment. In fact, Elizabeth herself seems to have been treated as a prisoner 
 
 1 Tytler’s State Papers. 
 
 'Ibid. 
 
 9 Haynes’ State Papers. 
 
 4 Ibid. 
 
30 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 of state, while these momentous investigations were proceeding; for, 
 though she made earnest supplication to be admitted to the presence of 
 the king her brother, or even to that of the protector, in order to justify 
 herself, she was detained at her house at Hatfield, under the especial 
 charge of sir Thomas Tyrwhit, who certainly was empowered by the 
 council to put her and her household under restraint. 
 
 « Very distressing must this crisis have been to a girl in her sixteenth 
 year, who had no maternal friend to counsel and support her, under cir 
 cumstances, that were the more painful, because of the previous scandal 
 in which she had been involved, at the time of her separation from her 
 royal stepmother, on account of the free conduct of the admiral. All 
 the particulars of his coarse familiarity and indelicate romping with 
 Elizabeth, had been cruelly tattled by her governess, Mrs. Katharine 
 Ashley, to Parry the cofferer, and were by him disclosed to the council, 
 and confirmed by the admissions of Mrs. Ashley. The fact, that, not¬ 
 withstanding those things, Elizabeth was receiving the clandestine ad¬ 
 dresses of this bold bad man, almost before queen Katharine was cold 
 in her grave, was injurious to her reputation, and caused her to be 
 treated with less respect and consideration from the council, than ought 
 to have been shown to a royal lady, of her tender age, and the sister of 
 the sovereign. 
 
 Sir Robert Tyrwhit first announced to her the alarming tidings that 
 Mrs. Ashley and her husband, with Parry, had all been committed to 
 the Tower on her account; on which, he says, 44 her grace was marvel¬ 
 lously abashed, and did weep, very tenderly, a long time, demanding 
 4 whether they had confessed anything?’” Tyrwhit assured her, 44 that 
 they had confessed everything, and urged her to do the same.” Elizabeth 
 was not to be thus easily outwitted, and Tyrwhit then endeavoured t 
 terrify her by requiring her 44 to remember her honour, and the peril tha 1 
 might ensue, for she was but a subject” 1 —an inuendo that might have 
 been somewhat alarming to so young a girl, considering her mother, 
 though a queen, had died by the sword of the executioner; but the 
 lofty spirit of Elizabeth was not to be thus intimidated, and Tyrwhit ,, 
 told Somerset 44 that he was not able to get anything from her but by n 
 gentle persuasion, whereby he began to grow with her in credit,” 44 for H 
 1 do assure your grace,” continues he, 44 she hath a good wit, and ' 
 nothing is to be gotten from her but by great policy.” She was, how¬ 
 ever, greatly disturbed when he told her that Parry and Mrs. Ashley had 
 both confessed, and in confirmation showed her the signatures to their 
 depositions; on which she called Parry 4 *false wretch.”* 
 
 Tyrwhit told her what sort of a woman Mrs. Ashley was, and assured fo 
 her 44 that if she would open all things, that all the evil and shame 1 
 should be ascribed to them, and her youth taken into consideration by 
 his majest)', the protector, and the whole council.” 44 But in no way,” 
 continues he, 44 will she confess any practice by Mrs. Ashley, or the 
 cofferer concerning my lord admiral; and yet I do see it in her face that fe 
 
 I] 
 
 fcr 
 
 i 
 
 1 Haynes. 
 
 2 Haynes' State Papers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 31 
 
 she is guilty, and yet perceive that she will abide more storms ere she 
 will accuse Mrs. Ashley.” 
 
 On the 28th of January, Tyrwhit informs the protector “ that he has, 
 in obedience to his letter of the ‘26th, practised with her grace, by all 
 means and policy, to induce her to confess more than she had already 
 done, in a letter which she had just written to the duke, with her own 
 hand, which contained all that she was willing to admit; and Tyrwhit 
 expresses his conviction that a secret pact had been made by the prin¬ 
 cess, Mrs. Ashley, and Parry, never to confess anything to the crimina¬ 
 tion of each other; “and if so,” continues he, “it will never be drawn 
 from her grace, unless by the king her brother, or the protector.” The 
 following is the letter written by Elizabeth to Somerset, which tallies, as 
 Tyrwhit very shrewdly observes, most remarkably with the depositions 
 of Ashley and Parry, and induces him to think that they had all three 
 agreed in their story, in case of being questioned, or, to use his own ex¬ 
 pression, “ set the note before.” 1 
 
 The Lady Elizabeth to the Lord Protector. 
 
 “My lord, your great gentleness and good will towards me, as well in this 
 tiling as in other things, I do understand, for the which even as I ought, so I do 
 give you humble thanks; and whereas your lordship willeth and counselleth me 
 as an earnest friend, to declare what I know in this matter, and also to write 
 what I have declared to Master Tyrwhit, I shall most willingly do it I de- 
 I dared unto him first, that after the cofferer had declared unto me what my lord 
 admiral answered, for Allen's matter, 2 and for Durham Place (that it was ap- 
 i pointed to be a mint), he told me that my lord admiral did offer me his house 
 for my time being with the king's majesty, and further said and asked me, ‘if 
 the council did consent that I should have my lord admiral, whether I would 
 consent to it, or no? 1 I answered, ‘that I would not tell him what my mind 
 was and I further inquired of him ‘ what he meant by asking me that question, 
 or who bade him say so?’ He answered me, and said, ‘Nobody bade him say 
 so, but that he perceived, as he thought, by n;y lord admiral inquiring whether 
 my patent were sealed or no, and debating what he spent in his house, and in¬ 
 quiring what was spent in my house, that he was given that way rather than 
 otherwise ’ And as concerning Kat Ashley, {by which familiar name Elizabeth 
 always spealcs of her governess,) she never advised me to it, but said always, when 
 any talked of my marriage, ‘that she would never have me marry, neither in 
 England nor out of England, without the consent of the king’s majesty, your 
 grace's, and the council s.’ And after the queen was departed—( A cool way, by 
 the bye, of alluding to the death of queen Katharine Parr, from whom Elizabeth had 
 in her tender childhood received the most essential offices of friendship and maternal 
 kindness) —when I asked of her — ‘What news she heard from London?’ she 
 answered merrily, ‘ They say, ‘ your grace shall have my lord admiral, and that 
 he will shortly come to woo you. And, moreover, I said unto him, that the cof¬ 
 ferer sent a letter hither, that my lord said that he would come this way as he 
 went down into the country. Then I bade her write as she thought best, and 
 bade her show it to me when she had done ; so she wrote, ‘ that she thought it 
 not best, (that the admiral should come.) for fear of suspicion,’ and so it went 
 forth, (that is, the letter was sent,) and the lord admiral, after he had heard that, 
 asked the cofferer, ‘why he might not come to me as well as to my sister? and 
 then 1 desired Kat Ashley to write again (lest my lord might think that she knew 
 
 1 Haynes' State Papers. This curious simile alludes to the note being pitched 
 for singing in unison. 
 
 * A request made by Elizabeth to the admiral in behalf of one of her chaplains. 
 
32 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 more in it titan he), that she knew nothing, but only suspected, and I also told 
 Waster Tyrwhit that to the effect of the matter—( Here Elizabeth evidently alludes 
 to the report of his intended courtship)—l never consented to any such thing with¬ 
 out the council's consent thereto. And as for Kat Ashley and the cofferer, they 
 never told me that they would practise it, (i. e , compass the marriage.) These 
 be the things which I declared to Master Tyrwhit, and also, whereof my con¬ 
 science beareth me witness, which I would not for all earthly things offend in 
 anything, for I know I have a soul to be saved as well as other folks have, 
 wherefore I will, above all things, have respect unto this same. If there be any 
 more things which I can remember, I will either write it myself, or cause Mr. 
 Tyrwhit to write it. 
 
 “ Master Tyrwhit and others have told me that there goeth rumours abroad 
 which be greatly both against my honour and honesty, which, above all other 
 tilings, I esteem, which be these, that I am in the Tower, and with child by my 
 lord admiral. 1 My lord, these are shameful slanders, for the which, besides the 
 great desire I have to see the king's majesty, I shall most heartily desire your 
 lordship that I may come to the court after your first determination that I may 
 show myself there as 1 am. Written in haste from Hatfield, this 28th of Ja¬ 
 nuary. 
 
 “Your assured friend to my little power, “Elizabeth.” 
 
 This letter, which is in Haynes’ edition of the Burleigh State Papers, 
 entitled, “ The Confession of the lady Elizabeth’s grace,” is one of the 
 most interesting documents connected with her personal history. There 
 is a curious mixture of child-like simplicity and diplomatic skill, in her 
 admissions, with that affectation of candour which often veils the most 
 profound dissimulation. Her endeavours to screen her governess are, 
 however, truly generous, and the lofty spirit with which she adverts to 
 the scandalous reports that were in circulation against her reputation, 
 is worthy of the daughter of a king, and conveys a direct conviction of 
 her innocence. There is no affectation of delicacy or mock modesty in 
 her language; she comes to the point at once, like an honest woman, 
 and in plain English tells the protector of what she had been accused, 
 and declares that it is a shameful slander, and demands that she may be 
 brought to court that her appearance may prove her innocence. It is 
 to be remembered that Elizabeth was little turned of fifteen when this 
 letter was penned. 
 
 On the 7th of February, Tyrwhit succeeded in drawing a few more 
 particulars from Elizabeth, which he forwarded to the duke of Somer¬ 
 set, enclosed in the following note to his grace :— 
 
 “ I do send all the articles I received from your grace, and also the lady Eli¬ 
 zabeth’s confession, withal, which is not so full of matter as I would it were, nor 
 yet so much as I did procure her to; but in no way will she confess that either 
 ’ Mrs. Ashley or Parry willed her to any practices with my lord admiral, either 
 by messages or writing. They all sing one song, and so I think they would not, 
 unless they had set the note before.—Feb. 7, Hatfield.” 
 
 . In Elizabeth s hand. 
 
 “ Kat Ashley told me, ‘ that after the lord admiral was. married to the queen 
 if he had had his own will he would have had me afore the queen.’ Then I 
 asked her, ‘How she knew that?’ She said, ‘she knew it well enough, both by 
 himself and others.’ The place where she said this I have forgotten, but she 
 spoke to me of him many times.” 
 
 1 Haynes’ State Papers, 90. 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 33 
 
 Then Tyrwhit wrote the rest of the confession, but under the inspec¬ 
 tion of the princess, as follows :— 
 
 “Another time, after the queen was dead, Kat Ashley would have had me to 
 have written a letter to my lord admiral to have comforted him in his sorrow, 
 because he had been my friend in the queen's lifetime, and would think great 
 kindness therein. Then I said, ‘I would not, for he needs it not.’ Then said 
 Kat Ashley, ‘If your grace will not, then will I.’ I remember I did see it, (i.e., 
 the consolatory letter Elizabeth thought so superfluous to the widower,) but what the 
 effect of it was I do not remember.” 
 
 “Another time I asked her, * what news was at London,’ and she said, ‘The 
 voice went there that my lord admiral Seymour sKould marry me.’ I smiled at 
 that, and replied, ‘It was but a London news.’ One day she said, ‘He that fain 
 would have had you before he married the queen will come now to woo you.’ 
 I answered her, ‘ Tltough peradventure he himself would have me, yet I think 
 the (privy) council will not consent, but I think by what you said if he had his 
 own will he would have had me.’ I thought there was no let (hindrance) of 
 his part, but only on that of the council. Howbeit, she said another time, ‘that 
 she did not wish me to have him, because she who had him was so unfor¬ 
 tunate.’ ” 
 
 Elizabeth then informs the duke that Parry asked her, “ if the council 
 consented, whether she would have the lord admiral or no.” “ I asked 
 him,” pursues she, “ what he meant by that question, and who bade 
 him ask me?” He replied, ‘No one, but he gathered by questions 
 asked by the lord admiral before, that he meant some such thing.’ I 
 told him it was but his foolish gathering.” She says. Parry brought a 
 message from the lord admiral, advising her, “ first to get her patents 
 sealed and sure, and then he would apply to the council for leave to 
 marry her.” Likewise that the lord admiral wished her to reside at 
 Ashridge, because it was in his way, when he went into the country, to 
 call and see her. Elizabeth signed this confession with her own hand, 
 and very blandly concludes the paper with an assurance to Somerset 
 “ that if she remembered any more she would be sure to forward the 
 items to him.” 1 
 
 It was, doubtless, for the purpose of shaking Elizabeth’s confidence 
 in Mrs. Ashley that Tyrwhit showed her the deposition of that trusty 
 official, which revealed all the particulars of the liberties the admiral 
 had presumed to offer to her, while she was under the care of his late 
 consort, queen Katharine. Elizabeth appeared greatly abashed and half 
 breathless, while reading the needlessly minute details, which had been 
 made before the council, of scenes in which she had been only a pas¬ 
 sive actor, but as Mrs. Ashley had abstained from disclosures of any con¬ 
 sequence, touching her more recent intercourse with Seymour, she ex¬ 
 pressed no displeasure, but when she had read to the end, carefully ex¬ 
 amined the signatures, both of Katharine Ashley and Parry, as if she 
 had suspected Tyrwhit of practising an imposition, “though it was 
 plain,” observes he, “ that she knew both at half a glance.” 2 
 
 In one of Tyrwhit’s letters to Somerset, he says, “ that master Bev¬ 
 erly and himself have been examining the cofferer’s accounts, which 
 they find very incorrect, and the books so ‘ indiscreetly' 1 kept, that ho 
 
 ’Haynes’ State Papers. ’ Ibid., where the depositions are in fulL 
 
 C 
 
 
34 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 appears little fit for his office; that her grace’s expenses are at present 
 more than she can afford, and therefore she must perforce make retrench¬ 
 ments. She was desirous that the protector should not appoint any one 
 to be her cofferer till she had spoken to him herself, for she thought an 
 officer of less importance would serve for that department, and save in 
 her purse a hundred pounds a year.” 1 
 
 This proved to be only an excuse, on the part of the young lady, to 
 Keep the office open for Parry, whom she took the first opportunity of 
 reinstating in his post, although she had been given full proof of his defal¬ 
 cations; and so far was she from resenting the nature of his disclosures, 
 with regard to the improper confidence that had been reposed in him by 
 her tattling governess, that she afterwards, on her accession to the 
 throne, appointed him the comptroller of her royal household, and con¬ 
 tinued her preferment to him and his daughter to the end of their lives,— 
 conduct which naturally induces a suspicion that secrets of greater mo¬ 
 ment had been confided to him—secrets that probably would have 
 touched not only the maiden fame of his royal mistress, but placed her 
 life in jeopardy, and that he had preserved these inviolate. The same 
 may be supposed with respect to Mrs. Ashley, to whom Elizabeth clung 
 with unshaken tenacity through every storm, even when the council 
 dismissed her from her office, and addressed a stern note to her grace 
 the lady Elizabeth, apprising her that they had, in consequence of the 
 misconduct of Mrs. Katharine Ashley, removed her from her post, and 
 appointed the lady Tyrwhit to take her place as governess to her grace, 
 and requiring her to receive her as such. 2 
 
 The disdainful manner in which the young lioness of the Tudor- 
 Plantagenet line received the new duenna, who had been contumelious- 
 ly put in authority over her by her royal brother’s council, is best re¬ 
 lated in the words of sir Robert Tyrwhit himself, who, in his two-fold 
 capacity of spy and jailer, seems to have peculiar satisfaction, in telling 
 tales of the defenceless orphan of Anne Boleyn, to the powerful brother 
 of her murdered mother’s rival, Jane Seymour. 44 Pleaseth your grace 
 to be advertised,” he writes, 44 that after my wife’s repair hither, she 
 declared to the lady Elizabeth’s grace, that she was called before your 
 grace and the council, and had a rebuke, that she had not taken upon 
 her the office to see her well governed in the lieu of Mrs. Ashley.” 3 
 This reproof to lady Tyrwhit must have had reference to the time when 
 all the parties concerned were living under the roof of queen Katharine 
 Parr, whose lady-in-waiting lady Tyrwhit was. 
 
 The lady Elizabeth replied, 44 that Airs. Ashley was her mistress, and 
 that she had not so demeaned herself that the council should now need 
 to put any more mistresses unto her.” u Whereunto,” pursues Tyrwhit, 
 “ my wife answered, 4 seeing she did allow Airs. Ashley to be her mis¬ 
 tress, she need not to be ashamed to have any honest woman to be in 
 that place.’ She took the matter so heavily that she wept all that night, 
 and loured all the next day till she received your letter; and then she 
 sent for me, and asked me 4 whether she were best to write to you again 
 
 ’ Haynes’ State Papers. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
 9 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3.5 
 
 or not.’ I said, ‘if she would follow the effect of your letter (meaning 
 if she would comply with the injunctions contained in it) I thought it 
 best that she should write, but in the end of the matter, I perceived that 
 she was very loth to have a governor, and to avoid the same, she said, 
 that the world would note her to be a great offender, having so hastily 
 a governor appointed over her,’ and all is no more than that she fully 
 hopes to recover her old mistress again. The love she yet beareth her 
 is to be wondered at. I told her (Elizabeth), that if she would con¬ 
 sider her honour, and the sequel thereof, she would, considering her 
 years, make suit to your grace to have one, rather than be without one 
 a single hour.’” 
 
 “ She cannot digest such advice in no way,” continues sir Robert, 
 drilv; “ but if I should say my fantasy, it were more meet she should 
 have two than one.” He then complains, that although he favoured her 
 grace with his advice as to the manner in which she should frame her 
 reply to Somerset, she would in no wise follow it, “ but writ her own 
 fantasy.” And in the right of it too, we should say, considering the 
 treacherous nature of the counsellor, who, serpent-like, was trying to 
 beguile her into criminating herself, for the sake of employing her evi¬ 
 dence against the luckless admiral, who was at that very time struggling 
 in the toils of his foes, and vainly demanding the privilege of a fair trial. 
 That Elizabeth did not contemplate his fall, and the plunder of his pro¬ 
 perty without pain Tyrwhit bears witness. “She beginneth now to 
 droop a little,” writes that watchful observer, “by reason that she hear- 
 eth my lord-admiral’s houses be dispersed and my wife telleth me, 
 now, that she cannot hear him discommended but she is ready to make 
 answer, which,” continues Tyrwhit, “she hath not been accustomed to 
 do, unless Mrs. Ashley were touched, whereunto, she was ever ready 
 to make answer, vehemently in her defence.” 
 
 The following is the letter which Elizabeth addressed to Somerset, 
 instead of that which his creature, Tyrwhit, had endeavoured to beguile 
 her into writing. It is marked with all the caution that characterized 
 her diplomatic correspondence, after the lessons of worldcraft, in which 
 she finally became an adept, were grown familiar to her. She, however, 
 very properly assumes the tone of an injured person with regard to the 
 i scandalous reports that were in circulation against her, and demands 
 that he and the council should take the requisite steps for putting a stop 
 to those injurious rumours :— 
 
 “ Letter from the Lady Elizabeth to the Protector Somerset. 
 
 | “ My lord,— 
 
 “ Having received your lordship's letters, I perceive in them your good-will 
 i towards me, because you declare to me plainly your mind in this thing, and 
 again for that you would not wish that I should do anything that should not seem 
 good unto the council, for the which thing I give you most hearty thanks. And, 
 whereas, I do understand, that you do take in evil part the letters that I did 
 write unto your lordship, I am very sorry that you should take them so, for my 
 mind was to declare unto you plainly, as I thought, in that thing which I did, 
 
 1 Haynes’ State Papers. The meaning is, the lord admiral’s houses were given 
 away, and his household discharged. 
 
36 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 also the more willingly, because (as I write to you) you desired me to be plain 
 with you in all things. And as concerning that point that you write, that I seem 
 to stand in mine own wit. in being so well assured of mine own self, I did as 
 sure me of myself, no more titan I trust the truth shall try; and to say that 
 which I know of myself, I did not think should have displeased the council or 
 your grace. And, surely, the cause why that I was sorry that there should be 
 any such about me, was because that I thought the people will say that I de¬ 
 served, through my lewd demeanour, to have such a one, and not that I mislike 
 anything that your lordship, or the council, shall think good, for I know that you 
 and the council are charged with me, or that I take upon me to rule myself, for 
 I know that they are most deceived that trusteth most in themselves, wherefore 
 I trust you shall never find that fault in me, to the which thing I do not see that 
 your grace has made any direct answer at this time, and seeing they make so 
 evil reports already, shall be but an increasing of these evil tongues. Howbeit, 
 you did write ‘ that if I would bring forth any that had reported it, you and the 
 council would see it redressed,' which thing, though I can easily do it, I would 
 be loth to do, because it is mine own cause; and, again, that it should be but 
 abridging of an evil name of me that am glad to punish them, and so get the 
 evil will of the people, which thing I would be loth to have. But if it might 
 seem good to your lordship, and the rest of the council, to send forth a procla¬ 
 mation into the countries that they refrain their tongues, declaring how the tales 
 be but lies, it should make both the people think that you and the council have 
 great regard that no such rumours should be spread of any of the king's majesty's 
 sisters (as I am, though unworthy), and also that I should think myself to receive 
 such friendship at your hands as you have promised me, although your lordship 
 hath showed me great already. Howbeit, I am ashamed to ask it any more, 
 because I see you are not so well minded thereunto. And as concerning that 
 you say that I give folks occasion to think, in refusing the good to uphold the 
 evil, I am not of so simple understanding, nor I would that your grace should 
 have so evil an opinion of me that I have so little respect of my own honesty, 
 that I would maintain it if I had sufficient promise of the same, and so youi 
 grace shall prove me when it comes to the point. And thus I bid you farewell 
 desiring God always to assist you in all your affairs. Written in haste. From 
 Hatfelde, this 21st of February. 
 
 “ Your assured friend, to my little power, 
 
 “ Elizabetb.” 
 
 Superscribed.—“ To my very good lord, my lord protector.” 1 
 
 To such a horrible extent had the scandals to which Elizabeth ad¬ 
 verts in this letter proceeded, that not only was it said that she had been 
 seduced by Seymour, and was about to become a mother, but that she 
 had actually borne him a child. From the MS. life of Jane Dormer 
 duchess of Feria, who had been in the service of her sister the princess 
 Mary, we learn, “ that there was a report of a child born and miserably 
 destroyed, but that it could not be discovered whose it was. A mid¬ 
 wife testified that she was brought from her house blindfold to a house 
 where she did her office, and returned in like manner. She saw nothing 
 in the house but candle-light, and only said it was the child of a very 
 fair young lady.” This wild story was but a modern version of an 
 ancient legend, which is to be met with among the local traditions of 
 every county in England, in border minstrelsy and ballad lore, and even 
 in oriental tales; and it had certainly been revived by some of the court 
 gossips of Edward the Sixth’s reign, who thought proper to make the 
 youthful sister of that prince the heroine of the adventure. 
 
 Lansdowne MSS , Brit. Mus. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 37 
 
 The council had offered to punish any one whom Elizabeth could 
 point out as the author of the injurious rumours against her character, 
 and her observation in her letter to Somerset, in reply to this ofler, 
 “that she should but gain an evil name as if she were glad to punish, 
 and thus incur the ill-will of the people, which she shotdd be loth to 
 have,” is indicative of the profound policy, which throughout life, 
 enabled this great queen to win and retain the affections of the men of 
 England. Popularity was a leading object with Elizabeth from her 
 childhood to the grave, and well had nature fitted her to play her part 
 with eclat in the splendid drama of royalty. 
 
 On the 4th of March, 1549, the bill of attainder against Thomas 
 Seymour baron Sudley, lord-admiral of England, was read for the third 
 time in the house of lords; and though his courtship of Elizabeth 
 formed one of the numerous articles against him, and it must have 
 been a season replete with anxious alarm and anguish to herself, she 
 generously ventured to write an earnest appeal to Somerset in behalf of 
 her imprisoned governess, Mrs. Ashley, and her husband, who were, as 
 she had every reason to suppose, involved in the same peril that im¬ 
 pended over her rash lover, with whom they had been confederate. 
 
 Her letter is written in a noble spirit, and does equal credit to her 
 head and heart, and is a beautiful specimen of special pleading in a girl 
 of fifteen. 
 
 “ Letter from Elizabeth to the Protector Somerset . 1 
 
 “ My lord, I have a request to make unto your grace which fear has made me 
 omit till this time for two causes; the one because I saw that my request for 
 the rumours which were spread abroad of me took so little place, which thing 
 when I considered, I thought I should little profit in any other suit; howbeit, 
 now I understand that there is a proclamation for them (for the which I give 
 your grace and the rest of the council most humble thanks), I am the bolder to 
 speak for another thing; and the other was, because, peraventure your lordship 
 and the rest of the council will think that I favour her evil doing, for whom I 
 shall speak, which is Kateryn Ashley, that it would please your grace and the 
 rest of the council to be good unto her: Which thing I do, not to favour her in 
 any evil (for that I would be sorry to do), but for these considerations, that fol¬ 
 low, the which hope doth teach me in saying, that I ought not to doubt, but that 
 your grace and the rest of the council will think that I do it for other con¬ 
 siderations. First, because that she hath been with me a long time, and many 
 years, and hath taken great labour and pain in bringing me up in learning and 
 honesty; and, therefore, I ought of very duty speak for her: for Saint Gregorie 
 sayeth, ‘that we are more bound to them that bringeth us up well than to our 
 , parents, for our parents do that which is natural for them that bringeth us into 
 this world, but our bringers up are a cause to make us live well in it.’ The 
 second is, because I think that whatsoever she hath done in my lord-admiral's 
 matter, as concerning the marrying of me, she did it because knowing him to be 
 one of the council, she thought he would not go about any such thing without he 
 had (he council’s consent thereunto : for I have heard her many times say ‘ that 
 she would never have me marry in any place without your grace's and the 
 council's consent.’ The third cause is, because that it shall, and doth make men 
 think, that I am not clear of the deed myself; but that it is pardoned to me 
 because of my youth, because that she I loved so well is in such a place. Thus 
 hope, prevailing more witli me than fear, hath won the battle, and I have ut 
 
 VOL. VI. — 4 
 
 1 MSS. Lansd. 1236, fol. 35. 
 
38 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 this time gone forth with it; which I pray God be taken no otherwise than it is 
 meant. Written in haste, from Hatfield, this seventh day of March. Also, if I 
 may be so bold, not offending, I beseech your grace and the rest of the council 
 to be good to master Ashley, her husband, which, because he is my kinsman, 1 
 would be glad he should do well. 
 
 “ Your assured friend, to my little power, 
 
 “ Elizabeth. 
 
 “ To my very good lord, my lord-protector. ’ 
 
 There is something truly magnanimous in the manner in which Eli¬ 
 zabeth notices her relationship to the prisoner Ashley, at the time when 
 he was under so dark a cloud, and it proves that the natural impulses 
 of her heart were generous and good. The constitutional levity, which 
 she inherited from her mother, appears, at that period of her life to 
 have been her worst fault, and though she afterwards acquired the art 
 of veiling this under an affectation of extreme prudery, her natural in¬ 
 clination was perpetually breaking out, and betraying her into follies 
 which remind one of the conduct of the cat in the fable, who was 
 turned into a lady, but never could resist her native penchant for catch¬ 
 ing mice. 
 
 On the 20th of March, Seymour was brought to the block: he had 
 employed the last evening of his life in writing letters to Elizabeth and 
 her sister, with the point of an aglet, which he plucked from his hose, 
 being denied the use of pen and ink. These letters, which he con¬ 
 cealed within the sole of a velvet shoe, were discovered by the emis¬ 
 saries of the council, and opened. No copies of these interesting docu¬ 
 ments have apparently been preserved, but Bishop Latimer, in his ser¬ 
 mon in justification of the execution of the unhappy writer, described 
 them to be “ of a wicked and dangerous nature, tending to excite the 
 jealousy of the king’s sisters against the Protector Somerset, as their 
 great enemy.” 1 
 
 When Elizabeth was informed of the execution of the admiral, she 
 had the presence of mind to disappoint the malignant curiosity of the 
 official spies, who were watching to report every symptom of emotion 
 she might betray on that occasion, and merely said, 
 
 “ This day died a man, with much wit, and very little judgment.” 
 
 Although this extraordinary instance of self-command might, by 
 some, be regarded as a mark of apathy in so young a woman, there can 
 be no doubt that Elizabeth had been entangled in the snares of a deep 
 and enduring passion for Seymour—passion that had rendered her re¬ 
 gardless of every consideration of pride, caution, and ambition, and for¬ 
 getful of the obstacle which nature itself had opposed to a union be¬ 
 tween the daughter of Anne Boleyn and a brother of Jane Seymour 
 That Elizabeth continued to cheiish the memory of this unsuitable 
 lover with tenderness—not only after she had been deprived of him by 
 the axe of the executioner, but for long years afterwards—may be 
 interred from the favour which she always bestowed on his faithful fol¬ 
 lower, Sir John Harrington the elder, 2 and the fact, that when she was 
 
 1 See the Memoir of Queen Katharine Parr, vol. v. 
 
 * Sir John Harrington the elder was originally in the service of king Henry 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 39 
 
 actually the sovereign of England, and had rejected the addresses of 
 many of the princes of Europe, Harrington ventured to present her with 
 a portrait of his deceased lord, the admiral, with the following descrip¬ 
 tive sonnet: 
 
 “ Of person rare, strong limbs and manly shape, 
 
 By nature framed to serve on sea or land ; 
 
 In friendship firm, in good state or ill hap, 
 
 In peace head-wise, in war-skill great bold hand, 
 On horse or foot, in peril or in play, 
 
 None could excel, though many did essay. 
 
 A subject true to king, a servant great, 
 
 Friend to God’s truth, and foe to Rome’s deceit; 
 Sumptdous abroad for honour of the land, 
 Temperate at home, yet kept great state with stay, 
 And noble house, that fed more mouths with meat 
 Than some, advanced on higher steps to stand ; 
 
 Yet against nature, reason, and just laws, 
 
 His blood was spilt, guiltless, without just cause.” 
 
 The gift was accepted, and no reproof addressed to the donor. 
 Elizabeth had six ladies of honour in her household at Hatfield 
 whose names are celebrated by Sir John Harrington, in a complimen¬ 
 tary poem which he addressed to that princess early in Mary’s reign. 
 The poem commences: 
 
 The great Diana chaste, Thus meaning to bestow 
 
 In forest late I met, On each a gift most rare. 
 
 Did me command in haste 
 To Hatfield for to get; 
 And to you, six a-row, 
 
 Her pleasure to declare, 
 
 First she doth give to Grey 
 The falcons’ courteous kind, 
 Her lord for to obey 
 
 With most obedient mind. 
 
 He proceeds to praise Isabella Markham for her modesty and beauty 
 Mrs. Norwich for goodress and gravity; Lady Saint Lowe 1 for stabi¬ 
 lity ; Lady Willoughby for being a laurel instead of a willow ; and Mrs 
 Skipwith for prudence. Elizabeth chose to personate Diana or Pallas 
 all her life. 
 
 VIII., and much in his confidence. He married Ethelred Malte, alias Dyngley, 
 the king’s natural daughter, by Joanna Dyngley or Dobson, and obtained with 
 her a large portion of the confiscated church lands, which the king, out of his 
 special love and regard for her, gave for her use and benefit; but she always 
 passed for the illegitimate daughter of John Malte, the king's tailor, to whose 
 care she was committed in her infancy, for nurture and education. Harrington 
 married this young lady in 1546, and settled with her at Kelston, the gilt of 
 Henry VIII. After the death of this illegitimate scion of royalty, Harrington 
 entered into the service of the lord-admiral, and was very strictly examined by 
 the council of Edward VI. as to the intercourse of his lord with the lady Eliza¬ 
 beth; but he could neither be cajoled nor menaced into acknowledgments tend- 
 ing to criminate them. Elizabeth took him into her own household, and he 
 remained faithfully attached to her interest to the end of his life. His second 
 wife, the beautiful Isabella Markham, was one of Elizabeth's maids of honour 
 whom he has immortalized in his poetical works as “ Sweet Isabella Markham.” 
 See Nugss Antiquae, by sir John Harrington the younger. 
 
 ’ Lady Saint Lowe was afterwards tne countess of Shrewsbury, who has ao 
 quired an infamous celebrity by her injurious treatment of Mary, queen cf Scots, 
 while a prisoner under her lord’s charge. 
 
 I 
 
ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Elizabeth's scholastic pursuits—Aschatn—Elizabeth’s letter to Edward VI.—Her 
 
 first communication with Cecil—She goes to court—Her simplicity of attire_ 
 
 Her conformity to the Reformation—Prevented from seeing king Edward_ 
 
 Her letter to him — Her household at Hatfield — Privy purse expenses — Her 
 letter to the council—Death of Edward VI.—Elizabeth escapes Northumber¬ 
 land’s snares — Required to acknowledge lady Jane Grey's title — Prudent 
 answer — Meets her sister — Enters London with Mary — Admiration of the 
 people—Popularity with the protestants—Queen's jealousy—Elizabeth refuses 
 
 the mass—Queen Mary’s displeasure—Elizabeth dissembles and conforms_ 
 
 Given precedency next the queen at the coronation — Dines with the queen 
 and Anne of Cleves—Intrigues of the French ambassador—Plots in favour of 
 Elizabeth and Courtenay — Increasing coolness of the queen — Elizabeth for¬ 
 bidden to quit the palace — Or to receive visits — Matrimonial proposals_ 
 
 Offered an asylum in France—Courtenay betrays the plot—Wyatt's rebellions 
 
 —Elizabeth implicated therein — Queen Mary sends for her—Her excuses_ 
 
 Mandate for her appearance — Her journey from Hatfield to court — Entrance 
 
 into London—Queen refuses to see her—Her death desired by the council_ 
 
 Intercepted letters to Elizabeth — Gardiner's accusations against her_Her 
 
 household discharged — Her distress — Her letter to queen Mary—She is car¬ 
 ried by water to the Tower—Her disconsolate condition. 
 
 The disastrous termination of Elizabeth’s first love aflair, appears to 
 have had the salutary effect of inclining her to habits of a studious and 
 reflective character. She was for a time under a cloud, and durin<r the 
 profound retirement in which she was doomed to remain for at least a 
 year after the execution of the lord admiral, the energies of her active 
 mind found employment and solace in the pursuits of learning. She 
 assumed a grave and sedate demeanour, withal, and bestowed much 
 attention on theology, which the polemic spirit of the times rendered a 
 subject of powerful interest. 
 
 Her new governess, lady Tyrwhit, had been the friend of the late 
 queen, Katharine Parr, anil was one of the learned females who had 
 supported the doctrines of the Reformation, and narrowly escaped the 
 fiery crown of martyrdom; and though Elizabeth had, in the first in¬ 
 stance, defied her authority, there is reason to believe that she was 
 reconciled to her after the first effervescence of her high spirit had sub¬ 
 sided, and the assimilation of their religious feelings produced sympathy 
 and good-will between them. A curious little devotional volume is 
 mentioned by Anthony-a-Wood, as having once belonged to queen Eliza¬ 
 beth, which was compiled by this lady for her use, when acting as her 
 preceptress. It was of miniature size, bound in solid gold, and entitled, 
 
 (401 
 
ELIZABETH. 41 
 
 “ Lady Elizabeth Tyrwhit’s Morning and Evening Prayers, with divers 
 Hymns and Meditations.” * 1 
 
 It was probably about this period that Elizabeth translated an Italian 
 sermon of Occhines, which she transcribed in a hand of great beauty, 
 and sent to her royal brother, as a new year’s gift. The dedication is 
 dated Enfield, December 30, but the year is not specified; the MS. is 
 now in the Bodleian library. 
 
 Not in vain did Elizabeth labour to efface the memory of her early 
 indiscretion, by establishing a reputation for learning and piety. The 
 learned Roger Ascham, under whom she perfected herself in the study 
 of the classics, in his letters to Sturmius, the rector of the Protestant 
 university, at Strasburg, is enthusiastic in his encomiums on his royal 
 pupil, of whose scholastic attainments he is justly proud. “ Numberless 
 honourable ladies of the present time,” says he, “surpass the daughters 
 of sir Thomas More, in every kind of learning; but amongst them all, 
 my illustrious mistress, the lady Elizabeth, shines like a star, excelling 
 them more by the splendour of her virtues than by the glory of her 
 royal birth. In the variety of her commendable qualities, I am less per¬ 
 plexed to find matter for the highest panegyric, than to circumscribe 
 that panegyric within just bounds; yet, I shall mention nothing respect 
 ing her but what has come under my own observation. For two years 
 she pursued the study of Greek and Latin under my tuition, but th6 
 foundations of her knowledge in both languages were laid by the diligent 
 instruction of William Grindal, my late beloved friend, and seven years 
 my pupil in classical learning, at Cambridge. From this university he 
 was summoned by John Cheke to court, where he soon after received 
 the appointment of tutor to this lady, 
 i “ After some years, when through her native genius, aided by the 
 f efforts of so excellent a master, she had made a great progress in learn¬ 
 ing, and Grindal, by his merit and the favour of his mistress, might have 
 k aspired to high dignities, he was snatched away by a sudden illness. 1 
 [ was appointed to succeed him in his office, and the work which he had 
 so happily begun, without my assistance, indeed, but not without some 
 i counsels of mine, I diligently laboured to complete. Now, however, 
 
 1 released from the throng of a court, and restored to the felicity of my 
 former learned leisure, I enjoy, through the bounty of the king, 2 an 
 ■ honourable appointment in this university. 
 
 “ The lady Elizabeth has completed her sixteenth year; and so much 
 
 I solidity of understanding, such courtesy united with dignity, have never 
 been observed at so early an age. She has the most ardent love of true 
 I' religion and the best kind of literature; the constitution of her mind is 
 exempt from female weakness, and she is endued with masculine power 
 of application; no apprehension can be quicker than hers, no memory 
 more retentive. French and Italian she speaks like English; Latin with 
 fluency, propriety, and judgment. She also spoke Greek with me fre¬ 
 quently, willingly and moderately well. Nothing can be more elegant 
 
 ‘This precious relic was, at the time Anthony-a-Wood wrote, in the possession 
 of the Rev. Mr. Ashley, of Barrow, in Suifolh. 
 
 i “Edward VI. 
 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 than her handwriting, whether in the Greek or the Roman character. In 
 music she is very skilful, but does not greatly delight. With respect to 
 personal decoration, she greatly prefers a simple elegance, to show and 
 splendour, so despising the outward adorning of plaiting the hair and 
 wearing of gold, that in the whole manner of her life she rather resem¬ 
 bles Hippolyta than Phaedra. 
 
 “ She read with me almost the whole of Cicero, and a great part of 
 Livy: from those two authors her knowledge of the Latin language has 
 been almost exclusively derived. The beginning of the day was always 
 devoted by her to the New Testament in Greek, after which she read 
 select orations of Isocrates, and the tragedies of Sophocles, which I 
 judged best adapted to supply her tongue with the purest diction, her 
 mind with the most excellent precepts, and her exalted station with a 
 defence against the utmost power of fortune. For her religious instruc¬ 
 tion, she drew first from the fountains of Scripture, and afterwards from 
 St. Cyprian, the ‘ Commonplaces’ of Melancthon, and similar works, 
 which convey pure doctrine in elegant language. 
 
 “ In every kind of writing she easily detected any ill adapted or far¬ 
 fetched expression. She could not bear those feeble imitators of Eras¬ 
 mus, who bind the Latin language in the fetters of miserable proverbs. 
 On the other hand, she approved a style, chaste in propriety, and beau¬ 
 tiful in perspicuity, and she greatly admired metaphors when not too 
 violent, and antitheses when just, and happily opposed. By a diligent 
 attention to these particulars, her ear became so practised and so nice, 
 that there was nothing in Greek, Latin, or English prose or verse, which 
 according to its merits or defects, she did not either reject with disgust 
 or receive with the highest delight.” 
 
 The letters from which these passages have been extracted, were 
 written by Ascham, in Latin, in the year 1550, when he had for some 
 reason been compelled to withdraw from his situation in Elizabeth’s 
 household. The commendations of this great scholar, had probably 
 some share in restoring her to the favour of the learned young king, her 
 brother, whose early affection for the dearly-loved companion of his 
 infancy, appears to have revived after a time, and though the jealousy 
 of the selfish statesmen who held him in thrall, prevented the princely 
 hoy from gratifying his yearnings for her presence, he wrote to her to 
 send him her portrait. 
 
 Elizabeth, in her reverential, and somewhat pedantic epistle, in reply 
 certainly gives abundant evidence of the taste for metaphors to which 
 Ascham adverts in his letters to Sturmius. 
 
 “Letter from the Princess Elizabeth to King Edward VI., with a Present 
 of her Portrait . 1 
 
 “ Like as the rich man that daily gatliereth riches to riches, and to one bag of 
 money layeth a great sort till it come to infinite, so methinks your majesty, not 
 being sufficed with many benefits and gentlenesses showed to me afore this 
 time, doth now increase them in asking and desiring where you may bid and 
 command, requiring a thing not worthy the desiring for itself, but made worthy 
 for your highness's request. My picture, I mean, in which, if the inward good i 
 
 1 Cotton. MS., Vesp. F. iii., fol. 20. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 43 
 
 mind toward your grace might as well be declared as the outward lace and 
 countenance shall be seen, I would not have tarried the commandment, but pre¬ 
 vented it, nor have been the last to grant, but the first to offer it. For the face 
 I grant I might well blush to offer, but the mind I shall never be ashamed to 
 present. For though from the grace of the picture the colours may fade by time, 
 may give by weather, may be spotted by chance; yet the other, nor time with 
 her swift wings shall overtake, nor the misty clouds with their lowerings may 
 darken, nor chance with her slippery foot may overthrow. 
 
 “ Of this, although yet the proof could not be great, because the occasions hath 
 been but small, notwithstanding as a dog hath a day, so may I perchance have 
 time to declare it in deeds, where now I do write them but in words. And 
 further, 1 shall most humbly beseech your majesty, that when you shall look on 
 my picture, you will vouchsafe to think, that, as you have put the outward sha¬ 
 dow of the body afore you, so my inward mind wisheth that the body itself 
 were oftener in your presence ; liowbeit, because both my so being I think could 
 do your majesty little pleasure, though myself great good ; and again, because I 
 see as yet not the time agreeing thereunto, I shall learn to follow this saying of 
 Orace (Horace), l Feras non culpes quod vitari non potest.' And thus I will (trou¬ 
 bling your majesty I fear) end with my most humble thanks. Beseeching God 
 long to preserve you to his honour, to your comfort, to the realm’s profit, and to 
 my joy. From Hatfield, this 15th day of May. 
 
 “Your majesty’s most humble sister, Elizabeth.” 
 
 In-the summer of 1550, Elizabeth had succeeded in reinstating her 
 trusty cofferer, Thomas Parry, in his old office, and she employed him 
 to write to the newly-appointed secretary of state, William Cecil, after¬ 
 wards lord Burghley, to solicit him to bestow the parsonage of Ilarp- 
 tree, in the county of Somerset, on John Kenyon, the yeoman of her 
 robes. A lamentable instance of an unqualified layman, through the 
 patronage of the great, devouring that property which was destined for 
 the support of efficient ministers of the church. Such persons employed 
 incompetent curates as their substitutes, at a starving salary, to the great 
 injury and dissatisfaction of the congregation. 
 
 Parry’s letter is dated September 22d, from Asheridge. 1 “ Her grace,” 
 he says “hath been long troubled with rheums (rheumatism), 2 but now, 
 thanks be to the Lord, is nearly well again and shortly ye shall hear 
 from her grace again.” A good understanding appears to have been 
 early established between Elizabeth and Cecil, which possibly might be 
 one of the under-currents that led to her recal to court, where, however, 
 she did not return till after the first disgrace of the duke of Somerset. 
 
 On the 17th of March, 1551, she emerged from the profound retire¬ 
 ment in which she had remained since her disgrace in 1 549, and came 
 in state to visit the king her brother. She rode on horseback through 
 London to St. James’s palace, attended by a great company of lords, 
 knights, and gentlemen, and after her about two hundred ladies. On 
 the 19th, she came from St. James’s, through the park, to the court. 
 The way from the park-gate to the court was spread with fine sand. 
 She was attended by a very honourable confluence of noble and wor¬ 
 shipful persons of both sexes, and was received with much ceremony 
 at the court gate. 3 
 
 1 Tytler's Edward and Mary, vol. i. 
 
 a Or catarrh—cold; the word rheums being used indifferently at that era tor 
 both maladies. 
 
 ’ Stryoe's Memorials. 
 
 
44 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 That wily politician, the earl of Warwick, afterwards duke of North¬ 
 umberland, had considered Elizabeth, young and neglected as she was, 
 of sufficient political importance to send her a duplicate of the curious 
 letter addressed by the new council jointly to her and her sister, the lady 
 Mary, in which a statement is given of the asserted misdemeanours of 
 Somerset, and their proceedings against him. 1 The council were now at 
 issue with Mary on the grounds of her adherence to the ancient doc- 
 .rines, and as a conference had been appointed between her and her op¬ 
 ponents on the 18th of March, it might be to divert popular attention 
 from her and her cause, that the younger and fairer sister of the sove¬ 
 reign was permitted to make her public entrance into London, on the 
 preceding day, and that she was treated with so many marks of unwonted 
 respect. Thus we see Mary makes her public entry on the 18th, with 
 her train all decorated with black rosaries and crosses, 2 and, on the 19th, 
 Elizabeth is again shown to the people, as if to obliterate any interest 
 that might have been excited by the appearance of the elder princess. 
 Tire love of Edward VI. for Elizabeth was so very great, according to 
 Camden, that he never spoke of her by any other title than his “ dearest 
 sister,” or “his sweet sister Temperance.” 3 Elizabeth at that period 
 affected extreme simplicity of dress, in conformity to the mode, which 
 the rigid rules of the Calvinistic church of Geneva was rendering gene¬ 
 ral, among the stricter portion of those noble ladies who professed the 
 doctrines of the Reformation. 
 
 “The king her father,” says Dr. Aylmer, 4 “left her rich clothes and 
 jewels, and 1 know it to be true that in seven years after his death she 
 never, in all that time, looked upon that rich attire and precious jewels 
 but once, and that against her will; and that there never came gold or 
 stone upon her head, till her sister forced her to lay off her formei 
 soberness, and bear her company in her glittering gayness, and then she 
 so wore it, that all men might see, that her body carried that which her 
 heart misliked. I am sure that her maidenly apparel which she used in 
 king Edward’s time made the noblemen’s wives and daughters ashamed 
 to be dressed and painted like peacocks, being more moved with her 
 most virtuous example, than with all that ever Paul or Peter wrote, 1 
 touching that matter.” 5 6 
 
 The first opening charms of youth Elizabeth well knew required no 
 extraneous adornments, and her classic tastes taught her that the elabo¬ 
 rate magnificence of the costumes of her brother’s court, tended to ob¬ 
 scure, rather than enhance, those graces, which belonged to the morn¬ 
 ing bloom of life. 
 
 The plainness and modesty of the princess Elizabeth’s costume, was 
 particularly noticed, during the splendid festivities that took place on the 
 occasion of the visit of the queen-dowager of Scotland, Mary of Lor- 
 
 1 Tytler’s Edward and Mary, vol. i. a Memoir of Mary, vol. v. 
 
 * Camden's Introduction to Elizabeth’s Life. 
 
 4 The learned tutor of lady Jane Grey, in an encomium which he wrote on 
 
 Elizabeth, after her accession to the throne, entitled, -‘The Harbour fot Faithful 
 
 Subjects.” 
 
 6 Aylmer’s Harbour for Faithful Subjects. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 45 
 
 raine, to the court of Edward VI., in October, 1551. The advent of 
 the beautiful regent of the sister kingdom, and her French ladies of 
 honour, fresh from the gay and gallant Louvre, produced no slight ex¬ 
 citement among the noble belles of king Edward’s court, and it seems 
 that a sudden and complete revolution in dress took place, in conse¬ 
 quence of the new fashions that were then imported, by queen Mary 
 and her brilliant cortege; “so that all the ladies went with their hair 
 frounsed, curled, and double curled, except the princess Elizabeth, who 
 altered nothing,” says Aylmer, “ but kept her old maiden shamefaced¬ 
 ness.” 1 
 
 At a later period of life, Elizabeth made up, in the exuberance of her 
 ornaments, and the fantastic extravagance of her dress, for the simplicity 
 of her attire when in the bloom of sweet seventeen. What would her 
 reverend eulogist have said, if, while penning these passages in her 
 honour, the vision of her three thousand gowns, and the eighty wigs of 
 divers coloured hair, in which his royal heroine finally rejoiced, could 
 have arisen in array before his mental eye, to mark the difference be¬ 
 tween the Elizabeth of seventeen and the Elizabeth of seventy? The 
 Elizabeth of seventeen had, however, a purpose to answer, and a part 
 to play, neither of which were compatible with the indulgence of her 
 natural vanity, and that inordinate love of dress which the popular 
 preachers of her brother’s court were perpetually denouncing from the 
 pulpit. Her purpose was the re-establishment of that fair fame, which 
 had been sullied by the cruel implication of her name by the protector 
 Somerset and his creatures, in the proceedings against the lord admiral; 
 and in this she had, by the circumspection of her conduct, the unremit¬ 
 ting manner in which she had, since that mortifying period, devoted 
 herself to the pursuits of learning and theology, so fully succeeded, that 
 she was now regarded as a pattern for all the youthful ladies of the 
 court. 
 
 The part, which she was ambitious of performing, was that of hero¬ 
 ine of the reformed party in England, even as her sister Mary was of the 
 Catholic portion of the people. That Elizabeth was already so consi¬ 
 dered, and that the royal sisters were early placed in incipient rivalry to 
 each other, by the respective partisans of the warring creeds which di¬ 
 vided the land, may be gathered from the observations of their youthful 
 cousin, lady Jane Gray, when urged to wear the costly dress that had 
 been presented to her by Mary — “Nay, that were a shame, to follow 
 my lady Mary, who leaveth God’s word, and leave my lady Elizabeth, 
 who followeth God’s word.” 
 
 Elizabeth wisely took no visible part in the struggle between the 
 Dudley and Seymour factions, though there is reason to believe that 
 Somerset tried to enlist her on his side. The following interrogatory 
 was put to him on one of his examinations:—-“Whether he did not 
 consent that Vane should labour the lady Elizabeth to be offended with 
 the duke of Northumberland, then earl of Warwick, the earl of Pem¬ 
 broke, and others of his council ?” 2 The answer to this query has not 
 
 1 Aylmer’s Harbour for Faithful Subjects. 
 
 * Tytler’s Edward and Mary, vol. ii., p. 49. 
 
46 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 been found, or it might possibly throw some light on the history of Eliza- 
 neth at this period. She certainly had no cause to cherish the slightest 
 friendship for Somerset, for though it appears, from her letter to her sis¬ 
 ter Mary, that he had succeeded in persuading her that he was not guilty 
 of his brother’s death, yet, by bringing all the particulars of the indis¬ 
 cretions that had taken place between her and the admiral before the 
 -council, he had acted with the utmost cruelty towards herself, and cast 
 a blight on her morning flower of life. 
 
 If we may believe Leti, Somerset sent a piteous supplication to Eliza¬ 
 beth from the Tower, imploring her to go to the king, and exert her 
 powerful influence to obtain his pardon; and she wrote to him in reply, 
 “ that being so young a woman, she had no power to do anything in 
 his behalf,” and assured him “that the king was surrounded by those 
 who took good care to prevent her from approaching too near the court, 
 and she had no more opportunity of access to his majesty than himself.” 
 
 The fall of Somerset made, at first, no other difference to Elizabeth, 
 than the transfer of her applications for the restoration of Durham 
 House from him to the duke of Northumberland, who had obtained the 
 grant of that portion of Somerset’s illegally acquired property. Eliza¬ 
 beth persisted in asserting her claims to this demesne, and that with a 
 high hand, for she addressed an appeal to the lord chancellor on the 
 subject. She openly expressed her displeasure, that Northumberland 
 should have asked it of the king, without first ascertaining her disposi¬ 
 tion touching it, she made a peremptory demand that the house should 
 be delivered up to her, and sent word to Northumberland, “ that she 
 was determined to come and see the king at Candlemas, and requested 
 that she might have the use of St. James’s Palace for her abode, pro 
 tempore , because she could not have her things so soon ready at the 
 Strand House.” 1 
 
 “But,” concludes Northumberland, after relating these energetic pro¬ 
 ceedings of the young lady, “ 1 am sure her grace would have done no 
 less, though she had kept Durham House.” This observation certainly 
 refers to her wish of occupying St. James’s Palace. 
 
 It was, however, no part of Northumberland’s policy to allow either 
 of the sisters of the young king to enjoy the opportunity of personal 
 intercourse with him, and least of all, Elizabeth, whom, from the tender 
 friendship that had ever united them, and, more than all, the conformity 
 of her profession with Edward’s religious opinions, he might naturally 
 have been desirous of appointing as his successor, when his brief term 
 of royalty was drawing to a close. That Elisabeth made an attempt to 
 visit her royal brother in his sickness (at what period is uncertain), and 
 that she was circumvented in her intention, and intercepted on her ap¬ 
 proach to the metropolis, by the agents of the faction that had posses¬ 
 sion of his person, she herself informs him in the following letter, in 
 which she evinces a truly sisterly solicitude for his health. 
 
 “Letter from the Princess Elizabeth to Kino Edward VI. a 
 
 “ Like as a shipman in stormy weather plucks down the sails tarrying fo' 
 
 ‘See Northumberland's letter in Tytler, vol. ii., pp. 161—163. 
 * Hart.-MSS., 69S6. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 47 
 
 better winds, so did I, most noble king, in my unfortunate chance on Thursday, 
 pluck down the high sails of my joy and comfort, and do trust one day that, as 
 troublesome waves have repulsed me backward, so a gentle wind will bring me 
 forward to my haven. Two chief occasions moved me much and grieved me 
 greatly,—the one, for that I doubted your majesty's health,—the other, because 
 for all my long tarrying I went without that I came for. Of the first, I am re¬ 
 lieved in a part, both that I understood of your health, and also that your 
 majesty's lodging is not far from my lord marquis’ chamber. 1 Of my other grief 
 I am not eased, but the best is, that whatsoever other folks will suspect, I intend 
 not to fear your grace's good-will, which as I know that I never deserved to for¬ 
 feit, so I trust will still stick by me. For if your grace’s advice that I should 
 return (whose will is a commandment) had not been, I would not have made 
 the half of my way the end of my journey. And thus, as one desirous to hear 
 of your majesty’s health, though unfortunate to see it, I shall pray God for ever 
 to preserve you. From Hatfield, this present Saturday. 
 
 “ Your majesty’s humble sister, to commandment, 
 
 “ Elizabeth. 
 
 “ To the king’s most excellent majesty.” 
 
 The same power that was employed to prevent the visit of Elizabeth 
 to her sick, perhaps dying, brother, probably deprived him of the satis¬ 
 faction of receiving the letter which informed him that such had been 
 her intention. It was the interest of those unprincipled statesmen to 
 instil feelings of bitterness into the heart of the poor young king, against 
 those to whom the fond ties of natural affection had once so strongly 
 united him. The tenour of Edward VI.’s will, and the testimony of the 
 persons who were about him at the time of his death, prove that he was 
 at last no less estranged from Elizabeth, his “sweetest sister Temper¬ 
 ance,” as he was formerly wont to call her, than from Mary, whose 
 recusancy had been urged against her as a reasonable ground for exclu¬ 
 sion from the throne. Both were alike excluded from their natural 
 places in the succession, and deprived of the benefit of their father’s 
 nomination in the act for settling the royal succession in the year 1544, 
 and subsequently in his will — Mary, first, because of her papistry, and 
 secondly, because she had been declared illegitimate. The reproach of 
 papistry could not, with any consistency, be objected to Elizabeth; for, 
 had not the lady Jane Gray herself, the innocent rival to her title, de¬ 
 clared that “ the lady Elizabeth was a follower of God’s word ?” 2 And 
 as to the second objection of their declaring Mary illegitimate, the direct 
 contrary would have been the result, for the establishment of the legiti¬ 
 macy of either of these sisters, no matter which, must infallibly have 
 stigmatized the birth of the other. The next objection to Mary and 
 Elizabeth was, that being only sisters to Edward by the half blood, they 
 could not be his lawful heirs; but this was indeed a fallacy, for their 
 title was derived from the same royal father, from whom Edward inhe¬ 
 rited the throne, and would in no respect have been strengthened by the 
 comparatively mean blood of Jane Seymour, even if they had been her 
 daughters by the late king. The third reason given for the exclusion 
 of Edward’s sisters was, that they might marry foreign princes, and thus 
 
 ‘Katharine Parr’s brother, the marquis of Northampton, whom Edward called 
 uncle, and whom Elizabeth held in great regard. 
 
 ’Aylmer’s Harbour for Faithful Subjects. 
 
48 
 
 ELIZABETII. 
 
 be the means of bringing papistry into England again, which lady Jane 
 Grav could not do, as she was already married to the son of the duke 
 of Northumberland. 
 
 Latimer preached in favour of the exclusion of Elizabeth as well as 
 Marv, declaring that it was better that God should take away the ladies 
 Marv and Elizabeth, than that, by marrying foreign princes, they should 
 endanger the existence of the reformed church. Ridley set forth the 
 same doctrine, although it was well known that Elizabeth had rejected 
 the oiler of one foreign prince, and had evinced a disinclination to mar¬ 
 riage altogether. Nothing, therefore, could be more unfair than reject¬ 
 ing her, for fear of a contingency that never might, and in fact never 
 did. happen. 
 
 The name of conscience was. however, the watchword under which 
 Northumberland and his accomplices had carried their point with their 
 pious young sovereign, when they induced him to set aside the rightful 
 heirs, and bequeath the crown to lady Jane Gray. 
 
 Elizabeth kept her state at Hatfield House during the last few months 
 of Edward’s reign. The expenses of her household amounted to an 
 average of 3938/. according to one of her household books, from Oc¬ 
 tober 1st, 5th of Edward VI., to the last day of September in the 6th 
 year of that prince, in the possession of lord Strangford. It is entitled, 
 “ The Account of Thomas Parry, Esq., Cofferer to the Right Excellent 
 Princess the Lady Elizabeth, her Grace, the King’s Majesty’s Most Hon¬ 
 ourable Sister.” The above was the style and title used by Elizabeth 
 during her royal brother's reign. Every page of the book is signed at 
 the bottom by her own hand. Her cellar appears to have been well 
 stocked with beer, sweet wine, Rhenish and Gascoigne wines. Lam¬ 
 prey pies are once entered as a present. The wages of her household 
 servants for a quarter of a year amounted to 82/. 17s. 8 d. The liveries 
 of velvet coats for thirteen gentlemen, at forty shillings the coat, 
 amounted to twenty-six pounds; the liveries of her yeomen to 78/. 18s. 
 She paid for the making of her turnspits’ coats nine shillings and two¬ 
 pence. Given in alms, at sundry times, to poor men and women, 7/. 
 15s. 8 d. 
 
 Among the entries for the chamber and robes, are the following: 
 
 “ Paid to John Spithonius, die 17th of May, for books, and to Mr. Allen for a 
 Bible, 27s. 4 d. Paid to Edmund Allen for a Bible, 20s. Third of November, 
 to the keeper of Hertford Jail for fees of John Wingfield, being in ward. 13s. Ad. 
 Paid, 14th of December, to Blanche Parry for her half-year’s annuity, 100s.; and 
 to Blanche Courtnave for the like, 00s. S d. Paid, December 14th. at die chris¬ 
 tening of Mr. Pendred's child, as by warrant doth appear, Is. Paid in reward 
 unto sundry persons at St. James s—her grace then being there—viz., the king's 
 footmen, 11s.; the under-keeper of St. James's. 10s.; the gardener. 5s.; to one 
 Russell, groom of the king’s great chamber, 10s.; to the wardrobe, 11s.; the 
 violins. 10s.: a Frenchman that gave a book to her grace, 10s.; the keeper of 
 the park-gate at St. James's, 10s."’ 
 
 From another of Elizabeth’s account books, in possession of Gus- 
 tavus Brander, esq., the Antiquarian Repertory quotes the following ad¬ 
 ditional items:— 
 
 “ Two French hoods, 2/. 9s. 9 d. Half-a-yard and two nails of velvet, for part- 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 49 
 
 lets, 18s. 9 d. Paid to Edward Allen for a Bible, \l. Paid to the king’s (Edward 
 VI.) droner (bagpiper) and phipher (fifer), 20s. To Mr. Haywood, 30s.; and to 
 Sebastian, towards the charge of the children, with the carriage of the players’ 
 garments, 41. 19s. Paid to sundry persons at St. James’s, her grace being there 
 91. 15s. To Beamonde, the king's servant, for his boys that played before her 
 grace, 10s. In reward to certain persons, on the 10th of August (this was after 
 Mary's accession), to Former, who played on the lute; to Mr. Ashfield’s servant, 
 with two prize oxen and 10 muttons, 20s. more ; the harper, 30s.; to him that 
 made her grace a table of walnut tree, 44s. 9 d .; to Mr. Cockus’ servant that 
 brought her grace a sturgeon, 0s. 8 d. ; to my lord Russell’s minstrels, 20s. 
 
 “Accounts of Thomas Parry, cofferer of her household, till Oct., 1553.” 1 
 
 The last documentary record of Elizabeth, in the reign of Edward 
 VI., is a letter addressed by her to the lords of the council, relating to 
 some of her landed property, concerning which there was a dispute be¬ 
 tween her tenant, Smith, and my lord privy seal, the earl of Bedford. 
 She complains of having been “ evilly handled” by the minister, though 
 she denies taking part with Smith in the controversy against him. All 
 she wishes is, she says, “to enjoy her own right in quietness.” She 
 requests, in conclusion, “ her humble commendations to the king’s ma¬ 
 jesty, for whose health,” she says, “ I pray daily and daily, and ever 
 more shall so do, during my life. At Hatfield, the last day of May, 
 1553.” 
 
 On the morning of the 6th of July, Edward expired at Greenwich, 
 but his death was kept secret for the purpose of securing the persons of 
 his sisters, to both of whom deceitful letters were written in his name, 
 by order of Northumberland, requiring them to hasten to London to 
 visit him in his sickness. The effect of this treacherous missive on 
 Mary, her narrow escape and subsequent proceedings, have been related 
 in her memoir in the preceding volume of the “ Lives of the Queens of 
 England.” 2 Elizabeth, more wary, or better informed of what was in 
 agitation by some secret friend at court, supposed to be Cecil, instead of 
 obeying the guileful summons, remained quietly at Hatfield to watch 
 the event. This was presently certified to her by the arrival of com¬ 
 missioners from the duke of Northumberland, who, after announcing 
 the death of the young king, and his appointment of lady Jane Gray 
 for his successor, offered her a large sum of money and a considerable 
 grant of lands, as the price of her acquiescence, if she would make a 
 voluntary cession of her own rights in the succession, which she was 
 i in no condition to assert. Elizabeth, with equal wisdom and courage, 
 replied, “ that they must first make their agreement with her elder sis¬ 
 ter, during whose lifetime she had no claim or title, to resign.” Leti 
 assures us, that she also wrote a letter of indignant expostulation to 
 Northumberland, on the wrong that had been done to her sister and 
 herself, by proclaiming his daughter-in-law queen. A fit of sickness, 
 real, or, as some have insinuated, feigned, preserved Elizabeth from the 
 peril of taking any share in the contest for the crown. Her defenceless 
 position, and her proximity to the metropolis, placed her in a critical 
 predicament, and if by feigning illness she avoided being conducted to 
 the Tower, by Northumberland’s partisans, she acted as a wise woman, 
 
 1 Antiq. Repertory, vol. i., p. G4. 
 
 VOL. VI. -5 D 
 
 * Vol. v 
 
50 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 seeing that discretion is the better part of valour. But, sick or well, she 
 preserved her integrity, and as soon as the news of her sister’s successes 
 reached her, she forgot her indisposition and hastened to give public de¬ 
 monstrations of her loyalty and affection to her person, by going in 
 state to meet and welcome her, on her triumphant progress to the me¬ 
 tropolis. The general assertion of historians that Elizabeth raised a 
 nilitary force for the support of queen Mary is erroneous; she was 
 powerless in the first instance, and the popular outburst in favour of 
 Mary, rendered it needless after the first week’s reign of the nine-days 
 queen was over. 
 
 On the 29th of July, according to the Cottonian MS., quoted by 
 Strype. Elizabeth came riding, from her seat in the country, along Fleet- 
 street to Somerset House, which now belonged to her, attended by 2000 
 horse armed with spears, bows, and guns. In this retinue appeared sir 
 John Williams and sir John Bridges, and her chamberlain, all being 
 dressed in green, but their coats were faced with velvet, satin, taffeta, 
 silk, or cloth, according to their quality. This retinue of Elizabeth as¬ 
 sumed a less warlike character on the morrow, when it appears that 
 Mary had disbanded her armed militia. When Elizabeth rode through 
 Aldgate next day, on her road to meet her sister, she was accompanied 
 by a thousand persons on horseback, a great number of whom were 
 ladies of rank. 1 The royal sisters met at Wanstead, where Elizabeth 
 and her train paid their first homage to queen Mary, who received them 
 very graciously, and kissed every lady presented by Elizabeth. 
 
 On the occasion of Mary’s triumphant entrance into London, the royal 
 sisters rode side by side, in the grand equestrian procession. The 
 youthful charms of Elizabeth, then in her twentieth year, the majestic 
 grace of her tall and finely-proportioned figure, attracted every eve, and 
 formed a contrast disadvantageous to Mary, who was nearly double her 
 age, small in person, and faded prematurely by early sorrow, sickness, 
 and anxiety . 2 The pride and reserve of Mary’s character, would not 
 allow her to condescend to the practice of any of those arts of courting 
 popularity, in which Elizabeth, who rendered everything subservient to 
 the master-passion of her soul, ambition, was a practised adept. In 
 every look, word, and action, Elizabeth studied effect, and on this occa¬ 
 sion it was noticed that she took every opportunity of displaying the 
 beauty of her hand, of which she was not a little vain . 3 
 
 Within one little month after their public entrance into London, the 
 evil spirits of the times had succeeded in rekindling the sparks of jeal¬ 
 ousy between the Catholic queen and the Protestant heiress of the 
 throne. That Mary, after all the mortifications that had been inflicted 
 upon her at Elizabeth’s birth, had had the magnanimity to regard her 
 with sisterly feelings, is a fact, that renders the divisions, that were ef¬ 
 fected between them, the more deeply to be regretted. 
 
 1 Stowe rays, Elizabeth was accompanied by 1000 horse, consisting of knights, 
 ladies, gentlemen, and their servants. Lingard reduces this number to 150 per¬ 
 sons ; but the people of London then, as now, doubtless poured forth in mass, to 
 bail the approaching sovereign. 
 
 ’Turner; Lingard; Michele. 
 
 ’Report of Michele, the Venetian ambassador. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 51 
 
 When Mary, who had never dissembled her religious opinions, made 
 known her intention of restoring the mass and all the ancient ceremo¬ 
 nials, that had been abolished by king Edward’s council, the Protestants 
 naturally took the alarm. Symptoms of disaffection towards their new 
 sovereign betrayed themselves, in the enthusiastic regard which they 
 lavished on Elizabeth, who became the beacon of hope, to which the 
 champions of the Reformation turned, as the horizon darkened around 
 them. But it was not only on those to whom a sympathy in religious 
 opinions endeared her, that Elizabeth had succeeded in making a favour¬ 
 able impression, for she was already so completely established as the 
 darling of the people of England, that Pope Julius III., in one of his 
 letters, adverting to the report made by his envoy, Commendone, on the 
 state of queen Mary’s government, says, “ that heretic and schismatic 
 sister, formerly substituted for her (queen Mary) in the succession by 
 their father, is in the heart and mouth of every one.” 1 
 
 The refusal of Elizabeth to attend mass, while it excited the most 
 lively feelings of admiration for her sincerity and courage among the 
 Protestants, gave great offence to the queen and her council, and the 
 princess was sternly enjoined to conform to the Catholic rites. Eliza¬ 
 beth was resolute in her refusal; she even declined, under pretext of in¬ 
 disposition, being present at the ceremonial of making her kinsman 
 Courtenay an earl. This was construed into disrespect for the queen. 
 Some of the more headlong zealots, by whom Mary was surrounded, 
 recommended that she should be put under arrest. 2 Mary refused to 
 consent to a measure at once unpopular and unjustifiable, but endea¬ 
 voured, by alternate threats, persuasions, and promises, to prevail on her 
 sister to accompany her to the chapel-royal. 3 The progress of the con¬ 
 test between the queen and her sister, on this case of conscience, is 
 thus detailed by the French ambassador, Noailles, in a letter dated Sep¬ 
 tember 6th: 
 
 “ Elizabeth will not hear mass, nor accompany her sister to the cha¬ 
 pel, whatever remonstrance, either the queen or the lords on her side, 
 have been able to make to her on this subject. It is feared, that she is 
 counselled in her obstinacy by some of the magnates, who are disposed 
 to stir up fresh troubles. Last Saturday and Sunday,” continues he, 
 11 the queen caused her to be preached to, and entreated by all the great 
 men of the council, one after the other, but their importunity only eli¬ 
 cited from her, at last, a very rude reply.” 4 The queen was greatly 
 annoyed by the firmness of Elizabeth, which promised to prove a seri¬ 
 ous obstacle to the restoration of papacy in England. The faction, that 
 had attempted to sacrifice the rights of both the daughters of Henry VIII. 
 by proclaiming lady Jane Gray queen, gathered hopes from the dissen¬ 
 sion between the royal sisters. Elizabeth, however, who had no inten¬ 
 tion of unsettling the recently established government of the sickly 
 sovereign, to whom she was heir presumptive, when she found that it 
 was suspected that her nonconformity proceeded from disaffection, de- 
 
 1 Letters of Pope Julius III., p. 112. Sharon Turner. 
 
 a Lingard ; Noailles; Turner. s Ibid. 
 
 4 Depeches du Noailles, 147. 
 
52 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 manded an audience with queen Mary, and throwing herself on her 
 knees before her, she told her, weeping at the same time, “ that she saw 
 plainly how little affection her majesty appeared to have for her, and 
 that she knew she had done nothing to oflend her, except in the article 
 of religion, in which she was excusable, having been brought up in the 
 creed she at present professed, without having ever heard any doctor, 
 who could have instructed her in the other.” She entreated the queen, 
 therefore, to let her have some books, explanatory of doctrine, contrary 
 to that set forth in the Protestant books she had hitherto read, and she 
 would commence a course of study, from works composed expressly in 
 defence of the Catholic creed, which, perhaps, might lead her to adopt 
 other sentiments. She also requested to have some learned man ap¬ 
 pointed for her instructor.” * 1 
 
 The queen received these overtures in a conciliatory spirit, and Eli¬ 
 zabeth appeared with her at the celebration of mass, on the 8th of Sep¬ 
 tember, a festival, by which the church of Rome commemorates the 
 nativity of the blessed Virgin. Griffet affirms, that Elizabeth did this 
 with a bad grace, and gave evident tokens of repugnance, but she vo¬ 
 luntarily wrote to the emperor Charles V., requesting him to send a 
 cross, chalices, and other ecclesiastical ornaments for a chapel, “ which 
 she intended,” she said, “ to open in her own house.” 2 By these con¬ 
 descensions to expediency, Elizabeth succeeded for a time in maintain¬ 
 ing her footing at court, and securing her proper place in the approach¬ 
 ing ceremonial of the coronation, as next in rank to her sister the queen. 
 In the splendid pageant of the royal cavalcade from the Tower to 
 Westminster, on the preceding day, Elizabeth wore a French dress of 
 white and silver tissue, and was seated with Anne of Cleves, her some¬ 
 time stepmother, in a chariot drawn by six horses, trapped also with 
 white and silver, which followed immediately after the gold-canopied 
 litter in which the sovereign was borne. 3 
 
 At the coronation, Elizabeth was again paired with the lady Anne of 
 Cleves, who had precedency over every other lady in the court. These 
 two princesses, also, dined at the same table with the queen at the ban¬ 
 quet, an honour which was not vouchsafed to any other person there. 4 
 
 During all the festivities and royal pageants that succeeded the coro¬ 
 nation, Mary gave public testimonials of respect and sisterly regard for 
 Elizabeth, by holding her by the hand, 5 and placing her next to herself 
 at table. This Noailles notices that she did in particular at the great 
 banquet given to the Spanish ambassador and his suite. Elizabeth was 
 also prayed for, as the queen’s sister, by Dr. Harpsfield, at the opening 
 of the convocation at Weslminster, immediately after the coronation. 
 Strype, 6 who honestly narrates the fact, complains that nothing was 
 added in her commendation; but this, as she was opposed to the doc¬ 
 trines of the church of Rome, was scarcely to be expected from their 
 divines, neither were the deceitful terms of flattery, which were conven- 
 
 1 Renaud a l'Emp. Charles V. Griffet, p. 106-7. 
 
 1 Griffet; Lingard j Tytler. 3 Stowe. 
 
 * Noailles. 6 Sharon Turner; Noailles. 
 
 * Strype s Memorials, vol. iii., p. 62, Oxford edition. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 53 
 
 tionally used towards the members of the royal family, of such impor¬ 
 tance to Elizabeth, as her public recognition, by her sister’s hierarchy 
 and divines, as the heiress presumptive to the throne. This was of the 
 greater moment to Elizabeth, because, by the act which passed imme¬ 
 diately after the meeting of Mary’s first parliament, confirming the mar¬ 
 riage of Henry VIII. and Katharine of Arragon, and establishing the 
 legitimacy of the queen, the subsequent marriage of Henry with Anne 
 Boleyn was rendered null and void,' and the birth of Elizabeth ille¬ 
 gitimate in point of law, although, from motives of delicacy, as well as 
 sound policy, it was not declared so. Elizabeth was the darling of the 
 people, and as long as her reversionary claims to the regal succession 
 were recognised by the reigning sovereign, she stood beside the throne, 
 as a check to the plots of the aspiring house of Suffolk, on the one 
 hand, and the designs of the French party on the other. Lady Jane 
 Gray was still living and unforgotten, and Henry II. of France treated 
 his daughter-in-law, the young queen of Scots, as the rightful sovereign 
 of England, on the plea that neither of the daughters of Henry VIII. 
 were legitimate. Their father had stigmatized the birth of both Mary 
 and Elizabeth, and the subservient parliament of June, 1536, had, in 
 obedience to his unjust intention of preferring any future daughters, that 
 might be born to him by Jane Seymour or her successors, to the issue 
 of Katharine of Arragon and Anne Boleyn, formally declared the royal 
 sisters illegitimate, and incapable of succeeding to the throne. 
 
 The act for settling the succession in 1545, and the will of Henry 
 VIII., had indeed taken away the latter clause, but the declaration of 
 illegitimacy remained unrepealed, and had been further insisted upon in 
 the will of the late king Edward VI., by the exclusion of both prin¬ 
 cesses, in favour of the grand-daughter of the youngest sister of Henry 
 VIII. The experiment of placing a juvenile scion, from a collateral 
 branch of the royal family, on the throne, had been displeasing to the 
 nation in general; not only Catholics, but Protestants had united, in 
 opposing so flagrant a violation of the old established laws of the regal 
 succession in England. The miseries caused by the wars of the roses, 
 had proved a salutary lesson, on the danger of permitting a temporary 
 alienation of the crown from the direct line of primogeniture; and a 
 mighty majority of the people had vested the sovereignty in the person 
 of Mary Tudor, according to the letter of her father’s will, the condi¬ 
 tions of which, she never violated with regard to Elizabeth’s rever¬ 
 sionary claim to the succession. So far, the interests of Elizabeth were 
 united with those of her sister, but when the act which established the 
 legitimacy of the queen passed, she and her friends took umbrage, be¬ 
 cause it tacitly implied the fact that she was not born in lawful wed¬ 
 lock. 
 
 If Elizabeth had acted with the profound policy which marked her 
 subsequent conduct, she would not have called attention to this deli¬ 
 cate point, by evincing her displeasure, but her pride was piqued, and 
 she demanded permission to withdraw from court. 2 It was refused, and 
 
 ^ 1 Journals of Parliament, 1st of Queen Mary. 
 
 5 * 
 
 ’Noailles; Turner; Lingard. 
 
54 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 a temporary estrangement took place between her and the queen. 
 Noailles, the French ambassador, whose business it was to pave the 
 way for the succession of the young queen of Scots to the throne of 
 England, bv the destruction of the present heiress presumptive, fomented 
 the differences between the royal sisters with fiendlike subtlety and 
 satisfaction. 1 II 
 
 Henry II. made the most liberal offers of money and advice to Eliza¬ 
 beth while, in fancy, he exulted in the idea of her disgrace and death, 
 and the recognition of his royal daughter-in-law as the future sovereign 
 of the Britannic Isles, from sea to sea, under the matrimonial dominion 
 of his eldest son. The brilliancy of such a prospect rendered the 
 French monarch and his ministers reckless of the restraints of honour, 
 conscience, or humanity, which might tend to impede its realization, and 
 Elizabeth was marked out, first as their puppet, and finally, as the vie 
 tim of a plot, which might possibly end in the destruction not only of 
 one sister, but both. 
 
 The Protestant party, alarmed at the zeal of queen Mary for the re¬ 
 establishment of the old Catholic institutions, and detesting the idea of 
 her Spanish marriage, were easily excited to enter into any project for 
 averting the evils they foresaw. A plot was devised for raising the 
 standard of revolt, against queen Mary’s government, in the joint names 
 of the princess Elizabeth and Courtenay earl of Devonshire, to whom 
 they proposed to unite her in marriage. That Courtenay, who had 
 been piqued at Mary’s declining to accept him for her husband, entered 
 into a confederacy, which promised him a younger and more attractive 
 royal bride, with the prospect of a crown for her dowry, there is no 
 doubt; though, the romantic tales in which some modern historians 
 have indulged, touching his passion for Elizabeth, are somewhat apocry¬ 
 phal. The assertion that he refused the proffered hand of Mary, on 
 account of his disinterested preference for Elizabeth, is decidedly untrue. 
 It was not till convinced of the hopelessness of his suit to the queen, 
 that he allowed himself to be implicated in a political engagement to 
 marry Elizabeth, who, if consenting to the scheme, appears to have 
 been wholly a passive agent, cautiously avoiding any personal partici¬ 
 pation in the confederacy, till she saw how it was likely to end. It is 
 therefore difficult to say how far her heart was touched by the external 
 graces of her handsome but weak-minded kinsman. 2 
 
 The difficulties of her position at this crisis were extreme; distrusted 
 by the queen, watched and calumniated by the Spanish ambassador, 
 Renaud, assailed by the misjudging enthusiasm of the Protestant party, 
 with spiritual adulation, and entreated to stand forth as the heroine of 
 their cause, and tempted by the persuasions and treacherous promises 
 of the subtle Noailles, it required caution and strength of mind seldom 
 
 I Depeches de Noailles. 
 
 II Leti has inserted, in his History of Elizabeth, several love-letters, which he 
 declares passed betwe'en that princess and Courtenay; but even if he had refer¬ 
 ence to the original documents, he has, according to his usual custom, rendered 
 them into a phraseology so modern and suspicious, as to create doubts of their 
 authenticity 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 55 
 
 to be found in a girl of twenty, not to fall into some of the snares which 
 so thickly beset her path.' Noailles made his house a rendezvous for 
 the discontented Protestants and the disaffected of every description. 
 Midnight conferences were held there, at which Courtenay was a pro¬ 
 minent person, though the pusillanimity of his character rendered it 
 difficult to stir him up to anything like open enterprise. Noailles in¬ 
 formed his court “ that though Elizabeth and Courtenay were proper 
 instruments, for the purpose of exciting a popular rising, Courtenay was 
 so timorous that he would suffer himself to be taken before he would 
 act.” The event proved the accuracy of this judgment. By the dint, 
 however, of great nursing, the infant conspiracy began to assume a more 
 decided form, and as Elizabeth could not be induced to unite herself 
 openly with the confederates, Noailles affirms “that they intended to 
 surprise and carry her away, to marry her to Courtenay, and conduct 
 them into Devonshire and Cornwall, where Courtenay had powerful 
 friends.” They imagined that a general rising would take place in their 
 favour, in the west of England, with a simultaneous revolt of the Suffolk 
 faction in the east and other parts, where they greatly miscalculated the 
 popular feeling against the queen. 1 2 
 
 Elizabeth, meantime, perceiving the perils that beset her, on the one 
 hand, from the folly of her injudicious friends, and, on the other, from 
 the malignity of her foes, and alarmed at the altered manner of the queen 
 towards her, reiterated her entreaties to be permitted to retire to one of 
 her houses in the country. 3 The leave was granted, and the day for 
 her departure actually fixed, but the representations of the Spanish 
 minister, “ that she was deeply engaged in plots against her majesty’s 
 government, and that she only wished to escape from observation by 
 withdrawing herself into the country, in order to have the better oppor¬ 
 tunity of carrying on her intrigues with the disaffected,” caused queen 
 Mary to forbid her to quit the palace. So much incensed was the 
 queen, at the reports that were daily brought to her, of the disloyalty 
 of Elizabeth, that she would not admit her to her presence, and inflicted 
 upon her the severe mortification of allowing the countess of Lenox and 
 the duchess of Suffolk to take precedency of her. Elizabeth then ab¬ 
 sented herself from the chapel-royal, and confined herself to her own 
 chamber; on which, the queen forbade any of her ladies to visit her 
 there without especial permission. 
 
 So considerable, however, was the influence Elizabeth had already 
 acquired among the female aristocracy of England, and so powerful was 
 the sympathy excited for her at this period, that, in defiance of the 
 royal mandate, all the young gentlewomen of the court visited her daily, 
 and all day long in her chamber, and united in manifesting the most 
 ardent affection for her. 4 Elizabeth received these flattering tokens of 
 regard with answering warmth, in the vain hope that the strength of her 
 party would place her on a more independent footing, but of course it 
 only rendered her case worse, by exciting jealousy and provoking anger 
 
 1 Noailles’ Despatches ; Griffet; Lingard; Turner. 
 
 “Noailles, 11,240,254-08. “Noailles; Lingard; Turner. 
 
 * Noaillei 
 
56 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 She was sedulously watched by the council, spies in her own household 
 made almost hourly reports of all her movements, and every visit she 
 received. By one of these traitors information was conveyed to Mary’s 
 ministers, that a refugee French preacher had secret interviews with her; 
 on which the Spanish ambassador advised, that she should be sent to 
 the Tower. Renaud also charged Noailles, the French ambassador, 
 with holding private nocturnal conferences with the princess in her own 
 chamber; this, Noailles angrily denied, and a violent altercation took 
 place between the two diplomatists on the subject. Two of the queen’s 
 ministers, Paget and Arundel, then waited on Elizabeth, and informed 
 her of the accusation. She found no difficulty in disproving a charge 
 of which she was really innocent, and with some emotion expressed her 
 gratitude “ for not having been condemned unheard,” and entreated 
 them, “ never to give credit to the calumnies that might hereafter be 
 circulated against her, without allowing her an opportunity of justifying 
 herself.” 1 
 
 The queen, after this explanation, as a pledge of her reconciliation 
 with Elizabeth, presented her \\ith a double set of large and valuable 
 pearls, and having granted her permission to retire into the country, dis¬ 
 missed her with tokens of respect and affection. 2 
 
 It was in the beginning of December, that Elizabeth obtained the 
 long delayed leave from her royal sister to retire to her own house at 
 Asheridge, in Buckinghamshire; but even there a jealous watch was 
 kept on all her movements, and those of her servants. Never had cap¬ 
 tive bird panted more to burst from the thraldom of a cage, than she to 
 escape from the painful restraints and restless intrigues of the court, 
 where she was one day threatened with a prison, and the next flattered 
 with the prospect of a crown ; 3 but the repose for which she sighed was 
 far remote. Instead of enjoying the peaceful pursuits of learning, or 
 sylvan sports, in her country abode, she was harassed with a matrimo¬ 
 nial proposal, which had been suggested to Mary by the Spanish cabi¬ 
 net, in behalf of the prince of Piedmont; 4 it not being considered expe¬ 
 dient for the queen to solemnize her unpopular nuptials with Philip of | 
 Spain, till Elizabeth was wedded to a foreign husband. 
 
 Elizabeth resolutely refused to listen to the pretensions of the prince 
 of Piedmont, and she also declined the overtures, that were privately 
 renewed to her by the king of Denmark, in favour of his son, whom 
 she had refused during her brother’s reign. In all the trials, mortifica¬ 
 tions, and perplexities which surrounded her, she kept her eye steadily 
 fixed on the bright reversion of the crown of England, and positively 
 refused to marry out of the realm, even when the only alternative ap¬ 
 peared to be a foreign husband or a scaffold. 
 
 The sarcastic proverb, u defend me from my friends, and I will take 
 care of my foes,” was never more fully exemplified than in the case of 
 Elizabeth, during the first year of her sister’s reign, for an army of de- 
 
 1 Noailles. 3 Lingard. 3 Ibid. 
 
 • Philibert Emanuel, heir of the dukedom of Savoy. He was cousin-german 
 
 to Philip of Spain, and his dearest friend. He was the son of the sister of the 
 
 empress Isabel, wife to Charles V.—Brantome. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 57 
 
 clared enemies would have been less perilous to her than the insidious 
 caresses of the king of France, and his ambassador. Henry wrote to 
 her letters, with unbounded offers of assistance and protection; and he 
 advanced just enough money to the conspirators, to involve them in the 
 odium of receiving bribes from France, without bearing the slightest 
 proportion to their wants. He endeavoured to persuade Elizabeth to 
 take refuge in his dominions; but if she had fallen into such a snare, 
 she would have found herself in much the same situation as Mary queen 
 of Scots was, when she sought an asylum in her realm. The only re¬ 
 sult of this correspondence was, that it involved Elizabeth in the greatest 
 peril, when letters in cipher, supposed to be from her in reply to Henry, 
 were intercepted. 
 
 On the 21st of January, 1553-4, Gardiner drew from the weak or 
 treacherous Courtenay the secrets of the confederacy, of which he was 
 to have been the leader and the hero. The conspirators on the follow¬ 
 ing day learned that they had been betrayed, and found themselves under 
 the fatal necessity of anticipating their plans by taking up arms. 1 
 
 Wyat immediately sent to Elizabeth an earnest recommendation to 
 retire from the vicinity of the metropolis. Young Russell, the son of 
 the earl of Bedford, who was a secret member of the confederacy, was 
 the bearer of the letter, and it seems, that he was the agent, through 
 whom all communications between Wyat and her were carried on. 2 Sir 
 James Crofts also saw and urged her to adopt this plan. Elizabeth per¬ 
 ceived her peril, and determined not to take any step, that might be con¬ 
 strued into an overt act of treason. She knew the weak and unsteady 
 elements of which the confederacy was composed. Courtenay had 
 proved a broken reed; and of all people in the world, she had the least 
 reason to place confidence in either the wisdom, the firmness, or the 
 integrity of the duke of Suffolk, who would, of course, if successful, 
 endeavour to replace his daughter, lady Jane Gray, on the throne. Com¬ 
 mon sense must have convinced Elizabeth, that he could have no other 
 
 ( motive for his participation in the revolt. It was probably her very ap¬ 
 prehension of such a result, that led this suspicious princess into an 
 incipient acquiescence in the conspiracy, that she might obtain positive 
 information as to the real nature of their projects, so that if she found 
 them hostile to her own interests, the power of denouncing the whole 
 affair to the queen would be in her own hands. Under any circum¬ 
 stances, Elizabeth would have found a straight-forward path the safest. 
 Letters addressed to her by the French ambassador, and also by Wyat, 
 were intercepted by queen Mary’s ministers. Russell was placed under 
 irrest, and confessed that he had been the medium of a secret corre¬ 
 spondence, with the leaders of the confederacy and Elizabeth. 3 Wyat 
 jnfurled the standard of revolt on the 25th of January, and the queen 
 sent her royal mandate to Elizabeth on the 26th, enjoining her imme- 
 liate return to court, “ where,” however, she assured her, “ she would 
 >e heartily welcome.” 4 Elizabeth mistrusted the invitation, and took to 
 
 1 Tytler; Lingard. 3 Ibid. 3 Griffet; Tytler. 
 
 4 Strype.—See the Memoir of Queen Mary, vol. v. 
 
58 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 her bed; sending a verbal message to the queen 11 that she was too ill at 
 present to travel, that as soon as she was able she would come, and 
 prayed her majesty’s forbearance for a few days.” 
 
 After the lapse of several days, the officers of Elizabeth’s household 
 addressed a letter to her majesty’s council, to explain “ that increased 
 indisposition, on the part of their mistress, was the sole cause that pre¬ 
 vented her from repairing to the queen’s highness, and though they con¬ 
 tinued in hope of her amendment, they saw no appearance of it, and 
 therefore they considered it their duty, considering the perilous attempts 
 of the rebels, to apprise their lordships of her state.” 1 
 
 Mary received this excuse, and waited for the coming of Elizabeth till 
 the 10th of February. During that eventful fortnight a formidable 
 insurrection had broken out, of which the ostensible object was the 
 dethronement of the queen, and the elevation of Elizabeth to the regal 
 office. The French and Venetian ambassadors had both intrigued with 
 the disaffected, and supplied them with money and arms. Mary had 
 been attacked in her own palace by Wyat’s army of insurgents; she 
 had quelled the insurrection, and proceeded to measures of great severity, 
 to deter her factious subjects from further attempts to disturb the public 
 peace. Terror was stricken into every heart when it was known that a 
 warrant was issued for the immediate execution of lady Jane Gray and 
 her husband. Wyat, and others of the confederates, with the view of 
 escaping the penalty of their own rash attempts, basely denounced Eliza¬ 
 beth and Courtenay as the exciters of the treasonable designs that had 
 deluged the metropolis with blood, and shaken the throne of Mary. 
 Elizabeth had fortified her house meantime, and introduced an armed 
 force within her walls, probably for a defence against the partisans of 
 lady Jane Gtay, but, of course, her enemies and the Spanish party in¬ 
 sisted that it was intended as a defiance to the royal authority. The 
 queen, who had every reason to distrust her loyalty, then despatched 
 lord William Howard, sir Edward Hastings, and sir Thomas Cornwallis, 
 to bring her to court. 2 With these gentlemen she sent her own physi¬ 
 cians, Dr. Owen and Dr. Wendy, to ascertain whether Elizabeth was 
 ieally able to bear the journey. Now, Dr. Wendy, to his honour be it 
 remembered, was instrumental in the preservation of queen Katharine 
 Parr’s life, by the prudent counsel he gave her at the time of her ex¬ 
 treme peril, and also, as it has been supposed, by acting as a mediator 
 between her and king Henry. 3 * * * * 8 He had known Elizabeth from her child- 
 
 1 Strype's Memorials, Eccl. iii. 83. From Petyt MS. 
 
 3 Tliat accurate historian, Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq., has, with great clearness, 
 
 traced the discrepancies of Fox, when tested with the authentic State Paper 
 
 Records of that memorable passage in the early life of our great Elizabeth. Aftel 
 
 carefully examining and collating all contemporary authorities on ^ie subject, it 
 
 is impossible not to coincide with the view Mr. Tytler has taken from the evi¬ 
 dence of dates and documents. The statement of Fox, that Mary gave a peremp¬ 
 tory commission to three of the members of her council, “ to repair to Asheridge 
 and bring the lady Elizabeth to court, quick or dead, r as asserted in that author’s 
 
 romantic biography of Elizabeth, in the Appendix of his Martyrology, is a dis¬ 
 torted version of the facts, of which a plain narrative is given in these pages | 
 See also Tytler’s Edward and Mary, vol. ii. 
 
 8 See the Life of Queen Katharine Parr, vol. v. 
 
 h 
 
 ti 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 59 
 
 hood, and his appearance would rather have had the effect of inspiring 
 her with hope and confidence, than terror. Be that as it may, he and 
 his coadjutor decided, that she might be removed without peril of her 
 life. The three commissioners then required an audience of the princess, 
 who, guessing their errand no doubt, refused to see them, and when 
 they entered the chamber, it being then past ten o’clock at night, she 
 said, “ Is the haste such, that it might not have pleased you to come in 
 the morning ?” They made answer, “ that they were sorry to see her 
 grace in such a case.” 
 
 “ And I,” replied she, “ am not glad to see you at this time of night!” 
 
 This little dialogue, which rests on the authority of Holinshed, is 
 characteristic, and likely enough to have taken place, although it is not 
 mentioned in the following letter of the commissioners to the queen. 
 We are, however, to bear in mind, that Elizabeth’s great-uncle, lord 
 William Howard, who appears to have been the leading man on the 
 occasion, would scarcely have related any speech on the part of his 
 young kinswoman, likely to have been construed by the queen and her 
 council, into an act of contumacy. On the contrary, he describes Eliza¬ 
 beth as using the most dutiful and compliant expressions, only fearful 
 of encountering the fatigue of a journey in her weak state; any one, 
 from his report, would imagine her to be the meekest and gentlest of all 
 invalids. 
 
 “ The Lord Admiral (Lord W. Howard), Sir Edward Hastings, and Sir 
 Thomas Cornwallis, to the Queen . 1 
 
 “ In our humble wise. It may please your highness to be advertised, that 
 yesterday, immediately upon our arrival at Asheridge, we required to have ac¬ 
 cess unto my lady Elizabeth’s grace, which obtained, we delivered unto her your 
 highness’s letter; and I, the lord admiral, declared the effect of your higlmess’s 
 pleasure, according to the credence given to us, being before advertised of her 
 state by your highness’s physicians, by whom we did perceive the state of her 
 body to be such, that, without danger to her person, we might well proceed to 
 require her, in your majesty's name (all excuses set apart), to repair to your 
 highness, with all convenient speed and diligence. 
 
 “ Whereunto we found her grace very willing and conformable, save only 
 ‘ that she much feared her weakness to be so great' that she should not be able 
 to travel, and to endure the journey without peril of life, and therefore desired 
 some longer respite, until she had better recovered her strength ; but in conclu¬ 
 sion, upon the persuasion, as much of us, as of her own council and servants 
 (whom we assure your highness we have found very ready and forward to the 
 accomplishment of your highness's pleasure, in this behalf), she is resolved to 
 remove hence to-morrow towards your highness with such journies as by a 
 paper, herein enclosed, your highness shall perceive; further declaring to your 
 highness, that her grace much desireth, if it might stand with your highness's 
 pleasure, that she may have a lodging, at her coming to court, somewhat further 
 from the water (the Thames) than she had at her last being there; which your 
 physicians, considering the state of her body, thinketh very meet, who have 
 travailed (taken great pains) very earnestly with her grace both before our coming “ 
 and after, in this matter. 
 
 ‘State Papers, Feb. 11, 1553-4. Edited by P. F. Tytler, Esq. Edward and 
 Mary, vol. ii., p. 426. 
 
 “This sentence leads to the conclusion that Dr. Wendy and Dr. Owen had been 
 at Asheridge, in attendance on Elizabeth, since her first summons to court. 
 
60 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “And after her first day's journey, one of us shall await upon your highness, 
 to declare more at large, the whole state of our proceedings here. And even so, 
 we shall most humbly beseech Christ long to preserve your highness in honour, 
 health, and the contentation of your godly heart's desire. 
 
 “ From Asheridge, the 11th of February, at four of the clock in the afternoon. 
 
 “ Your highness's most humble and bounden servants and subjects, 
 
 “ W. Howard, Edward Hastings, T. Corn waleys.” 
 
 The paper enclosed, sketching the plan of their progress to London, 
 a document of no slight importance, considering the falsified statement 
 which has been embodied in history, is as follows:— 
 
 “ The order of my lady Elizabeth's grace’s voyage to the court. 
 
 “Monday.—Imprimis to Mr. Cooke's, vi miles. 
 
 “Tuesday.—Item, to Mr. Pope's, viii miles. 
 
 “ Wednesday.—To Mr. Stamford's, vii miles. 
 
 “Thursday.—To Highgate, Mr. Cbolmeley's house, vii miles. 
 
 “Friday.—To Westminster, v miles.” 
 
 Such is the official report of Elizabeth’s maternal kinsman, lord Wil¬ 
 liam Howard, attested by the signatures of two other noble gentlemen. 
 Motives of worldly interest, to say nothing of the ties of nature, would 
 have inclined lord William Howard to cherish and support, as far as he 
 could with safety to himself, an heiress presumptive to the crown, so 
 nearly connected in blood with his own illustrious house. He was the 
 brother of her grandmother, lady Elizabeth Howard, and in the probable 
 event of queen Mary’s death without issue, it was only reasonable for 
 this veteran statesman to calculate on directing the councils of his 
 youthful niece, and exercising the executive power of the crown. He 
 was a man whom Elizabeth both loved and honoured, and she testified 
 her grateful remembrance of his kindness after her accession to the 
 crown. If Mary had intended Elizabeth to be treated as barbarously as 
 Fox has represented, she would have selected some other agent for the 
 minister of her cruelty. 
 
 The letter of the commissioners to the queen is dated February 1 Ith, 
 which was Sunday; contrary to the assertions of Fox and Holinshed, 
 they remained at Asheridge the whole of that day and night, and it was 
 not till Monday morning, the 12th, that they proceeded to remove Eli¬ 
 zabeth. It was the day appointed for the execution of the lady Jane 
 Gray and lord Guildford Dudley, and even the strong mind and lion¬ 
 like spirit of Elizabeth must have quailed, at the appalling nature of her 
 own summons to the metropolis, and the idea of commencing her 
 journey in so ominous an hour. Thrice she was near fainting as she 
 was led between two of her escort, to the royal litter, which the queen 
 had sent for her accommodation. 1 Her bodily weakness, or some other 
 cause, appears to have caused a deviation from the original programme 
 of the journey, for the places where she halted were not the same as 
 those specified by the commissioners in their letter to the queen. She 
 reached Redburn in a feeble condition the first night. On the second, 
 she rested at Sir Ralph Rowlet’s house, at St. Alban’s; on the third, at 
 Mr Dod’s, at Mimmes; on the fourth, at Highgate, where she remained 
 
 1 Holiush,ed. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 Cl 
 
 at Mr. Cholmeley’s house a night and day, according to Holinshed, but 
 most probably it was longer, as she did not enter London till the 23rd 
 of February; and Noailles, in a letter, dated the 21st, makes the fol¬ 
 lowing report of her condition to his own court. 
 
 “ While the city is covered with gibbets, and the public buildings 
 crowded with the heads of the bravest men in the kingdom, (Wto, by 
 the bye , had given but an indifferent sample of their valour) the princess 
 Elizabeth, for whom no better fate is foreseen, is lying ill, about seven 
 or eight miles from hence, so swollen and disfigured that her death is 
 expected.” * 1 He expresses doubts “ whether she would reach London 
 alive.” Notwithstanding this piteous description of her sufferings and 
 prospects, his excellency in another place calls the indisposition of Eli¬ 
 zabeth “ a favourable illness,” and the phrase has led some persons into 
 the notion that her sickness was feigned for the purpose of exciting 
 popular sympathy, but he certainly means merely to intimate, that it 
 occurred at a seasonable time for her, and was probably the means of 
 saving her from the same punishment that had just been inflicted on her 
 youthful kinswoman, lady Jane Gray. That Elizabeth was suffering 
 severely, both in mind and body, at this terrific crisis, there can be no 
 doubt, and if she made the most of her illness to gain time, and delay 
 her approach to the dreaded scene of blood and horror, which the me¬ 
 tropolis presented, in consequence of the recent executions, no one can 
 blame her. But when the moment came for her public entrance into 
 London as a prisoner of state, her firmness returned, and the spirit of 
 the royal heroine triumphed over the weakness of the invalid and the 
 terrors of the woman. Her deportment on that occasion is thus finely 
 described by an eye-witness who thirsted for her blood—Simon Renaud, 
 the Spanish ambassador, in a letter to her great enemy, the emperor 
 Charles Vth, dated February 24th, 1554. 
 
 “ The lady Elizabeth,” says he, “ arrived here yesterday, dressed all 
 in white, surrounded with a great company of the queen’s people, be¬ 
 sides her own attendants. She made them uncover the litter in which 
 she rode, that she might be seen by the people. Her countenance was 
 pale and stern, her mien proud, lofty, and disdainful, by which she en¬ 
 deavoured to conceal her trouble.” 
 
 A hundred gentlemen in velvet coats formed a sort of guard of honour 
 for Elizabeth on this occasion, next her person, and they were followed 
 by a hundred more “ in coats of fine red cloth guarded with black vel¬ 
 vet;” 2 this was probably the royal livery. The road on both sides the 
 way, from Ilighgate to London, was thronged with gazing crowds, some 
 of whom wept and bewailed her. It must indeed have been a pageant 
 of almost tragic interest, considering the excited state of the public 
 mind, for Suffolk had been executed that morning, and it was only 
 eleven days since the young, lovely, and interesting lady Jane Gray had 
 been brought to the block. Many persons in that crowd remembered 
 the execution of Elizabeth’s mother, queen Anne Boleyn, not quite 
 
 1 Elizabeth’s illness appears to have been an attack of dropsy, from her swollen 
 and pallid appearance. 
 
 1 MS. Cotton., Vitell. f. 5. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 6 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 62 
 
 seventeen years ago, and scarcely anticipated a better fate for her, whom 
 they now saw conducted through their streets a guarded captive, having 
 arrayed herself in white robes, emblematic of innocence. Her youth, 
 her pallid cheek and searching glance, appealed to them for sympathy, 
 and it might be for succour; but neither arm nor voice was raised in 
 her defence in all that multitude; and this accounts for the haughty and 
 scornful expression which Renaud observed in her countenance as she 
 gazed upon them. Perhaps she thought, with sarcastic bitterness, of 
 the familiar proverb—“ A little help is worth a deal of pity.” 
 
 The cavalcade passed through Smithfield and Fleet Street to White¬ 
 hall, between four and five in the afternoon, and entered the palace 
 through the garden. Whatever might be her inward alarm, Elizabeth 
 assumed an intrepid bearing. 
 
 “ Her cheek was pale, but resolved and high 
 Were the words of her lip and the glance of her eye.” 
 
 She boldly protested her innocence, and demanded an interview with 
 her sister the queen, on the plea of Mary’s previous promise never to 
 condemn her unheard. Mary declined seeing her, and she was con¬ 
 ducted to a quarter of the palace at Westminster, from which neither 
 she nor her servants could go out without passing through the guards. 
 Six ladies, two gentlemen, and four servants of her own retinue, were 
 permitted to remain in attendance on her person, the rest of her train 
 were sent into the city of London and lodged there. It was on the 
 fidelity and moral courage of these persons, that the life of Elizabeth 
 depended; and it is certain that several of them were implicated in the 
 conspiracy. Courtenay, her affianced husband, had been arrested on 
 the 12th of February, in the house of the earl of Sussex, and was safely 
 lodged in the bell-tower, and subjected to daily examinations. He had 
 previously given tokens of weakness and want of principle sufficient to 
 fill every one with whom he had been politically connected, with appre¬ 
 hension. Yet he seems to have acted honourably with regard to Eli¬ 
 zabeth, for none of his admissions tended to implicate her. 
 
 Nothing could be more agonizing than the state of suspense, in which, 
 for three weeks, Elizabeth remained at Whitehall, while her fate was de¬ 
 bated by her sister’s privy council. Fortunately for her, this body was 
 agitated with jealousies and divided interests. One party relentlessly 
 urged the expediency of putting her to death, and argued against the 
 folly of sparing a traitress who had entered into plots with foreign powers 
 against her queen and country. 1 Lord Arundel and Lord Paget were the 
 advocates of these ruthless counsels, which, however, really emanated 
 from the emperor Charles V., who considered Elizabeth in the light of a 
 powerful rival to the title of the bride elect of his son Philip, and he 
 laboured for her destruction, in the same spirit that his grandfather 
 Ferdinand had made the execution of the unfortunate earl of Warwick 
 one of the secret articles in the marriage treaty of Katharine of Arragon, 
 and Arthur prince of Wales. Besides this political animosity, Charles 
 entertained a personal hatred to Elizabeth, because she was the daughter 
 
 1 Renaud's letter to the emperor Charles V. 
 
of Anne Boleyn, whose fatal charms had been the cause of so much evil 
 to his beloved aunt. 
 
 Bishop Gardiner, who was at that time opposed to the Spanish party, 
 acted in this instance as the friend of Elizabeth and Courtenay. He con¬ 
 tended “ that there was no proof of a treasonable correspondence between 
 them during the late insurrections,” alleging the residence of Courtenay 
 in the queen’s household at St. James’s palace, and Elizabeth’s dangerous 
 sickness at Asheridge, as reasons why they were not, and could not have 
 been actually engaged in acts of treason, whatever might have been their 
 intentions. In this matter, Gardiner acted in the true spirit of a modern 
 politician: he threw all the weight of his powerful talents and influence 
 into the scale of mercy and justice, not for the sake of the good cause 
 he advocated, but because it afforded him an opportunity of contending 
 with his rivals on vantage-ground. The murderous policy of Spain is 
 thus shamelessly avowed by Renaud in one of his letters to his imperial 
 master:—“The queen,” he says, * 1 “is advised to send her (Elizabeth) 
 to the Tower, since she is accused by Wyat, named in the letters of the 
 French ambassador, and suspected by her own council; and it is certain 
 that the enterprise was undertaken in her favour. Assuredly, sire, if 
 they do not punish her and Courtenay, now that the occasion offers, the 
 queen will never be secure, for I doubt that if she leaves her in the 
 Tower, when she goes to meet the parliament, some treasonable means 
 will be found to deliver her or Courtenay, or perhaps both, and then the 
 last error will be worse than the first.” 
 
 The council was in possession of two notes addressed to Elizabeth 
 by Wyat, the first, advising her to remove to Donnington, which was 
 dose to their head-quarters-, the second, after her neglecting to obey 
 the queen’s summons to court, informing her of his victorious entry into 
 Southwark. Three despatches of Noailles to his own government had 
 been intercepted and deciphered, which revealed all the plans of the 
 conspirators in her favour. Noailles, too—and that made the matter 
 worse—had married one of her maids of honour; 2 which circumstance, 
 of course, afforded a direct facility for more familiar intercourse, than 
 otherwise could publicly have taken place, between the disaffected 
 heiress of the crown, and the representative of a foreign power. In 
 addition to these presumptive evidences, a letter, supposed to have been 
 written by her to the king of France, had fallen into the hands of the 
 queen. The duke of Suffolk, doubtless with a view to the preservation 
 of his own daughter, lady Jane Gray, had declared that the object of 
 the conspiracy was the dethronement of the queen, and the elevation 
 of Elizabeth to her place. 3 Wyat acknowledged that he had written 
 more than one letter to Elizabeth, and charged Courtenay, face to face, 
 with having first suggested the rebellion. Sir James Crofts confessed 
 “ that he had conferred with Elizabeth, and solicited her to retire to 
 Donnington;” Lord Russell, “that he had privately conveyed letters 
 . to her from Wyat;” and another prisoner, “ that he had been privy to 
 
 t " “ 
 
 1 Mackintosh ; Lingard ; Tytler. a Kempe's Losely MSS. 
 
 * Lingard’s Elizabeth, Hist. Eng., vol. vii. 
 
64 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 a correspondence between Carew and Courtenay respecting the intended 
 marriage between that nobleman and the princess.” 1 In short, a more 
 disgusting series of treachery and cowardice never was exhibited than 
 on this occasion; and if it be true, that there is honour among thieves— 
 that is to say, an observance of good faith towards each other in time 
 of peril—it is certain nothing of the kind was to be found among these 
 confederates, who respectively endeavoured, by the denunciation of 
 their associates, to shift the penalty of their mutual offences to their 
 fellows in misfortune. 
 
 Wyat’s first confession was, “ that the Sieur D’Oysell, when he 
 passed through England into Scotland with the French ambassador to 
 that country, spoke to sir James Crofts to persuade him to prevent the 
 marriage of queen Mary, with the heir of Spain, to raise Elizabeth to 
 the throne, marry her to Courtenay, and put the queen to death.” He 
 also confessed the promised aid that was guaranteed by the king of 
 France to the confederates, and the projected invasions from France and 
 Scotland. 
 
 “ We have this morning,” writes Mr. Secretary Bourne, “ travailed 
 with sir Thomas Wyat, touching the lady Elizabeth and her servant, sir 
 William Saintlow ; and your lordship shall understand that Wyat affirm- 
 eth his former sayings (depositions), and says further, that sir James 
 Crofts knoweth more, if he be sent for and examined. Whereupon, 
 Crofts has been called before us and examined, and confesseth with 
 Wyat, charging Saintlow with like matter, and further, as we shall de¬ 
 clare unto your said lordships. Wherefore, under your correction, we 
 think necessary, and beseech you to send for Mr. Saintlow, and to ex¬ 
 amine him, or cause him to be sent hither, by us to be examined. 
 Crofts is plain, and will tell all.” 2 
 
 The Spanish ambassador, in his report to the emperor, dated March 
 1st, affirms that Crofts had confessed the truth in a written deposition, 
 and admitted, in plain terms, the intrigues of the French ambassador 
 with the heretics and rebels; but this deposition has been vainly sought 
 for at the State Paper Office. 
 
 Great pains were taken by the Spanish faction to incense the queen, 
 to the death, against Elizabeth; Renaud even presumed to intimate that 
 her betrothed husband, Don Philip, would not venture his person in 
 England till Elizabeth and Courtenay were executed, and endeavoured, 
 by every sort of argument, to tempt her to hasten her own marriage by 
 the sacrifice of their lives. Irritated as Mary was against both, she 
 could not resolve on shedding her sister s blood. She told the subtle 
 statesman, M that she should act as the law decided, on the evidences of 
 their guilt, but that the prisoners, whose guilt had actually been proved, 
 should be executed before she left her metropolis” to open her parlia¬ 
 ment, which was summoned to meet at Oxford. She was in great per¬ 
 plexity in what manner to dispose of Elizabeth for her own security, 
 before she herself departed from London, and she asked the lords of 
 
 1 Renaud’s Letters to Charles V. 
 
 ’Report of Bourne, Southwell, Pope, and Hyggins, in State Paper Office, Feb¬ 
 ruary 25, 1553-4. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 65 
 
 her council, one by one, “ if either of them would take charge of that 
 lady.” They all declined the perilous responsibility, and then the stern 
 resolution was adopted of sending her to the Tower, 1 after a stormy de¬ 
 bate in council on the justifiableness of such a measure. The truth 
 was, Gardiner, finding himself likely to be left in a minority by his 
 powerful rivals in the cabinet, succumbed to their wishes, and, instead 
 of opposing the motion, supported it, and kept his chancellorship, for a 
 temporary reconciliation was then effected between him and the leaders 
 of the Spanish faction, Arundel, Paget, and Petre, of which the blood of 
 Elizabeth was the intended cement. From the moment this trimming 
 statesman abandoned the liberal policy he had for a few brief months 
 advocated, he shamed not to become the most relentless and determined 
 of those who sought to bring the royal maiden to the block. 2 On the 
 Friday before Palm Sunday, he, with nine more of the council, came 
 into her presence, and there charged her, both with Wyat’s conspiracy, 
 and the rising lately made in the west by sir Peter Carew and others, 
 and told her it was the queen’s pleasure that she should be removed to 
 the Tower.” The name of this doleful prison, which her own mother, 
 and, more recently, her cousin, lady Jane Gray, had found their next 
 step to the scaffold, filled her with dismay. 
 
 “ I trust,” said she, “ that her majesty will be far more gracious, than 
 to commit to that place a true and most innocent woman, that never has 
 offended her in thought, word, or deed.” She then entreated the lords 
 to intercede for her with the queen, which some of them compassion¬ 
 ately promised to do, and testified much pity for her case. About an 
 hour after, four of them—namely, Gardiner, the lord steward, the lord 
 treasurer, and the earl of Sussex—returned with an order to discharge 
 all her attendants, except her gentleman usher, three gentlewomen, and 
 two grooms of her chamber. 3 Hitherto Elizabeth nad been in the hon¬ 
 ourable keeping of the lord chamberlain, no other than her uncle, lord 
 William Howard, and sir John Gage, but now that a sterner policy was 
 adopted, a guard was placed in the two ante-rooms leading to her cham¬ 
 ber, two lords with an armed force in the hall, and two hundred 
 Northern white coats in the garden, to prevent all possibility of rescue 
 or escape. The next day, the earl of Sussex and another lord of the 
 council, announced to her “ that a barge was in readiness to convey her 
 to the Tower, and she must prepare to go as the tide served, which 
 would tarry for no one.” 4 This intimation seems to have inspired 
 Elizabeth with a determination to outstay it, since the delay of every 
 hour was important to her whose fate hung on a balance so nicely 
 poised. She implored to see the queen her sister, and that request being 
 denied, she then entreated for permission to write to her. This was 
 peremptorily refused by one of the noblemen, who told her that he 
 durst not suffer it, neither, in his opinion, was it convenient.” 5 But the 
 
 1 Renaud’s Despatches. ’Tytler; Renaud ; Speed; Fox. 
 
 ’Speed; Fox. ’Ibid. 
 
 ‘The name of this ungentle peer is not recorded, from motives of delicacy, oy 
 
 Fox and Holinshed, but he is supposed to be Paulet, marquis of Winchester 
 who was alive when these books were written. 
 
 6* E 
 
 
G6 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 earl of Sussex, whose generous nature was touched with manly com¬ 
 passion, bent his knee before her, and told her “ she should have liberty 
 to write her mind,” and swore, “as he was a true man, he would him¬ 
 self deliver it to the queen, whatsoever came of it, and bring her back 
 the answer.” 
 
 Elizabeth then addressed, with the earnest eloquence of despair, the 
 following moving letter to her royal sister, taking good care not to bring 
 it to a conclusion till the tide had ebbed so far as to render it impossi¬ 
 ble to shoot the bridge with a barge that turn. 
 
 “ The Lady Elizabeth to the Queen.’ 
 
 “If any ever did try this old saying, ‘that a king’s word was more than 
 another man's oath,’ I must humbly beseech your majesty to verify it in me, and' - 
 to remember your last promise * 2 and my last demand—that I be not condemned 
 without answer and due proof— which it seems that I now am: for without 
 cause proved, I am by your council from you commanded, to go to the Tower, a 
 place more wanted for a false traitor, than a true subject. Which though I know 
 I deserve it not, yet in the face of all this realm it appears proved. I pray to 
 God I may die the shamefullest death that any ever died, if I may mean any 
 such thing; and to this present hour I protest before God (who shall judge my 
 truth whatsoever malice shall devise) that I never practised, counselled, nor con¬ 
 sented to anything that might be prejudicial to your person any way, or danger¬ 
 ous to the state by any means. And therefore I humbly beseech your majesty 
 to let me answer afore yourself, and not suffer me to trust to your councillors— 
 yea, and that afore I go to the Tower — if it be possible — if not, before I be 
 further condemned. Howbeit, I trust assuredly your highness will give me leave 
 to do it afore I go, that thus shamefully I may not be cried out on, as I now shall 
 be—yea, and that without cause! 
 
 “ Let conscience move your highness to pardon this my boldness, which inno- 
 cency procures me to do, together with hope of your natural kindness, which I 
 trust will not see me cast away without desert, which what it (her desert ) is I 
 would desire no more of God, but that you truly knew—but which thing I think 
 and believe, you shall never by report know, unless by yourself you hear. I 
 have heard of many in my time cast away, for want of coming to the presence 
 of their prince; and in late days I heard my lord of Somerset say, that if his 
 brother had been suffered to speak with him, he had never suffered, but per¬ 
 suasions were made to him so great that he was brought in belief, that he could 
 not live safely if the admiral (lord Thomas Seymour ) lived, and that made him 
 give consent to his death. Though these persons are not to be compared to 
 your majesty, yet I pray God the like evil persuasions persuade not one sister 
 against the other, and all, for that they have heard false report, and the truth 
 not known. 
 
 “Therefore, once again, kneeling with humbleness of heart, because I am not 
 suffered to bow the knees of my body, I humbly crave to speak with your high¬ 
 ness, which I would not be so bold as to desire, if I knew not myself most clear, 
 as I know myself most true. 
 
 “And as for the traitor Wyat, he might, peradventure, write me a letter, but 
 on my faith I never received any from him. And as for the copy of the letter 
 
 ’MS. Harleian., 7190-2. The document, in its original orthography, may be 
 seen in Sir H. Ellis's Original Letters, 2d series, vol. ii., p. 255. The commenc¬ 
 ing sentence of this letter is a quotation from the noble speech of king John of 
 France, when he returned to his captivity in England. 
 
 2 This promise must have been given at the last interview of the royal sisters, 
 before Elizabeth retired to Asheridge, when she had to clear herself from con¬ 
 spiring with Noailles, the French ambassador, as before related. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 67 
 
 sent to the French king, I pray God confound me eternally if ever I sent nim 
 word, message, token, or letter, by any means, and to this truth I will stand in 
 till my death. 
 
 “ Your highness’s most faithful subject, that hath been from the beginning, and 
 will be to my end. Elizabeth. 
 
 “ I humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself.” 
 
 This letter, written, as has been shown, on the spur of the moment, 
 possesses more perspicuity and power than any other composition from 
 the pen of Elizabeth. She had not time to hammer out artificial sen¬ 
 tences, so completely entangled with far-fetched metaphors and pedantic 
 quotations, that a commentator is required to construe every one of her 
 ambiguous paragraphs. No such ambiguity is used here, where she 
 pleads for her life in good earnest, and in unequivocal language appeals 
 boldly, from the inimical privy council, to her sister’s natural affection, 
 and the event proved in the end, that she did not appeal in vain. Yet 
 her majesty showed no symptoms of relenting, at the time it was de¬ 
 livered, being exceedingly angry with Sussex for having lost the tide, 
 and, according to Renaud, she rated her council soundly for having pre¬ 
 sumed to deviate from the instructions she had issued . 1 The next tide 
 did not serve till midnight, misgivings were felt, lest some project were 
 in agitation among her friends and confederates, to effect a rescue under 
 cover of the darkness, and so it was decided that they would defer her 
 removal till the following day. This was Palm Sunday, and the coun¬ 
 cil considered that it would be the safest plan to have the princess con¬ 
 veyed to the Tower by water during the time of morning service, and 
 on that account the people were strictly enjoined to carry their palms 
 to church. 
 
 Sussex and the lord treasurer were with Elizabeth soon after nine 
 o’clock that morning, and informed her that the time was now come, 
 that her grace must away with them to the Tower. She replied,‘‘The 
 Lord’s will be done; I am contented, seeing it is the queen’s pleasure.” 
 Yet as she was conducted through the garden to the barge, she turned 
 her eyes towards every window in the lingering hope, as it was thought, 
 of seeing some one who would espouse her cause, and finding herself 
 disappointed in this, she passionately exclaimed, “ I marvel what the 
 nobles mean by suffering me, a prince, to be led into captivity, the Lord 
 knoweth wherefore, for myself I do not .” 2 
 
 Her escort hurried her to the barge, being anxious to pass the shores 
 of London at a time when they would be least likely to attract atten¬ 
 tion ; but in their efforts not to be too late, they were too early, for the 
 tide had not risen sufficiently high to allow the barge to shoot the bridge, 
 where the fall of the water was so great that the experienced boatmen 
 declined attempting it. The peers urged them to proceed, and they lay 
 hovering upon the water in extreme danger for a time, and at length 
 their caution was overpowered, by the imperative orders of the two 
 noblemen, who insisted on their passing the arch. They reluctantly 
 
 1 See his letter to the emperor Charles, dated March 22, 1553-4, in Tytier's 
 Mary. 
 
 2 Speed ; Fox. 
 
 
68 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 essayed to do so, and struck the stern of the barge against the starling, 
 and not without great difficulty and much peril succeeded in clearing it. 
 Not one, perhaps, of the anxious spectators, who, from the houses which 
 at that time overhung the bridge, beheld the jeopardy of that boat’s 
 company, suspected the quality of the pale girl, whose escape from a 
 watery grave must have elicited an ejaculation of thanksgiving from 
 many a kindly heart. Elizabeth objected to being landed at the tiaitor’s 
 gate, “ neither well could she, unless she should step into the water 
 over her shoe,” she said. One of the lords told her “she must not 
 choose,” and as it was then raining, offered her his cloak. “ She dashed 
 it from her, with a good dash,” says our author , 1 and as she set her foot 
 on the stairs, exclaimed, “ Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, 
 as ever landed at these stairs. Before thee, O God, I speak it, having 
 no other friend but thee alone!” To which the nobles who escorted 
 her, replied, “ If it were so, it was the better for her.” When she came 
 to the gate a number of the warders and servants belonging to the Tower 
 were drawn up in rank, and some of them, as she passed, knelt and 
 “ prayed God to preserve her grace,” for which they were afterwards 
 reprimanded. Instead of passing through the gates to which she had 
 been thus conducted, Elizabeth seated herself on a cold damp stone, 
 with the evident intention of not entering a prison which had proved so 
 fatal to her race. Bridges, the lieutenant of the Tower, said to her, 
 “ Madam, you had best come out of the rain, for you sit unwhole- 
 somely.” “ Better sit here than in a worse place,” she replied, “ for 
 God knoweth, not I, whither you will bring me .” 2 
 
 On hearing these words, her gentleman usher burst into a passion of 
 weeping, which she perceiving, chid him for his weakness in thus giving 
 way to his feelings, and discouraging her, whom he ought rather to com¬ 
 fort and support, “especially knowing her truth to be such that no man 
 had any cause to weep for her;” when, however, she was inducted into 
 the apartment appointed for her confinement, and the doors made fast 
 upon her with locks and bolts, she was sore dismayed, but called for 
 her book, and gathering the sorrowful remnant of her servants round 
 her, begged them to unite with her in prayer for the divine protection 
 and succour. Meantime the lords of the council who had brought her 
 to the Tower proceeded to deliver their instructions to the authorities 
 there for her safe keeping; but when some measure of unnecessary 
 rigour was suggested by one of the commissioners, the earl of Sussex, 
 who appears to have been thoroughly disgusted with the ungracious 
 office that had been put upon him, and the unmanly conduct of his as¬ 
 sociates, sternly admonished them in these words :—“ Let us take heed, 
 my lords, that we go not beyond our commission, for she was our king’s 
 daughter, and is, we know, the prince next in blood, wherefore let us so 
 deal with her now, that we have not, if it so happen, to answer for our 
 dealings hereafter .” 3 
 
 1 Speed ; Fox. 
 
 •Fox; Speed; Holinshed. 
 
 •Ibid 
 
ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Elizabeth in the Tower — Examined by Gardiner and the council — Confronted 
 with sir J. Crofts—Her expostulation—Rigorous examination of her servants 
 — Compelled to hear mass — Harsh treatment of her Protestant ladies — Her 
 - tiopnrtm.nt in prison—-Precautions against her escape—The Spanish ambas¬ 
 sador urges her execution—Wyat exonerates her on the scaffold—She is per¬ 
 mitted to take the air— Sym pathy of children for Elizabeth—Flowers brought 
 her in the Tower garden— : Wwrtlen's child examined by the council — Her 
 cause favoured by her uncle (Lord W. Howard) and Arundel—Illness of the 
 queen—Attempt of Gardiner to destroy Elizabeth—Mary replaces her sister's 
 picture—Refuses to have her tried—Elizabeth taken from the Tower to Rich¬ 
 mond by water — Refuses to marry Philibert of Savoy—Harsh treatment on 
 her journey to Woodstock—Sympathy of the people — Lord William's hos¬ 
 pitality to Elizabeth—Her captivity at Woodstock—Her prison verses — Her 
 needle-work'**JUy 1 ij££rous illness — Recovery — Journey to Hampton Court — 
 Interview with Gardiner. &,c.—Her spirited conduct—Her interview with the 
 queen—Reconciliation—Joins the royal parties at Christmas—Takes her place 
 next the queen — Homage paid to her by Philip II. — She again rejects Phili¬ 
 bert of Savoy—Returns to Woodstock—Accusations of sorcery with Dr. Dee 
 —Philip II.’s friendship for Elizabeth—She is permitted to return to Hatfield 
 —Sir T. Pope her castellan—His courtesy to Elizabeth — Fetes and pageants 
 —Implication in new plots—Her letter to the queen — She visits the court — 
 Meditates withdrawing to France — Fresh reconciliation with the queen — 
 Offer by the prince of Sweden — Her prudent conduct — Appointed successor 
 to the crown — Mary's last requests to her—Contradictory statements — Inter¬ 
 view with the Spanish ambassador—Sups with him at lady Clinton's—Their 
 conversation — Queen Mary sends her the crown jewels—Premature reports 
 of Mary's death — Elizabeth sends Throckmorton — Death of the queen an¬ 
 nounced to her—Her exclamation on being saluted queen. 
 
 It was on the 18th of March that Elizabeth was lodged in the Tower, 
 and she was soon afterwards subjected to a rigorous examination by the 
 lord-chancellor Gardiner, with nine other of the lords of the council. 
 They questioned her on her motives for her projected remove to Don- 
 nington Castle during the late insurrection. Elizabeth, being taken by 
 surprise, allowed her natural propensity for dissimulation to betray her 
 into the childish equivocation of affecting to be unconscious that she had 
 such a house as Donnington. 1 When sir James Crofts was brought in 
 and confronted with her, she recollected herself, and said, “As touching 
 my remove to Donnington, my officers, and you, sir James Crofts, being 
 then present, can well testify whether any rash or unbeseeming word 
 
 1 Heywood's England's Elizabeth ; Lingard. 
 
 (69) 
 
70 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 did then pass my lips, which might not have well become a faithful and 
 loyal subject.” 
 
 Thus adjured, sir James Crofts knelt to her, and said, “ He was 
 heartily sorry to be brought in that day to be a witness against her 
 grace, but he took God to record that he never knew anything of her, 
 worthy the least suspicion.” 1 
 
 “ My lords,” said Elizabeth, “ methinks you do me wrong to examine 
 every mean prisoner against me : if they have done evil, let them answer 
 for it. I pray you, join me not with such offenders. Touching my re¬ 
 move from Asheridge to Donnington, I do remember me that Mr. Hoby, 
 mine officers, and you, sir James Crofts, had some talk about it; but 
 what is that to the purpose ? Might I not, my lords, go to mine own 
 houses at all times ?” 2 
 
 Whereupon the lord of Arundel, kneeling down, observed, “ that her 
 grace said truth, and that himself was sorry to see her troubled about 
 such vain matters.” 
 
 “ Well, my lords,” rejoined she, “you sift me narrowly, but you can 
 do no more than God hath appointed, unto whom I pray to forgive you 
 all.” 3 
 
 This generous burst of feeling on the part of the earl of Arundel 
 must have had a startling effect on all present, for he had been foremost 
 in the death-cry against Elizabeth, and had urged the queen to bring her 
 to trial and execution. Blinded by the malignant excitement of party 
 feeling, he had, doubtless, so far deceived himself as to regard such a 
 measure as a stern duty to the nation at large, in order to prevent future 
 insurrections, by sacrificing one person for the security of Mary’s go¬ 
 vernment ; but when he saw and heard the young defenceless woman, 
 whom he and his colleagues had visited in her lonely prison-room, to 
 browbeat and to entangle in her talk, his heart smote him for the cruel 
 part he had taken, and he yielded to the generous impulse which 
 prompted him to express his conviction of her innocence, and his re¬ 
 morse for the injurious treatment to which she was subjected. So 
 powerful was the re-action of his feelings on this occasion, that he not 
 only laboured as strenuously for the preservation of Elizabeth, as he 
 had hitherto done for her destruction, but even went so far as to offer 
 his heir to her for a husband, and subsequently made her a tender of his 
 own hand, and became one of the most persevering of her wooers. It 
 is to be feared that Elizabeth, then in the bloom of youth, and very 
 fairly endowed by nature, exerted all her fascinations to entangle the 
 heart of this stern pillar of her sister’s throne in the perplexities of a 
 delusive passion for herself. That the royal coquette indulged the 
 stalely old earl with deceitful hopes, appears evident by the tone he as¬ 
 sumed towards her after her accession to the throne, and his jealousy 
 of his handsome, audacious rival, Robert Dudley; but of this, here¬ 
 after. 
 
 Elizabeth’s confinement in the Tower was, at first, so rigorous, that 
 
 1 Hey wood ; Fox 
 s Speed. 
 
 Speed; Fox; Bright's Miraculous Preservation. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 71 
 
 she was not permitted to see any one but the servants who had been 
 selected by the council to wait upon her—a service fraught with danger 
 even to those who were permitted to perform it. As for the other mem¬ 
 bers of her household, several were in prison, and one of these, Ed¬ 
 mund Tremaine, was subjected to the infliction of torture in the vain 
 attempt to extort evidence against her. 1 
 
 Before Elizabeth had been two days in the Tower, the use of English 
 prayers and Protestant rites was prohibited, and she was required to 
 hear mass. One of her ladies, Mrs. Elizabeth Sands, refused to attend 
 that service; on which her father brought abbot Feckenham to persuade 
 her to it; but as she continued firm in her resistance, she was dismissed 
 from her office, and another lady, Mrs. Coldeburn, appointed in her 
 stead. 2 Another of Elizabeth’s ladies, the beautiful Isabella Markham, 
 who was just married to sir John Harrington, was also sequestered 
 from her service, on account of her heretical opinions, and committed to 
 a prison lodging in the Tower, with her husband, whose offence was 
 having conveyed a letter to the princess. This misdemeanor, how¬ 
 ever, appears to have been committed as far back as the second year of 
 Edward VI., if we may judge from the allusions Harrington makes to 
 his former master, the lord admiral, Thomas Seymour, in the spirited 
 letter of remonstrance which he addressed to Gardiner, on the subject 
 of his imprisonment and that of his wife. Nothing can afford a more 
 beautiful picture, of the attachment subsisting between the captive prin¬ 
 cess and these faithful adherents than this letter, which is written in the 
 fearless spirit of a true knight and noble-minded gentleman :— 
 
 “ My lord,— 
 
 “This mine humble prayer doth come with much sorrow, for any deed of 
 evil that I have done to your lordship; but, alas! I know of none, save such 
 duty to the lady Elizabeth as I am bounden to pay her at all times; and if this 
 matter breedeth in you such wrath towards her and me, I shall not, in this mine 
 imprisonment, repent thereof. My wife is her servant, and doth but rejoice in 
 this our misery when we look with whom we are liolden in bondage. Our gra¬ 
 cious king Henry did ever advance our family’s good estate, as did his pious 
 father aforetime; wherefore our service is in remembrance of such good kind¬ 
 ness, albeit there needeth none other cause to render our tendance, sith the lady 
 Elizabeth beareth such piety and godly atfection to all virtue. Consider that 
 your lordship aforetime hath combated with much like affliction : why, then, 
 should not our state cause you to recount the same, and breed pity to us-ward ? 
 Mine poor lady hath greater cause to wail, than we of such small degree, but 
 her rare example affordeth comfort to us, and shameth our complaint. Why, 
 my good lord, must I be thus annoyed for one deed of special good-will to the 
 lady Elizabeth, in bearing a letter sent from one that had such right to give me his 
 commands. 3 and to one that had such right to all mine hearty service ? 
 
 “ May God incline you to amend all this cruelty, and ever and anon turn our 
 prayer in good and merciful consideration. My lord-admiral Seymour did truly 
 win my love amidst this hard and deadly annoyance. Now may the same like 
 pity touch your heart, and deal us better usage. His service was ever joyful, 
 and why must this be afflicting? Mine auncient kindred have ever held their 
 duty and liege obeysance, nor will I do them such dishonour as may blot out 
 
 1 Speed. * Strype. 
 
 5 This can only allude to Harrington's former master, Seymour of Sudley, a» 
 the context proves. 
 
72 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 their worthy deeds, but will ever abide in all honesty and love. If you should 
 give ear to my complaint, it will bind me to thankfully repay this kindness; but 
 if not, we will continue to suffer, and rest ourselves in God, whose mercy is sure 
 and safe, and in all true love to her (the princess Elizabeth) who doth honour 
 its in tender sort, and scorneth not to shed her tears with ours. I commend 
 your lordship to God's appointment, and rest, sorely afflicted, 
 
 “From the Toure , 1554.” 1 “John Harrington.” 
 
 The above most interesting letter is the more valuable because it 
 affords the testimony of the accomplished writer as to the personal de¬ 
 portment of Elizabeth among her own immediate friends during their 
 mutual imprisonment in the Tower. Sir John Harrington the younger 
 says — u that his parents had not any comfort to beguile their affliction 
 hut the sweet words and sweeter deeds of their mistress and fellow-pri¬ 
 soner, the princess Elizabeth.” 
 
 In after years Elizabeth herself told Castlenau, the French ambassa¬ 
 dor, when adverting to this period, 2 “ that she was in great danger of 
 losing her life from the displeasure her sister had conceived against her, 
 in consequence of the accusations that were fabricated, on the subject 
 of her correspondence with the king of France ;• and having no hope of 
 escaping, she desired to make her sister only one request, which was, 
 that she might have her head cut off with a sword, as in France, and 
 not with an axe, after the present fashion adopted in England, and there- 
 foie desired that an executioner might be sent for out of France, if it 
 were so determined.” What frightful visions, connected with the last 
 act of her unfortunate mother’s tragedy, must have haunted the prison- 
 musings of the royal captive! who having but recently recovered from 
 a long and severe malady, was probably suffering from physical depres¬ 
 sion of spirits at this time. The traditions of the Tower of London 
 affirm, that the lodging of the princess Elizabeth was immediately under 
 the great alarum bell, which in case of any attempt being made for her 
 escape, was to have raised its clamorous tocsin, to summon assistance, 
 
 'Nugae Antiquae, by sir John Harrington the younger, the son of this faithful 
 man, to whom Elizabeth stood godmother. The imprisonment and harsh treat¬ 
 ment of his parents is indignantly recorded by the godson of Elizabeth among 
 the evil deeds of Gardiner, which he sums up in these words:—“Lastly, the 
 plots he laid to entrap the lady Elizabeth, his terrible hard usage of all her fol¬ 
 lowers, I cannot yet scarce think of with charity, nor write of with patience. My 
 father, only for carrying of a letter to the lady Elizabeth, and professing to wish 
 her well, he kept in the Tower twelve months, and made him spend a thousand 
 pounds ere he could be free of that trouble. My mother, that then served the 
 said lady Elizabeth, he caused to be sequestered from her as an heretic, so that 
 her own father durst not take her into his house, but she was glad to sojourn 
 with one Mr. Topclife ; so, as I may say in some sort, this bishop persecuted me 
 before I was born.”—Nugae Antiquae, vol. ii., pp. 67, 68. 
 
 It was on the discharge of lady Harrington, which took place some months 
 before that of her husband, that she was refused an asylum by her father. Sir 
 John Harrington, becoming weary of his long incarceration, vented his indignant 
 feelings in some bitterly satirical verses, addressed to Gardiner, which he had 
 the temerity to send to his powerful adversary. Gardiner instantly ordered him 
 to be released from his captivity, observing, that but for his saucy sonnet he was 
 worthy to have lain a year longer in the Tower. 
 
 3 Memoir de Castelnau, i., p. 32. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 73 
 
 and the hue and cry for pursuit. It seems scarcely probable, however, 
 that she would have been placed in such close contiguity with Courte¬ 
 nay, unless the proximity were artfully contrived, as a snare to lure 
 them into a stolen intercourse, or attempts at correspondence, for the 
 purpose of furnishing a fresh mass of evidence against them. 
 
 In a letter, of the 3rd of April, Renaud relates the particulars of two 
 successive interviews, which he had had with the queen and some of 
 the members of her council, on the measures necessary to be adopted 
 for the security of Don Philip’s person, before he would venture him¬ 
 self in England. His excellency states, “ that he had assured the queen, 
 that it was of the utmost importance that the trials and executions of 
 the criminals, especially those of Courtenay and Elizabeth, should be 
 concluded before the arrival of the prince. The queen evasively replied 
 “ that she had neither rest nor sleep for the anxiety she took for the 
 security of his highness at his coming.” Gardiner then remarked, 
 “ that as long as Elizabeth was alive, there was no hope that the king¬ 
 dom could be tranquil, but if every one went to work as roundly as he 
 did in providing remedies, things would go on better.” 
 
 “As touching Courtenay,” pursues Eerfaud, “ there is matter suffi¬ 
 cient against him to make his punishment certain, but for Elizabeth they 
 have not yet been able to obtain matter sufficient for her conviction, be¬ 
 cause those persons with whom she was in communication have fled. 1 
 Nevertheless, her majesty tells me, “ that from day to day they are find¬ 
 ing more proofs against her. That especially they had several wit¬ 
 nesses, who deposed as to the preparation of arms and provisions, which 
 she made for the purpose of rebelling with the others, and of maintain¬ 
 ing herself in strength in a house to which she sent the supplies.” 
 This was of course Donnington Castle, to which allusion has so often 
 been made. 
 
 Renaud then proceeds to relate the substance of a conversation he 
 had had with Paget, on the subject of Elizabeth, in which he says, that 
 Paget told him, “ that if they could not procure sufficient evidence to 
 enable them to put her to death, the best way of disposing of her would 
 be, to send her out of the kingdom, through the medium of a foreign 
 marriage,” and the prince of Piedmont was named as the most eligible 
 person on whom to bestow her. Great advantages were offered to all 
 parties. Paget considered if this convenient union could be effected, i 
 would obviate all the dangers and difficulties involved in the unpopular 
 marriage between Queen Mary and Philip of Spain, and if Elizabeth 
 could be induced to consent to such an alliance, her own rights in the 
 succession were to be secured to her consort, in the event of the queen 
 having no children, for the minister added, “ he could see no way by 
 which she could at present, be excluded or deprived of the right, which 
 the Parliament had given her.” 
 
 If we may rely on Holinshed, whose testimony as a contemporary, is, 
 at any rate, deserving of attention, Elizabeth’s table, while she was a 
 
 1 Afnong these was Sir Francis Knollys, the husband of the daughter of hei 
 aunt, Mary Boleyn. 
 
 VOL. VI.-7 
 
74 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 prisoner in the Tower, was supplied at her own cost. He gives a curi¬ 
 ous account of the disputes that took place daily, between the authori¬ 
 ties in the Tower, and the servants of the princess, who were appointed 
 to purvey for her. These, when they brought her daily diet to the 
 outer gate of the Tower, were required to deliver it, says our chronicler, 
 “ to the common rascal soldiers,” and they considering it unmeet that 
 it should pass through sucli hands, requested the vice chamberlain, sir 
 John Gage, who had personal charge and control over the royal captive, 
 that they might be permitted to deliver it within the Tower themselves. 
 This he refused, on the plea that the lady Elizabeth was a prisoner and 
 should be treated as such, and when they remonstrated with him, he 
 threatened that “ if they did either frown or shrug at him, he would set 
 them where they should neither see sun nor moon.” Either they, or 
 their mistress, had the boldness to appeal to the lords of the council, by 
 whom ten of the princess’s own servants were appointed to superintend 
 the purveyances and cooking department, and to serve at her table—• 
 namely, two yeomen of her chamber, two of her robes, two of her 
 pantry and ewry, one of her buttery, one of her cellar, another of her 
 larder, and two of her kitchen. At first the chamberlain was much dis¬ 
 pleased, and continued to annoy them by various means, though he 
 afterwards behaved more courteously, and good cause why, adds the 
 chronicler, “ for he had good cheer, and fared of the best, and her grace 
 paid for it.” 
 
 From a letter of Renaud to the emperor, dated the 7th of April, we 
 find there were high words between Elizabeth’s kinsman, the admiral, 
 lord William Howard, and sir John Gage, about a letter full of seditious 
 expressions in her favour, which had been found in the street. In what 
 manner lord William Howard identified sir John Gage with this attempt 
 to ascertain the state of public feeling towards Elizabeth, or whether he 
 suspected it of being a device for accusing her friends, it is difficult to 
 judge, but he passionately told Gage, that “ she would be the cause of 
 cutting off so many heads that both he and others would repent it.” 
 
 On the 13th of April, Wyat was brought to the block, and on the 
 scaffold publicly retracted all that he had formerly said, in the vain hope 
 of escaping the penalty of his own treason, to criminate Elizabeth and 
 Courtenay. 
 
 Up to this period, the imprisonment of Elizabeth had been so ex¬ 
 tremely rigorous, that she had not been permitted to cross the threshold 
 of her own apartments, and now, her health beginning to give way 
 again, she entreated permission to take a little air and exercise. Lord 
 Chandos, the constable of the Tower, expressed “his regret at being 
 compelled to refuse her, as it was contrary to his orders.” She then 
 asked leave to walk only in the suite of apartments called the queen’s 
 lodgings. He applied to the council for instructions, and, after some 
 discussion, the indulgence was granted, but only on condition that him¬ 
 self, the lord chamberlain, and three of the queen’s ladies, who were 
 selected for that purpose, accompanied her, and that she should not be 
 permitted to show herself at the windows, which were ordered to be 
 kept shut. A few days afterwards, as Elizabeth evidently required air 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 75 
 
 as well as exercise, she was allowed to walk in a little garden that was 
 enclosed with high pales, but the other prisoners were strictly enjoined 
 “ not so much as to look in that direction while her grace remained 
 therein.” 1 
 
 The powerful interest that was excited for the captive princess at this 
 fearful crisis, may be conjectured by the lively sympathy manifested to¬ 
 wards her by the children of the officers and servants of the royal for¬ 
 tress, who brought her offerings of flowers. One of these tender-hearted 
 little ones was the child of Martin, the keeper of the queen’s robes; an¬ 
 other was called little Susanna, a babe not above three years old; there 
 was also another infant girl, who having one day found some little keys, 
 carried them to the princess when she was walking in the garden, and 
 innocently told her, “she had brought her the keys now, so she need 
 not always stay there, but might unlock the gates and go abroad.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth was all her life remarkable for her love of children, and her 
 natural affection for them, was doubtless greatly increased, by the art¬ 
 less traits of generous feeling and sympathy, which she experienced in 
 her time of trouble, from her infant partisans in the Tower. How jea¬ 
 lous a watch was kept on her, and them, may be gathered from the fol¬ 
 lowing passage in one of Renaud’s letters to the emperor Charles V. 3 
 “ It is asserted that Courtenay has sent his regards to the lady Elizabeth 
 by a child of five years old, who is in the Tower, the son of one of the 
 soldiers there.” This passage authenticates the pretty incident, related 
 in the life of Elizabeth, in Fox’s Appendix, where we are told, that at 
 the hour she was accustomed to walk in the garden in the Tower, there 
 usually repaired unto her a little boy about four years old, the child of 
 one of the people of the Tower, in whose pretty prattling she took 
 great pleasure. He was accustomed to bring her flowers, 4 and to receive 
 at her hands such things as commonly please children, which bred a 
 great suspicion in the chancellor, that by this child, letters were ex¬ 
 changed between the princess Elizabeth and Courtenay, and so tho¬ 
 roughly was the matter sifted, that the innocent little creature was exa¬ 
 mined by the lords of the council, and plied with alternate promises of 
 rewards if he would tell the truth and confess who sent him to the lady 
 Elizabeth with letters, and to whom he carried tokens from her, and 
 threats of punishment if he persisted in denying it. Nothing, however, 
 could be extiacted from the child, and he was dismissed with threats, 
 and his father, who was severely reprimanded, was enjoined not to suf¬ 
 fer his boy to resort any more to her grace, which nevertheless he 
 attempted the next day to do, but finding the door locked, he peeped 
 through a hole, and called to the princess who was walking in the gar¬ 
 den, “ Mistress, I can bring you no more flowers now.” 
 
 The Tower was at that time crowded with prisoners of state, among 
 whom, besides Elizabeth’s kinsman and political lover Courtenay, were 
 sir James Crofts, sir William Saintlow, Edmund Tremaine, Harrington, 
 and others of her own household, and last, not least, lord Robert Dud- 
 
 1 Speed ; Fox ; Warton. * 8 Strype. 
 
 8 Dated 1st of May, 1554. Tytler’s Edward and Mary, vol. ii., p. 285. 
 
 ‘Fox; Speed. 
 
76 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 w 
 
 ley, who was afterwards her great favourite, the celebrated earl of Lei¬ 
 cester. This nobleman was born on the same day and in the same 
 hour with Elizabeth, and had been one of her playfellows in childhood, 
 having, as he afterwards said, “ known her intimately from her eighth 
 year.” Considering the intriguing temper of both, it is probable that, 
 notwithstanding the jealous precautions of their respective jailors, some 
 sort of secret understanding was established between them even at this 
 period, possibly through the medium of the child, who brought the 
 daily offering of flowers to the princess, although the timid Courtenay 
 was the person suspected of carrying on a correspondence by the agency 
 of this infant Mercury. The signal favour that Elizabeth lavished on 
 Robert Dudley, by appointing him her master of horse, and loading him 
 with honours within the first week of her accession to the crown, must 
 have originated from some powerful motive which does not appear on 
 the surface of history. His imprisonment in the Tower was for aiding 
 and abetting his ambitious father, the duke of Northumberland, and his 
 faction, in raising lady Jane Gray, the wife of his brother, lord Guildford 
 Dudley, to the throne, to the prejudice of Elizabeth, no less than her 
 sister Mary; therefore he must by some means have succeeded, not 
 only in winning Elizabeth’s pardon for this offence, but in exciting an 
 interest in her bosom of no common nature, while they were both im¬ 
 prisoned in the Tower, since being immediately after his liberation em¬ 
 ployed in the wars in France, he had no other opportunity of ingra¬ 
 tiating himself with that princess. 
 
 On the 17th of April, Noailles writes, “Madame Elizabeth, having 
 since her imprisonment been very closely confined, is now more free. 
 She has the liberty of going all over the Tower, but without daring to 
 speak to any one but those appointed to guard her. As they cannot 
 prove her implication (with the recent insurrection), it is thought she 
 will not die.” Great agitation pervaded Mary’s privy council at this 
 time, according to the reports of Renaud to his imperial master, on the 
 subject of Elizabeth and Courtenay. “ What one counsels,” says he, 
 
 “ another contradicts; one advises to save Courtenay, another Elizabeth, 
 and such confusion prevails that all we expect is*to see their disputes 
 end in war and tumult.” He then notices that the chancellor Gardiner 
 headed one party, and the earl of Arundel, Pembroke, Sussex, the mas¬ 
 ter of the horse, Paget, Petre, and the admiral, another. These were 
 now the protectors of Elizabeth, and Renaud adds, 1 “ that the queen is 
 irresolute about what should be done with her and Courtenay; but that 
 he can see that she is inclined to set him at liberty, through the inter¬ 
 cession of her comptroller, sir Robert Rochester, and his friends, who 
 have formed a compact for his marriage with that lady. As for Eliza¬ 
 beth,” pursues he, “ the lawyers can find no matter for her condemna-: 
 tion. Already she has liberty to walk in the Tower garden ; and even 
 if they had proof, they would not dare to proceed against her for the 
 love of the admiral her kinsman, who espouses her quarrel, and has at - 
 present all the force of England in his power. If, however, they re¬ 
 lease her, it appears evident that the heretics will proclaim her queen.” 
 
 ’ Renaud's Letters to the Emperor. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 77 
 
 The part taken by Arundel, in favour of Elizabeth, was so decided, 
 that the queen was advised to send him to the Tower. Paget appears 
 to have played a double game, first plotting with one side and then with 
 the other; sometimes urging the immediate execution of Elizabeth, and 
 then intriguing with her partisans. 
 
 In the midst of these agitations, the queen was stricken with a sud¬ 
 den illness, and it must have been at that time that Gardiner, on his own 
 responsibility, sent a privy council warrant to the lieutenant of the 
 Tower for the immediate execution of Elizabeth. He knew the temper 
 of that princess, and probably considered that in the event of the queen’s 
 death, he had sinned too deeply against her to be forgiven, and there¬ 
 fore ventured a bold stroke to prevent the possibility of the sword of 
 vengeance passing into her hand, by her succeeding to the royal office. 
 Bridges, the honest lieutenant of the Tower, observing that the queen’s 
 signature was not affixed to this illegal instrument, for the destruction 
 of the heiress of the realm, and being sore grieved for the charge it con¬ 
 tained, refused to execute it till he had ascertained the queen’s pleasure 
 by a direct communication on the subject with her majesty. 1 
 
 The delay caused by this caution preserved Elizabeth from the ma¬ 
 chinations of her foes. The queen was much displeased when she 
 found such a plot was in agitation, and sent sir Henry Bedingfeld, a 
 stern Norfolk knight, in whose courage and probity she knew she could 
 confide, with a hundred of her guard, to take the command of the 
 Tower till she could form some plan for the removal of her sister to 
 one of the royal residences further from the metropolis.' 2 Notwith¬ 
 standing all that had been done by friends, foes, and designing foreign 
 potentates, to inflame the queen’s mind against Elizabeth, the voice of 
 nature was sufiered to plead in behalf of the oppressed captive. Early 
 in May it was noticed that her majesty began, when speaking of Eliza¬ 
 beth, to call her “ sister,” which she had not done before since her im¬ 
 prisonment, and that she had caused her portrait to be replaced next to 
 her own in her gallery. 3 
 
 She had positively given up the idea of bringing either her or Courte¬ 
 nay to trial for their alleged offences, and had negatived the suspicious 
 proposal of the emperor that Elizabeth should be sent into a sort of 
 honourable banishment to the court of his sister, the queen of Hungary, 
 or his own court at Brussels. It was then suggested in council that she 
 should be imprisoned at Pontefract Castle; 4 but that ill-omened place, 
 “stained with the blood of princes,” was rejected for the royal bowers 
 of Woodstock, where it was finally determined to send her, under the 
 charge of sir Henry Bedingfeld, and lord Williams of Tame, who were 
 both stanch catholics. 
 
 Elizabeth, who naturally regarded every unwonted movement and 
 change with apprehension, when she first saw sir Henry Bedingfeld, and 
 the hundred men-at-arms in blue coats under his command, enter the 
 
 1 Heywood's England’s Elizabeth ; Fox; Speed. See the preceding memc.it; 
 
 vol, v. 
 
 ’See the Life of Mary, vol. v. 
 
 4 Renaud’s Letters to the Emperor. 
 
 7* 
 
 ’ Noailles. 
 
78 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 inner court of the Tower, supposing it to be a prelude to her execution, 
 demanded in terror, “ if the lady Jane’s scaffold were removed.” 1 
 
 She then sent for lord Chandos, 2 and fearfully inquired the meaning 
 of what she saw. He endeavoured to calm her mind by telling her, 
 u that she had no cause for alarm; but that his orders were to consign 
 her into the charge of sir Henry Bedingfeld, to be conveyed, he believed, 
 to Woodstock.” 
 
 Elizabeth then declared that she knew not what manner of man Bed¬ 
 ingfeld was, and inquired, “ whether he were a person who made con¬ 
 science of murder, if such an order were entrusted to him ?” Her mind 
 evidently recurred on this occasion to the appointment of sir James 
 Tyrrel by Richard III. for the midnight murder of the youthful brethren 
 of her grandmother, Elizabeth of York, as a parallel circumstance; and 
 when it is remembered that seventy years had not elapsed since the per¬ 
 petration of that mysterious tragedy, it is not to be wondered, that the 
 stout heart of Elizabeth Tudor, occasionally vibrated with a thrill of 
 terror, during her incarceration as a state prisoner, within those gloomy 
 walls. 
 
 The 19th of May is generally mentioned as the date of Elizabeth’s 
 removal from the Tower. We find this notice in a contemporary re¬ 
 cord :—“ The 20th day of May, my lady Elizabeth, the queen’s sister, 
 came out of the Tower, and took her barge at the Tower wharf, and so 
 to Richmond.” 3 Elizabeth was attended on this occasion by the lord- 
 treasurer, (marquis of Winchester,) and the chamberlain. She performed 
 the voyage to Richmond without once landing, till she arrived there. 4 
 It is affirmed that she was then conducted to the palace, where she had 
 an interview with the queen, her sister, who offered her pardon Und 
 liberty, on condition of her accepting the hand of Philibert of Savoy, 
 prince of Piedmont, in marriage; and that she firmly refused to contract 
 matrimony with him or any other foreign prince whatsoever, alleging 
 her preference of a single life. 5 
 
 The harsh measures that were adopted that evening at Richmond, in 
 removing all her own servants from their attendance on her person, were 
 probably resorted to on account of the inflexibility of her determination 
 on this point. She evidently considered herself in great peril, for she 
 required the prayers of her departing servants with mournful earnest¬ 
 ness, “ for this night,” said she, “ I think I must die ;” which sorrow¬ 
 ful words drew fountains of tears from their eyes, and her gentleman- 
 usher went to the lord Tame in the court, and conjured him to tell him, 
 4> whether the princess his mistress were^n danger of death that night; 
 that if so, he and his fellows might take such part as God would ap¬ 
 point.” “ Marry, God forbid !” exclaimed lord Tame, that any such 
 
 1 Speed’s Chronicle ; Fox. 
 
 2 Chandos appears the same person as Bridges, the lieutenant of the Tpwer. 
 
 ’ MS. Cotton. Vital, fol. v. 
 
 ‘ Letter from Robert Swift to the earl of Shrewsbury. Lodge’s Illustrations, 
 vol. i., p. 238. 
 
 * Nare's Life of Burleigh. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 79 
 
 wickedness should be intended, which rather than it should be wrought, 
 ] and my men will die at her feet.” 1 
 
 All night, however, a strict guard of soldiers kept watch and ward 
 about the house where she lay, to prevent escape or rescue. 
 
 The next morning, in crossing the river at Richmond, to proceed on 
 her melancholy journey towards Woodstock, she found her disbanded 
 servants lingering on the banks of the Thames to take a last look of 
 her. “Go to them,” said she, to one of the gentlemen in her escort, 
 “and tell them from me ‘Tanguam ovisf like a sheep to the slaughter, 
 for so,” added she, “am I led.” 
 
 No one was, however, permitted to have access to her, and the most 
 rigorous scrutiny was used towards every one who endeavoured to open 
 the slightest communication, either direct or indirect, with the royal 
 captive. 
 
 Noailles, the French ambassador, no sooner understood that Eliza¬ 
 beth was removed from the Tower, than he commenced his old tricks, 
 by sending a spy with a present of apples to her on her journey; a 
 very unwelcome mark of attention from such a quarter, considering the 
 troubles and dangers in which the unfortunate girl had already been in¬ 
 volved, in consequence of that unprincipled diplomat’s previous inter¬ 
 course with her, and her household. The guards, as a matter of course, 
 stopped and examined the messenger, whom they stripped to the shirt, 2 
 but found nothing except the apples, which from the season of the year 
 might appear an acceptable offering, but certainly an ill-judged one un¬ 
 der the present circumstances; and doubtless it had an unfavourable 
 effect on the mind of Elizabeth’s stern guardian, sir Henry Redingfeld. 
 The sympathy of the people for the distressed heiress of the realm, was 
 manifested by their assembling to meet her by the way, and greeting her 
 with tearful prayers and loving words; but when they pressed nearer, 
 to obtain a sight of her, they were driven back, and angrily reviled by 
 the names of rebels and traitors to the queen ; and whereas, pursues the 
 chronicler, “in certain villages the bells were rung for joy of her sup¬ 
 posed deliverance as she passed, sir Henry Bedingfeld took the matter 
 so distastefully that he commanded the bells to be stopped, and set the 
 ringers in the stocks.” 3 The second day’s journey brought Elizabeth 
 to Windsor, where she spent the night, and lodged in the dean’s-house 
 near Saint George’s chapel. The next resting-place was Ricote, in Ox¬ 
 fordshire, which being the seat of lord Williams of Tame, she there re¬ 
 ceived every princely and hospitable entertainment, from that amiable 
 nobleman, who had invited a noble company of knights and ladies, to 
 meet his royal charge at dinner, and treated her with all the marks of 
 respect that were due to her exalted rank as the sister of his sovereign, 
 i This seasonable kindness greatly revived the drooping spirits of the 
 princess, though it was considered rather de trop by sir Richard Bed¬ 
 ingfeld, who significantly asked his fellow-commissioner, “if he were 
 aware of the consequences of thus entertaining the queen’s prisoner ?” 
 
 1 Speed; Fox. 
 
 8 Noailles’ Despatches. 
 
 8 Speed; Fox. 
 
80 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The generous Williams replied, with manly spirit, “ that let what would 
 befal, her grace might and should be merry in his house.” 1 
 
 It is said, that when Elizabeth expressed a wish to sir Henry Beding- 
 feld, to delay her departure till she had seen a game of chess, in which 
 lord Williams and another gentleman were engaged, played out; he 
 would not permit it. Probably, sir Henry suspected that she intended 
 to outwit him by means of a secret understanding between the friendly 
 antagonists, in order to gain time; for it is well known, that a game of 
 chess may be prolonged for days, and in fact to any length of time. 
 
 It is also related, that as they were proceeding towards Woodstock, a 
 violent storm of wind and rain, which they encountered, greatly disor¬ 
 dered the princess’s dress, insomuch, that her hood and veil were twice 
 or thrice blown off, on which she begged to retire to a gentleman’s 
 house, near the road. This, we are told, sir Henry Bedingfeld, who, 
 perhaps, had some reason for his caution, would not permit; and it is 
 added, that the royal prisoner was fain to retire behind the shelter of a 
 hedge by the way-side to replace her head-gear and bind up her disor¬ 
 dered tresses. 2 
 
 When she arrived at Woodstock, instead of being placed in the royal 
 apartments, she was lodged in the gatehouse of the palace, in a room 
 which retained the name of “ the princess Elizabeth’s chamber,” till it 
 was demolished in the year 1714. 3 Holinshed has preserved the rude 
 couplet which she wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass, in the 
 window of this room. 
 
 “ Much suspected—of me, 
 
 . Nothing proved can be, 
 
 Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.” 
 
 Her confinement at Woodstock was no less rigorous than when she 
 was in the Tower. Sixty soldiers were on guard all day, both within 
 and without the quarter of the palace where she was in ward ; and forty 
 kept watch within the walls all night; and though she obtained per¬ 
 mission to walk in the gardens, it was under very strict regulations , 
 and five or sick locks were made fast after her whenever she came 
 within the appointed bounds for her joyless recreation. Although sir 
 Henry Bedingfeld has been very severely censured on account of these 
 restraints, and other passages of his conduct, with regard to the captive 
 princess, there is reason to believe that his harshness has been exagge¬ 
 rated, and that he had great cause to suspect that the ruthless party who 
 thirsted for Elizabeth’s blood, having been foiled in their eagerly ex¬ 
 pressed wish of seeing her brought to the block, were conspiring to 
 take her off by murder. This he was determined should not be done 
 while she was in his charge. 
 
 It is said, that once, having locked the garden-gates when Elizabeth 
 w'as walking, she passionately upbraided him for it, and called him “her- 
 
 1 Holinshed. 3 Fox. 
 
 8 Bv Sarah, duchess of Marlborough, who had the ill taste to destroy the Iasi 
 relie of this ancient abode of royalty, which had been hallowed by the historical . 
 recollections of six centuries, and the memory of Plantagenet, Tudor, and Stuarl 
 monarchs. : 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 81 
 
 jailoron which he knelt to her, beseeching her “ not to give him 
 that harsh name, for he was one of her officers appointed to serve her, 
 and guard her from the dangers by which she was beset.” 1 
 
 Among the incidents of Elizabeth’s imprisonment, a mysterious tale 
 is told of an attempt made by one Basset, a creature of Gardiner, 
 against her life, during the temporary absence of sir Henry Bedingfeld. 
 This Basset, it seems, had been, with five-and-twenty disguised ruffians, 
 loitering with evil intentions at Bladenbridge, seeking to obtain access 
 to the lady Elizabeth, on secret and important business, as he pretended ; 
 but sir Henry had given such strict cautions to his brother, whom he 
 left as deputy castellan in his absence, that no one should approach the 
 royal prisoner, that the project was defeated. Once^ a dangerous fire 
 broke out in the quarter of the palace where she was confined, which 
 was kindled, apparently not by accident, between the ceiling of the 
 room under her chamber and her chamber floor, by which her life 
 would have been greatly endangered, had it not been providentially dis¬ 
 covered before she retired to rest. 2 The lofty spirit of Elizabeth, though 
 unsubdued, was saddened by the perils and trials to which she was 
 daily exposed, and in the bitterness of her heart she once expressed a 
 wish to change fortunes with the milkmaid, whom she saw singing 
 merrily over her pail, while milking the cows in Woodstock Park, for 
 she said, “ that milkmaid’s lot was better than hers, and her life mer¬ 
 
 it was doubtless while in this melancholy frame of mind that the fol¬ 
 lowing touching lines were composed by the royal captive, which have 
 been preserved by Hentzner, with the interesting tradition that she wrote 
 them on a shutter with a piece of charcoal, no doubt at a period when 
 she was entirely deprived of pen and ink. 
 
 “Oh, Fortune! how thy restless wavering state 
 Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit, 
 
 Witness this present prison, whither fate 
 Could bear me, and the joys I quit. 
 
 Thou caus'dst. the guilty to be loosed 
 From bands wherein are innocents enclosed, 
 
 Causing the guiltless to be strait reserved, 
 
 And freeing those that death had well deserved, 
 
 But by her envy can be nothing wrought, 
 
 So God send to my foes all they have wrought, 
 
 Quoth Elizabeth, Prisoner.” * 
 
 She also composed some elegant Latin lines on the same subject, and 
 when in a more heavenly frame of mind, inscribed the following quaint 
 but beautiful sentence in the blank leaf of a black-letter edition of the 
 epistles of St. Paul, which she used during her lonely imprisonment at 
 W oodstock. 
 
 “August.—I walk many times into the pleasant fields of the Holy Scriptures, 
 where I pluck up the goodlisome herbes of sentences by pruning, eat them by 
 reading, chew them by musing, and lay them up at length in the high seat of 
 memorie, by gathering them together, that so having tasted their sweetness I 
 may the less perceive the bitterness of this miserable life.” 
 
 1 Holinshed; Fox. 
 
 1 Heywood. 
 
 2 Speed. 
 
 4 Hentzner. 
 
EL1ZAEETH. 
 
 The volume is covered with devices in needle-work, embroidered by 
 the royal maiden, who was then drinking deeply of the cup of adversi¬ 
 ty, and thus solacing her weary hours in holy and feminine employ¬ 
 ments. This interesting relic is preserved in the Bodleian library at 
 Oxford. 
 
 Needle-work, in which, like her accomplished stepmother, queen 
 Katharine Parr, and many other illustrious ladies, Elizabeth greatly ex¬ 
 celled, was one of the resources with which she wiled away the weary 
 hours of her imprisonment at Woodstock, as we learn both by the ex¬ 
 isting devices wrought by her hand, in gold thread on the cover of the 
 volume, which has just been described, and also from the following 
 verses, by Taylor, in his poem in praise of the needle. 
 
 “ When this great queen, whose memory shall not 
 By any term of time be overcast, 
 
 For when the world and all therein shall rot, 
 
 Yet shall her glorious fame for ever last. 
 
 When she a maid had many troubles past, 
 
 From jail to jail by Marie's angry spleen, 
 
 And Woodstock and the Tower in prison fast, 
 
 And after all was England’s peerless queen. 
 
 Yet howsoever sorrow came or went, 
 
 She made the needle her companion still, 
 
 And in that exercise her time she spent, 
 
 As many living yet do know her skill. 
 
 Thus she was still a captive, or else crowned 
 A needle-woman royal and renowned.’’ 
 
 The fate of Elizabeth was long a subject of discussion at the council- 
 board of her royal sister, after her removal to the sequestered bowers 
 of Woodstock. The base Paget had dared to assert, “ that there would 
 be no peace for England till her head were smitten from her shoulders.” 
 Yet Courtenay, who had been removed from the Tower to Fotheringay 
 Castle, confessed to a person named Sellier, who conducted him to his 
 new prison, that Paget had importuned him to marry the lady Elizabeth, 
 adding, “ that if he did not, the son of the earl of Arundel would, and 
 that Hoby and Morison both, at the instigation of Paget, had practised 
 with him touching that marriage.” 1 
 
 On the 8th of June, Elizabeth was so ill, that an express was sent to 
 the court, for two physicians to come to her assistance. They were sent, 
 and continued in attendance upon her for several days, when youth arid 
 a naturally fine constitution enabled her to triumph over a malady that 
 had, in all probability, been brought on by anxiety of mind. 
 
 The physicians, on their return, made a friendly report of the loyal 
 feelings of the princess towards the queen, which appears to have had a 
 favourable effect on Mary’s mind. 
 
 u And now,” says Camden, “ the princess Elizabeth, guiding herselt 
 like a ship in tempestuous weather, heard divine service after the Ro¬ 
 mish manner, was frequently confessed, and at the pressing instances of 
 cardinal Pole, and for fear of death, professed herself to be of the Ro¬ 
 man-catholic religion.” The queen, doubting her sincerity, caused hei 
 
 1 Renaud and Montmorencie's Reports to the Emperor. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 S3 
 
 to be questioned as to her belief in transubstantiation, on which Eliza¬ 
 beth, being pressed to declare her opinion, as to the real presence of the 
 Saviour in the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, replied in the following 
 extempore lines:— 
 
 “ Christ was the word that spake it, 
 
 He took the bread and brake it, 
 
 And what his word did make it, 
 
 That I believe, and take it.” 
 
 It was impossible for either Catholic or Protestant, to impugn the 
 orthodoxy of this simple scriptural explanation, of one of the sublimes t 
 mysteries of the Christian faith. It silenced the most subtle of her foes, 
 at least they forbore to harass her, with questions on theological sub¬ 
 jects. Dr. Storey, however, in one of his fierce declamations against 
 heretics, declared “ that it was of little avail destroying the branches, as 
 long as the root of all heresies,” meaning the princess Elizabeth, “ were 
 suffered to remain.” 1 
 
 The delusive hopes which queen Mary entertained in the autumn of 
 that year, of bringing an heir to England, appears to have altered Eliza¬ 
 beth’s position, even with her own party, for a time; and Philip, being 
 desirous of pleasing the people of England, is supposed to have interce¬ 
 ded with his consort for the liberation of all the prisoners in the Tower, 
 also that he requested that his sister-in-law, the princess Elizabeth, 
 might be admitted to share in the Christmas festivities at Hampton 
 Court. 
 
 She travelled from Woodstock under the charge of sir Henry Beding- 
 feld, and rested the first night at Ricote. 2 The next she passed at the 
 house of Mr. Dormer, at Winge, in Buckinghamshire, and from thence 
 to an inn at Colnebrook, where she slept. At this place she was met 
 by the gentlemen and yeomen of her own household, to the number of 
 sixty, “ much to all their comforts,” who had not seen her for several 
 months ; they were not, however, permitted to approach near enough to 
 speak to her, but were all commanded to return to London. 3 The next 
 day she reached Hampton Court, and was ushered into the “ prince’s 
 lodgings,” but the doors were closed upon her and guarded, so that she 
 had reason to suppose she was still to be treated as a prisoner. Soon 
 after her arrival she was visited by Gardiner, and three other of the 
 queen’s cabinet, whom, without waiting to hear their errand, she ad¬ 
 dressed in the following words :— 
 
 “ My lords, I am glad to see you, for methinks I have been kept a 
 great while from you, desolately alone. Wherefore I would entreat you 
 to be a means to the king’s and queen’s majesties, that I may be de¬ 
 livered from my imprisonment, in which I have been kept a long time, 
 as to you, my lords, is not unknown.” 4 
 
 Gardiner, in reply, told her “she must then confess her fault, and put 
 herself on the queen’s mercy.” She replied, “ that rather than she 
 would do so, she would lie in prison all her life, that she had never of¬ 
 fended against the queen, in thought, word, or deed, that she craved no 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 2 Warton. 
 
 3 Fox. 
 
 4 Ibid. 
 
84 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 mercy at her majesty’s hand, but rather desired to put herself on the 
 law.” 
 
 The next day Gardiner and his colleagues came to her again, and 
 Gardiner told her on his knee, “ that the queen marvelled at her bold¬ 
 ness in refusing to confess her offence, so that it might seem, as if her 
 majesty had wrongfully imprisoned her grace.” 
 
 “Nay,” replied Elizabeth, “she may, if it please her, punish me as 
 she thinketh good.” 
 
 “ Her majesty willeth me to tell you,” retorted Gardiner, “ that you 
 must tell another tale ere that you are set at liberty.” Elizabeth re¬ 
 plied, “ that she had as lief be in prison, with honesty, as to be abroad 
 suspected of her majesty,” adding, “ that which I have said I will 
 stand to.” 
 
 “ Then,” said Gardiner, “ your grace hath the vantage of me and these 
 lords, for your long and wrongful imprisonment.” 
 
 “ What advantage 1 have you know !” 1 replied Elizabeth ; “ I seek no 
 vantage at your hands for your so dealing with me — but God forgive 
 you and me also.” They then, finding no concessions were to be 
 obtained from her, withdrew, and Elizabeth was left in close confine¬ 
 ment for a week, at the end of which time she was startled by receiving 
 a summons to the queen’s presence, one night, at ten o’clock. Imagin¬ 
 ing herself in great danger, she bade her attendants “ pray for her, for 
 she could not tell whether she should ever see them again.” 2 She was 
 conducted to the queen’s bed-chamber, where the interview that has 
 been related in the memoir of queen Mary took place. 3 
 
 It has always been said, that Philip of Spain was concealed behind a 
 large screen, or the tapestry, to witness this meeting between the royal 
 sisters, after their long estrangement. Historians have added, “ that he 
 was thus ambushed, in order to protect Elizabeth from the violence of 
 the queen, if necessary, but there was no warrant for such an inference. 
 Mary was never addicted to the use of striking arguments; and Eliza¬ 
 beth, at that period of her life, knew how to restrain her lips from angry 
 expletives, and her fingers from fighting. Philip’s object, therefore, in 
 placing himself perdu , could scarcely have been for the purpose of 
 seeing fair-play between the ladies, in the event of their coming to 
 blows, as gravely insinuated by Fox and others, but rather, we should 
 surmise, with the jealous intention of making himself acquainted, with 
 what passed between his consort and the heiress presumptive of Eng¬ 
 land, against whose life, he and his father had, for the last fifteen months, 
 practised with such determined malice, that Philip ought to have been, 
 as it appeared he really was, ashamed to look upon her for the first time, 
 face to face. Great confusion exists among historians, as to the year, 
 in which this memorable interview took place, but there can be no 
 doubt that it was in the autumn of 1554, 4 because of the presence of 
 
 1 Fox. 3 Ibid. 3 Life of queen Mary, vol. v. 
 
 ‘Noailles repeatedly wrote to France, in the month of December, that it was 
 
 the wish of the king and queen to receive Elizabeth and Courtenay very soon 
 
 publicly into favour, and to set them at liberty directly afterwards, but that Gar¬ 
 diner put it off till after the dissolution of Parliament. These notices corroborate 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 85 
 
 Philip of Spain, and his friend Philibert of Savoy, who both graced the 
 festivals of the English court, that Christmas and no other, and it is sup¬ 
 posed, that one object of bringing Elizabeth into the royal circle, on 
 this occasion, was to afforcf the gallant Savoyard an opportunity of 
 pleading his own cause to her in person. 
 
 Philibert was not only invited to receive the hand of Elizabeth, but 
 was actually inducted in her town residence, during his stay in London. 
 “ The prince is expected in four days,” writes Noailles to his sovereign, * 1 
 “and apartments are prepared for him in Somerset House, which now 
 belongs to the lady Elizabeth.” When he arrived he was so very ill 
 from sea-sickness that he was obliged to stay at Dover fifteen days, to 
 the great regret of the king and queen. 
 
 At the brilliant Christmas-eve festival, Elizabeth appeared once more 
 publicly in her sister’s palace, as the second royal personage in the 
 realm ; as such she took her place, both at feasts and tournaments, before 
 the assembled chivalry of England, Spain, and Flanders, in the presence 
 of Alva, Egmont, Ruy Gomez, and other distinguished men, whose fame 
 for good or evil expanded throughout Europe. Her own suitor, Phili¬ 
 bert Emanuel, the most illustrious for worth and valour, was also pre¬ 
 sent. At this banquet, Elizabeth was seated at the queen’s table—next 
 the royal canopy or cloth of estate. After supper she was served by 
 her former treacherous friend and cruel foe, Lord Paget, with a perfumec 
 napkin and a plate of comfits. She retired, however, to her ladies 
 before the masking and dancing began, perhaps to avoid any communi¬ 
 cation with her suitor, in the rejection of whose addresses (after events 
 fully manifested) the queen supported her. 2 It would have been a more 
 deadly blow to the Protestant interest of this country, than all the per¬ 
 secutions with which it was visited in the succeeding years of Mary’s 
 reign, had Elizabeth, while yet her character was flexible, married this 
 great man. In this case, as may be gathered from his matrimonial 
 felicity with Margaret of Valois, the intellectual daughter of Francis I., 
 the personal character and happiness of Elizabeth would have been im¬ 
 proved, but England might have remained, if we may judge from the 
 slavish devotion of the era to the religion of their monarch, a Roman- 
 catholic country. The extreme beauty and grace of Courtenay’s per¬ 
 son, perhaps rendered Elizabeth indifferent to the addresses of Philibert 
 Emanuel. 
 
 On St. Stephen’s day, Elizabeth heard matins in the queen’s closet, in 
 the chapel-royal, on which occasion she was attired in a style of almost 
 bridal elegance, wearing a robe of rich white satin, passamented all over 
 with large pearls. At the tournament, on the 29th of December, she 
 
 the idea that the private reconciliation of the queen and her sister had previously 
 taken place. -Some weeks afterwards, he declares “that Courtenay was set at 
 liberty, but as for lady Elizabeth, he can tell nothing certain about her.”—Noailles, 
 vol. iv., pp. 82, 101. 
 
 1 Noailles' Despatches, vol. iv., p. 36. 
 
 s See the translation of Mary's letter of remonstrance to her husband, Life of 
 Mary, vol. v., where the queen urges the unwillingness both of her sister and the 
 parliament to the marriage, and the inexpediency of contending against both. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 8 
 
86 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sat with their majesties in the royal gallery to witness the grand, blit 
 long-delayed pageant of the jousting, in honour of her sister’s nuptials. 
 Two hundred spears were broken on this occasion, by the cavaliers of 
 Spain and Flanders, attired in their national costume. 1 
 
 The great respect with which Elizabeth was treated at this period, by 
 the principal personages in the realm, can scarcely be more satisfactorily 
 proved, than by the following account, which Fox narrates of a dispute 
 between one of her servants, and an ill-mannered tradesman about the 
 court, who had said, “that jilt, the lady Elizabeth, was the real cause 
 of Wyat’s rising.” 2 The princess’s man cited the other before the 
 ecclesiastical court, to answer for his scandalous language, and there 
 expressed himself as follows : “ I saw yesterday, at court, that my lord 
 cardinal Pole, when meeting the princess in the presence-chamber, 
 kneeled down and kissed her hand; and I saw also, that king Philip, 
 meeting her, made her such obeisance, that his knee touched the ground; 
 and then me-thinketh it were too much to suffer such a varlet as this, to 
 call her jilt, and to wish them to hop headless, 3 that shall wish her grace 
 to enjoy possession of the crown, when God shall send it unto her in 
 right of inheritance.” 
 
 “ Yea,” quoth Bonner, who was then presiding, “ when God sendeth 
 it unto her, let her enjoy it.” However, the reviler of Elizabeth was 
 sent for, and duly reproved for his misbehaviour. 
 
 Elizabeth failed not to avail herself of every opportunity of paying 
 her court to her royal brother-in-law, 4 with whom she was on very 
 friendly terms, although she would not comply with his earnest wish, 
 of her becoming the wife of his friend and ally, Philibert of Savoy. 
 
 The period of Elizabeth’s return to Woodstock is doubtful; but it 
 does not appear that she was under any particular restraint there, for she 
 had all her own people about her, and early in the spring, 1555, some 
 of the members of her household were accused of practising, by en¬ 
 chantment, against the queen’s life. Elizabeth had ventured to divert 
 her lonely sojourn in the royal bowers of Woodstock, by secret con¬ 
 sultations with a cunning clerk of Oxford, one John Dee (afterwards 
 celebrated, as an astrologer and mathematician, throughout Europe), and 
 who, by his pretended skill in divination, acquired an influence over the 
 strong mind of that learned and clear-headed princess, which he retained 
 as long as she lived. 5 A curious letter of news from Thomas Martin of 
 London, to Edward Courtenay, earl of Devonshire, then travelling in 
 Italy, was lately discovered at the State Paper Office, which was doubt¬ 
 less intercepted; and considering to whom it was written, and the facts, 
 in which Elizabeth’s name is implicated, it must be regarded as a docu¬ 
 ment of no common interest. “ In England!” says he, “all is quiet; 
 such as wrote traitorous letters into Germany be apprehended, as like¬ 
 wise others, that did calculate the king’s, the queen’s, and my lady 
 Elizabeth’s nativity, whereof one Dee, and Carey, and Butler, and one 
 
 ‘Cotton. MS. Vitell. f. a Fox's Martyrology, book 3d, folio 774. 
 
 5 Ibid. 1 Michele's Reports. 
 
 •Godwin’s Lives of the Necromancers, J. Dee. Likewise Diary of John Dee, 
 edited by J. 0. Hallowell, Esq., F. A. S. for the Camden Society. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 87 
 
 other of my lady Elizabeth’s, are accused, that they should have a 
 familiar spirit, which is the more suspected, for that Ferys, one of their 
 accusers, had, immediately on the accusation, both of his children 
 stricken—the one with death, the other with blindness.” 
 
 Carey and Butler were both related to Elizabeth, by hei maternal 
 lineage, and Dee had obtained access to her, through his relationship 
 and intimacy with her confidential servants, the Parrys. Elizabeth 
 escaped a public implication in the charge of these occult practices ; her 
 household were faithful to her, but it was probably the cause of her re¬ 
 moval from Woodstock, and of her being once more conducted as a pri¬ 
 soner of state to Hampton Court, which, according to most authorities, 
 she was, a second lime, April 1555.' 
 
 It has been generally said, that she was indebted for her liberation to 
 the good offices of her brother-in-law, Philip of Spain, 2 who, when he 
 found himself disappointed in his hopes of an heir to England by queen 
 Mary, and perceived on how precarious a thread her existence hung, 
 became fully aware of the value of Elizabeth’s life, as the sole barrier to 
 the ultimate recognition of Mary, queen of Scots and dauphiness of 
 France, as queen of Great Britain. To prevent so dangerous a prepon¬ 
 derant in the balance of power from falling to his political rival, the 
 monarch of France, he wisely determined, that Elizabeth’s petty misde¬ 
 meanors should be winked at, and the queen finally gave her permission 
 to reside once more in royal state, at her own favourite abode, Hatfield 
 House, in Hertfordshire. At parting, Mary placed a ring on the prin¬ 
 cess’s finger, to the value of seven hundred crowns, as a pledge of 
 amity. 
 
 It was not, however, Mary’s intention to restore Elizabeth so entirely 
 to liberty, as to leave her the unrestrained mistress of her own actions, 
 and sir Thomas Pope was entrusted with the responsible office of re¬ 
 siding in her house, for the purpose of restraining her from intriguing 
 with suspected persons, either abroad or at home. Veiling the intima¬ 
 tion of her sovereign will under the semblance of a courteous recom¬ 
 mendation, Mary presented this gentleman to Elizabeth, as an officer 
 who was henceforth to reside in her family, and who would do his best 
 to render her and her household comfortable. 3 Elizabeth, to whom sir 
 Thomas Pope was already well known, had the tact to take this in 
 good part. She had indeed reason to rejoice that her keeper, while she 
 remained as a state prisoner at large, was a person of such honourable 
 and friendly conditions, as this learned and worthy gentleman. The 
 fetters in which he held her were more like flowery wreaths flung 
 lightly round her, to attach her to a bower of royal pleasaunce, than 
 aught which might remind her of the stern restraints, by which she was 
 surrounded, during her incarceration in the Tower, and her subsequent 
 abode at Woodstock in the summer and autumn of 1554. There is rea 
 son to believe, that she did not take her final departure from the court 
 till late in the autumn. It is certain, that she came by water to meet the 
 
 1 Aikin ; Turner; Warton; Rapin; Burnet. 
 
 ’Speed; Burnet; Rapin; Lingard; Aikin; Camden. 
 
 8 Hey wood's England's Elizabeth. Warton’s Life of Sir Thomas Pope. 
 
88 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 queen her sister aud Philip, at Greenwich, for the purpose of taking a 
 personal farewell of him, at his embarkation for Flanders. 
 
 Elizabeth did not, however, make one in the royal procession, when 
 queen Mary went through the city in an open litter, in order to show 
 herself to the people, who had long believed her to be dead. At this 
 very time Elizabeth passed to Greenwich by water, and shot London 
 Bridge in a shabby barge, very ill appointed, attended by only four dam¬ 
 sels and three gentlemen. With all this the people were much dis¬ 
 pleased, as they supposed it was contrived, that they might not see the 
 princess, which they greatly desired.' During king Philip’s absence he 
 manifested a great interest in the welfare of Elizabeth, whether personal 
 or political it is not so easy to ascertain. Her vanity led her to believe 
 that her brother-in-law was in love with her, and much she boasted of 
 the same in after life. Meantime he wrote many letters to his wife, 
 queen Mary, and to some Spanish grandees, resident at the English 
 court, commending Elizabeth to their kindness. She made many visits 
 to the queen, and went to mass every day, besides fasting with her very 
 sedulously, in order to qualify themselves, for the reception of the 
 pope’s pardon, and to fit them for the benefits of the jubilee, which he 
 had granted. 1 2 
 
 Altogether Elizabeth appeared to be fairly in her sister’s good graces; 
 nor did Mary ever betray the least personal jealousy, respecting king 
 Philip’s regard for her sister. Yet contemporaries, and even Elizabeth 
 herself, after the queen’s death, had much to say on the subject, attri¬ 
 buting to him partiality beyond the due degree of brotherhood; inso¬ 
 much, that, many years subsequently, Thomas Cecil, the eldest son of 
 Lord Burleigh, repeated at Elizabeth’s court, that king Philip had been 
 heard to say, after his return to Spain, “ That whatever he suffered from 
 queen Elizabeth was the just judgment of God, because, being married 
 to queen Mary, whom he thought to be a most virtuous and good lady, 
 yet in the fancy of love he could not affect her; but as for the lady 
 Elizabeth, he was enamoured of her, being a fair and beautiful wo¬ 
 man.” 3 
 
 When Elizabeth took her final departure from London to Hatfield 
 that autumn, October 18th, the people crowded to obtain a sight of her; 
 “great and small,” says Noailles, “followed her through the city, and 
 greeted her with acclamations, and such vehement manifestations of 
 affection, that she was fearful it would expose her to the jealousy of the 
 court, and with her wonted exercise of caution she fell back behind 
 some of the officers in her train, as if unwilling to attract public atten¬ 
 tion and applause. At Hatfield she was permitted to surround herself, 
 with her old accustomed train of attached servants, among whom were, 
 her beloved governess, Mrs. Katharine Ashley, her husband, the Parrvs, 
 and last, not least, her learned preceptor Roger Ascham, who had ob¬ 
 tained the preferment of Latin secretary to her sister, the queen, and was 
 
 1 M. tie Noailles’ Despatches from England, vol. v., pp. 84, 126, 127; August 
 26. 1555. 
 
 2 Strype, and Miss Aildn. 
 
 3 Bishop Goodman, in his Court of James, vol. i., p. 4. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 89 
 
 permitted to visit and resume Iris instructions to Elizabeth, who, in her 
 twenty-second year, was better qualified than ever, to make the most of 
 the advantages she enjoyed under such an instructor. On the 14th of 
 September, 1555, Ascliam wrote to his friend Sturnrius—“Front Metul- 
 lus 1 you will learn what my most noble Elizabeth is. He will tell you,” 
 pursues Ascliam, “how much she excels in Greek, Italian, Latin, and 
 French, also her knowledge of things in general, and with what a wise 
 and accurate judgment she is endowed.” 2 He added, “ that Metullus 
 thought it more to have seen Elizabeth than to have seen England 
 The lady Elizabeth and 1,” pursues Ascham, “are reading together in 
 Greek the orations of Eschines and Demosthenes; she reads before me; 
 and at first sight she so learnedly comprehends, not only the idiom of 
 the language and the meaning of the orator, but the whole grounds of 
 contention,—the decrees, and the customs and manners of the people, 
 as you would greatly wonder to hear.” Again, in a conversation with 
 Aylmer, on the subject of the talents and attainments of the princess, he 
 said, “ I teach her words and she me, things. I teach her the tongues 
 to speak, and her modest and maidenly looks teach me works to do, for 
 1 think she is the best disposed of any in all Europe.” Castiglione, an 
 Italian master, added, “ that Elizabeth possessed two qualities that were 
 seldom united in one woman—namely, a singular wit, and a marvellous 
 meek stomach.” 3 He was, however, the only person, who ever gave 
 the royal lioness of the Tudor line, credit for the latter quality, and very 
 probably intended to speak of her affability, but mistook the meaning of 
 ■|the word. 
 
 I According to Noailles, the queen paid Elizabeth a visit at Hatfield, 
 more than once, this autumn, and yet soon after, it appears, when Eli¬ 
 zabeth had removed to another of her houses in Hertfordshire, that two 
 of her majesty’s officers arrived with orders to take Mrs. Katharine 
 Ashley, and three of Elizabeth’s maids of honour, into custody, which 
 they actually did, and lodged Mrs. Ashley in the Fleet prison, and the 
 other ladies in the Tower. 4 The cause of this extraordinary arrest has 
 never been satisfactorily explained. Speed openly attributes it to the 
 hostility of Gardiner; and Miss Aikin, taking the same view, observes, 
 “that it was a last expiring effort of his indefatigable malice against Eli¬ 
 zabeth.” He died on the 12th of November. When, however, the in¬ 
 triguing disposition of Mrs. Ashley is remembered, and that it was on 
 the eve of the abortive attempt of sir Henry Dudley to raise a fresh in¬ 
 surrection in England, in favour of Elizabeth and Courtenay, and that 
 several of the princess’s household were actually implicated in the plot, 
 't is more natural to suppose, that she and the other ladies had been 
 tccused of carrying on a treasonable correspondence with the confede- 
 •ates. Elizabeth had the prospect of a new royal suitor at this period, 
 or a report was prevalent, when the archduke of Austria came to visit 
 s lis kinsman, Philip II., at Brussels, December 1555, that his intention 
 
 1 This was a learned foreigner, who was indebted to Ascham for an introdue 
 ion to the princess, with wdiotn he had the honour of conversing. 
 
 * Ascham’s Epistles, p. 51. 3 Strype's Life of Aylmer. 4 Speed: Aikin 
 8 * * 
 
90 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 was to propose for her hand; as for her former lover, Philibert Ema¬ 
 nuel, of Savoy, he had committed himself both with Philip and Eliza¬ 
 beth, having been seen making love from his window to the fair duchess 
 of Lorraine, Christina of Denmarkand for the present the princess 
 had a respite from his unwelcome addresses. The respectful and kind 
 attention which Elizabeth received from sir Thomas Pope, during her 
 residence under his .friendly surveillance at Hatfield, is testified by the 
 following passage in a contemporary chronicle : 2 —“ At Shrovetide, sir 
 Thomas Pope made for the lady Elizabeth, all at his own cost, a grand 
 and rich masking in the great hall at Hatfield, where the pageants were 
 marvellously furnished. There were there twelve minstrels antiquely 
 disguised, with forty-six or more gentlemen and ladies, many knights, 
 nobles, and ladies of honour, apparelled in crimson satin, embroidered 
 with wreaths of gold, and garnished with borders of hanging pearl. 
 There was the device of a castle, of cloth of gold, set with pomegra¬ 
 nates about the battlements, with shields of knights hanging therefrom, 
 and six knights in rich harness tourneyed. At night, the cupboard in 
 the hall was of twelve stages, mainly furnished with garnish of gold and 
 silver vessels, and a banquet of seventy dishes, and after a void , of spices 
 and subtleties, with thirty spice plates, all at the charge of sir Thomas 
 Pope; and the next day, the play of Holofernes. But the queen, per- 
 case , misliked these follies, as by her letters to sir Thomas Pope did 
 appear^ and so these disguisings were ceased.” The reason of Mary’s 
 objection to these pageants and public entertainments, was probably on 
 account of the facility they afforded for the admission of strangers and 
 emissaries from the king of France, or the foreign ambassadors, with 
 whom Elizabedi and her partisans had been so frequently suspected of 
 intriguing. 
 
 The spring and summer of 1556 were agitated by a series of new 
 plots by the indefatigable conspirators, who made Elizabeth’s name the 
 rallying point of their schemes of insurrection, and this whether she 
 consented or not. It was extremely dangerous for her, that persons of 
 her household were always involved in these attempts. In the conspi¬ 
 racy, between the king of France and sir Henry Dudley, to depose 
 Mary and raise Elizabeth to the throne, two of Elizabeth’s chief officers 
 were deeply engaged; these men, Peckham and Werne, were tried anc 
 executed. Their confessions, as usual, implicated Elizabeth, who, it is 
 asserted, owed her life to the interposition of king Philip ; 3 likewise, i 
 is said that he obliged Mary to drop all inquiry into her guilt, and t( 
 give out that she believed Peckham and Werne had made use of th< 
 
 1 Noailles. ■ 1 MS. Cotton. Vitell., f. 5. 
 
 s Lingard, p. 219, vol. vii., who quotes from the MS. Life of the Duchess o! 
 
 Feria (Jane Dormer); but when tile duchess of Feria wrote, she was living it 
 Spain, the subject of Philip II., and had been deep in the Ridolphi plot for Mary, 
 queen of Scots; and at that time, it was part of the policy of Philip's advocate 
 to reproach Elizabeth with ingratitude to him for having preserved her life fron 
 her sister, which Elizabeth earnestly and officially denied. A letter of th< 
 duchess of Feria from Spain, on family matters, forms an interesting portion o 
 the Stradhng Cot respondence, edited by the Rev. M. Traherne. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 91 
 
 name of their mistress without her authority. Moreover, Mary sent her 
 a ring in token of her amity. That Mary did so is probable, but that 
 she acted on compulsion and against her inclination is scarcely con- 
 ! sistent with a letter concerning the next insurrection, which took place 
 in June, a few weeks after, in which Elizabeth was actually proclaimed 
 queen. A young man named Cleobury, who was extremely like the 
 ‘ earl of Devonshire, landed on the coast of Sussex, as if that noble had 
 
 I returned from exile, and proclaimed Elizabeth queen and himself king, 
 
 II as Edward earl of Devonshire and her husband. This scene took place 
 * in Yaxely church, but the adventurer was immediately seized, and in 
 
 ■ the September following, was executed for treason at Bury. This in- 
 ’! surrection was communicated to Elizabeth by a letter from the hand of 
 
 I queen Mary herself; a kind one it may be gathered from the following 
 
 I answer still extant, where, amidst Elizabeth’s laboured and contorted 
 '1 sentences, this fact may be elicited by the reader. 
 
 , “ Princess Elizabeth to Queen Mary . 1 
 
 J “August 2, 1556. 
 
 .. “ When I revolve in mind (most noble queen) the old love of paynims to their 
 
 princes, and the reverent fear of the Romans to their senate, I cannot but muse 
 C for my part and blush for theirs, to see the rebellious hearts and devilish intents 
 r ' of Christians in name, but Jews in deed, towards their anointed king, which 
 
 II nethinks if they had feared God (though they could not have loved the state), 
 hey should for the dread of their own plague, have refrained that wickedness, 
 
 H which their bounden duty to your majesty had not restrained. But when I call 
 
 ■ ;o remembrance that the devil, tamquam leo rugiens circumvit quwrens quern 
 , levorare potest, like a roaring lion goeth about seeking whom he may devour, I 
 , lo the less marvel that he (the devil) have gotten such novices into his professed 
 [house, as vessels (without God's grace) more apt to serve his (the devil’s) palace 
 :han meet to inhabit English land. I am the bolder to call them (Mary's rebels) 
 
 .j his imps, for that St. Paul saith, seditiosi sunt flii diaboli, the seditious are sons 
 i| rf the devil ; and since I have so good a buckler, I fear less to enter into their 
 , judgment. 
 
 “Of this I assure your majesty, it had been my part, above the rest, to bewail 
 " such things, though my name had not been in them, yet much it vexed me, that 
 1 the devil oweth me such a hate, as to put in any part of his mischievous insti- 
 ij gations, whom, as I profess him my foe (that is, all Christians’ enemy), so wish 
 l 1 he had some other way invented to spite me. 
 
 I I “But since it hath pleased God thus to bewray their (the insurgents’) malice, 
 ( most humbly thank him, both that he has ever thus preserved your majesty 
 through his aid, much like a lamb from the horns of this Basan's bull (the devil), 
 ind also stirred up the hearts of your loving subjects to resist them, and deliver 
 I you to his honour and their 2 (the insurgents') shame. The intelligence of which, 
 { proceeding from your majesty , desei~ves more humble thanks than with my pen I can 
 render , which as infinite I will leave to number (i. e., will not attempt to number). 
 • “And amongst earthly things I chiefly wish this one, that there were as good 
 surgeons for making anatomies of hearts (that I might show my thoughts to 
 your majesty), as there are expert physicians of bodies, able to express the in¬ 
 ward griefs of maladies to their patients. For then I doubt not, but know well, 
 1 :liat whatever others should subject by malice, yet your majesty should be sure, 
 
 1 Lansdowne MSS., 1236, p. 37. 
 
 3 Elizabeth evidently means the insurgents’ shame ; by grammatical construe 
 ion it would be the loving subjects. Her letters of vindication, by reason of ths 
 perpetual confusion of the relatives, are difficult to read. 
 
92 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 by knowledge, that the more such mists render effuscate the clear light of my 
 soul, the more my tried thoughts should listen to the dimming of their {the insur¬ 
 gents') hidden malice. 1 
 
 11 But since wishes are vain and desires oft fail, I must crave that my deeds 
 may supply that, which my thoughts cannot declare, and that they be not mis¬ 
 deemed, as the facts have been so well tried. And like as I have been your 
 faithful subject from the beginning of your reign, so shall no wicked person 
 eause me to change to the end of my life. And thus I commend your majesty 
 to God's tuition, whom I beseech long time to preserve, ending with the new 
 remembrance of iny old suit. 3 more than for that I should not be forgotten, than 
 for I think it not remembered. 
 
 “ From Hattield, the 2d of August. 
 
 li Your majesty's obedient subject and humble sister, 
 
 “ Elizabeth.” 
 
 Her majesty was happily satisfied with the painfully elaborate and 
 metaphorical protestations of innocence and loyalty, contained in this 
 letter, and the princess continued in the gentle keeping of sir Thomas 
 Pope. He appears to have been really fond of his royal charge, who 
 for her part well knew how to please him by her learned and agreeable 
 conversation, and more especially by frequently talking with him, on 
 the subject nearest to his heart, Trinity College, which he had just 
 founded at Oxford, for a president priest and twelve fellows. He men¬ 
 tions in one of his letters, with peculiar satisfaction, the interest she 
 manifested in his college. “ The princess Elizabeth,” says he, “ often 
 asketh me about the course I have devised for my scholars, and that 
 part of my statutes respecting study I have shown her she likes well. 
 She is not only gracious, but most learned, ye right well know.” 
 
 Two of the fellows of this college were expelled by the president 
 and society, for violating one of the statutes. They repaired in great; 
 tribulation to their founder, and, acknowledging their fault, implored 
 most humbly for readmittance to his college. Sir Thomas Pope, not 
 liking by his own relentings, to countenance the infringements of the 
 laws, he had made for the good government of his college, yet willing 
 to extend the pardon that was solicited, kindly referred the matter to the 
 decision of the princess, who was pleased to intercede for the culprits, 
 that they might be restored to their fellowships, on which the benevo¬ 
 lent knight wrote to the president, 3 “ that although the two offenders, 
 Sympson and Rudde, had well deserved their expulsion from his college, 
 yet at the desire and commandment of the lady Elizabeth’s grace, sec¬ 
 onded by the request of his wife, he had consented that they should, on 
 making a public confession of their fault, and submitting to a fine, be 
 again received, and that it should be recorded in a book that they had 
 been expelled, and that it was at the lady Elizabeth’s and his wife’s de¬ 
 sire that they were re-admitted, and that he was fully resolved never to 
 do the like again to please any creature living, the queen’s majesty alone 
 excepted.” This letter bears date August 22, 1556. 
 
 ’Either the insurgents, or the devil's imps, or the physicians; which of them 
 this relative refers to, is not clear. 
 
 8 Some favour she had previously asked ; this proves the queen was ir fami¬ 
 liar correspondence with her. 
 
 8 Warton's Life of sir Thomas Pope. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 93 
 
 In the following November, Elizabeth having been honoured with an 
 invitation to her sister’s court, came to London in state. Her entrance 
 and the dress of her retinue, are thus quaintly recorded by a contempo¬ 
 rary. “ The 28th day of November, came riding through Smithfield 
 and Old Baily, and through Fleet Street unto Somerset Place, my good 
 lady Elizabeth’s grace, the queen’s sister, with a great company of vel¬ 
 vet coats and chains, her grace’s gentlemen, and after, a great company 
 of her men, all in red coats, guarded with a broad guard of black velvet 
 and cuts,” 1 (slashes). 
 
 Elizabeth found herself treated with so many flattering marks of at¬ 
 tention, by the nobility as well as the commons, whose darling she al¬ 
 ways had been, that she assembled a sort of court around her, and 
 determined to settle herself in her town residence for the winter. She 
 was, however, assailed by the council, at the instance of her royal bro¬ 
 ther-in-law, with a renewal of the persecution she had undergone in 
 favour of her persevering suitor, Philibert of Savoy. The imperial am¬ 
 bassadors had been very urgent with the queen on the subject, and Eli¬ 
 zabeth found she had only been sent for in order to conclude the 
 marriage treaty. The earnestness with which this was pushed on, im¬ 
 mediately after the death of Courtenay, naturally favours the idea, that 
 a positive contract of marriage had subsisted between that unfortunate 
 nobleman and the princess, which had formed a legal impediment to her 
 ; entering into any other matrimonial engagement during his life. She 
 was, however, positive in her rejection of the duke of Savoy’s hand, 
 1 though, as before, she protested her unalterable devotion to a maiden 
 life, as the reason of her refusal. 2 After this decision she was compelled 
 • to give up the hope of spending a festive Christmas in London, and the 
 s Cottonian MS. 3 records her departure, after the brief sojourn of one 
 week, in these words :— 
 
 “ On the third day of September came riding from her place (Somer- 
 ' jet House) my lady Elizabeth’s grace, from Somerset Place, down Fleet 
 Street and through Old Baily and Smithfleld, and so her grace took her 
 lit way towards Bishop Hatfield.” 
 
 i&- Such was the disgust that Elizabeth had conceived during her late 
 » l/isit to court, or the apprehensions that had been excited by the intimi- 
 iBi lation used by the Spanish party, that she appears to have contemplated, 
 ;i he very impolitic step, of secretly withdrawing from the realm, that 
 » was so soon to become her own, and taking refuge in France. Henry 
 il I. had never ceased urging her by his wily agent Noailles to accept an 
 sylum in his court, doubtless with the intention of securing the only 
 1$ >erson who t in the event of queen Mary’s death, would stand between 
 ; lis daughter-in-law and the crown of England. Noailles had, however, 
 tInterfered in so unseemly a manner in the intrigues and plots that agi- 
 loiited England, that he had been recalled, and superseded in his office by 
 is brother, the bishop of Acqs, a man of better principles, and who 
 y crupled to become a party in the iniquitous scheme of deluding a 
 oung and inexperienced princess to her own ruin. With equal kind- 
 
 la* - ■ _ 
 
 1 MS. Cotton., f. 5. 1 Warton; Aikin. 1 Vitell., f. 5, 
 
 
 
94 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ness and sincerity this worthy ecclesiastic told the countess of Sus¬ 
 sex, when she came to him secretly in disguise, to ask his assistance in 
 conveying the lady Elizabeth to France, “that it was an unwise pro¬ 
 ject, and that he would advise the princess to take example by the con¬ 
 duct of her sister, who, if she had listened to the counsels of those who 
 would have persuaded her to take refuge with the emperor, would still 
 ,have remained in exile.” The countess returned again to him on the 
 same errand, and he then plainly told her, “ that if ever Elizabeth hoped 
 to ascend the throne of England, she must never leave the realm.” A 
 few years later he declared “ that Elizabeth was indebted to him for her 
 crown.” Whatever might be the cloud that had darkened the prospects 
 of the princess, at the period when she had cherished intentions so fatal 
 to her own interests, it quickly disappeared, and on the 25th of Feb¬ 
 ruary, 1557, she came from her house at Hatfield to London, “attended 
 by a noble company of lords and gentlemen, to do her duty to the 
 queen, and rested at Somerset House till the 28th, when she repaired to 
 her majesty at Whitehall with many lords and ladies.” 1 Again : “ one 
 morning in March the lady Elizabeth took her horse and rode to the 
 palace of Shene, with a goodly company of lords, ladies, knights and 
 gentlemen.” These visits were probably on account of the return of 
 Philip of Spain, which restored the queen to unwonted cheerfulness for 
 a time, and caused a brief interval of gaiety in the lugubrious court. 
 
 We are indebted to the lively pen of Giovanni Michele, the Venetian 
 ambassador, 2 for the following graphic sketch of the person and charac¬ 
 ter of Elizabeth, at this interesting period of her life. “ Miladi Eliza¬ 
 beth,” says he, “ is a lady of great elegance, both of body and mind, 
 though her face may be called pleasing rather than beautiful. She is 
 tall and well made, her complexion fine, though rather sallow.” Her 
 bloom must have been prematurely faded by sickness and anxiety ; for 
 Elizabeth could not have been more than three and twenty at this 
 period. “ Her eyes, but above all, her hands, which she takes care not 
 to conceal, are of superior beauty. In her knowledge of the Greek and 
 Italian languages, she surpasses the queen, and takes so much pleasure 
 in the latter, that she will converse with Italians in no other tongue. . 
 Her wit and understanding are admirable, as she has proved by her con¬ 
 duct in the midst of suspicion and danger, when she concealed her reli¬ 
 gion, and comported herself like a good Catholic.” Katharine Parr anc 
 lady Jane Gray made no such compromise with conscience; indeed 
 this dissimulation on the part of Elizabeth appears like a practical illus¬ 
 tration of the text, “ the children of this world are wiser in their gene¬ 
 ration, than the children of light.” Michele proceeds to describe Eliza¬ 
 beth “as proud and dignified in her manners; for though she is wel 
 aware what sort of a mother she had, she is also aware that this motlie 
 of hers was united to the king in wedlock, with the sanction of hoh 
 church, and the concurrence of the primate of the realm.” This re 
 
 1 MS. Cotton. Vitell. 
 
 ’From the report, made by that envoy, of the state of England, on his retun 
 to his own country, in the year 1557. MSS. Cotton. Nero B. 7. Ellis, 2d series _ 
 vol. ii. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 95 
 
 mark is important, as it proves that the marriage of Anne Boleyn was 
 considered legal by the representative of the Catholic republic of Ven¬ 
 ice. However, he goes on to say, “ The queen, though she hates her 
 most sincerely, yet treats her in public with every outward sign of af¬ 
 fection and regard, and never converses with her, but on pleasing and 
 agreeable subjects.” A proof, by the bye, that Mary neither annoyed 
 her sister by talking at her, nor endeavoured to irritate her by intro¬ 
 ducing the elements of strife into their personal discussions when they 
 were together. In this, the queen, at least, behaved with the courtesy 
 of a gentlewoman. Michele adds, “that the princess had contrived to 
 ingratiate herself with the king of Sj>ain, through whose influence the 
 queen was prevented from having her declared illegitimate, as site had it 
 in her power to do, by an act of parliament, which would exclude her 
 from the throne. It is believed,” continues he, “ that but for this inter¬ 
 ference of the king, the queen would, without remorse, chastise her in 
 the severest manner; for whatever plots against the queen are dis¬ 
 covered, my lady Elizabeth, or some of her people, are always sure to 
 be mentioned among the persons concerned in them.” Michele tells 
 us, moreover, “ that Elizabeth would exceed her income and incur large 
 debts, if she did not prudently, to avoid increasing the jealousy of the 
 queen, limit her household and followers, for,” continues he, “ there is 
 not a lord or gentleman in the realm, who has not sought to place him¬ 
 self, or a brother, or son, in her service. Her expenses are naturally 
 increased by her endeavours to maintain her popularity, although she 
 opposes her poverty as an excuse for avoiding the proposed enlarge¬ 
 ments of her establishment.” This plea answered another purpose, by 
 exciting the sympathy of her people, and their indignation, that the 
 heiress of the crown should suffer from straitened finances. Elizabeth 
 was, nevertheless, in the enjoyment of the income her father had provi¬ 
 ded for her maintenance—three thousand pounds a year, equal to twelve 
 thousand per annum of the present currency, and precisely the same 
 allowance which Mary had before her accession to the crown. 
 
 ' - “ She is,” pursues Michele, “ to appearance, at liberty in her country 
 ' residence, twelve miles from London, but really surrounded by spies 
 and shut in with guards, so that no one comes or goes, and nothing is 
 spoken or done without the queen’s knowledge.” Such is the testimony 
 of the Venetian ambassador, of Elizabeth’s position in her sister’s court, 
 but it should be remembered that he is the same man, who had intrigued 
 with the conspirators to supply them with arms, and that his information 
 is avowedly only hearsay evidence. After this, it may not be amiss to 
 enrich these pages with the account given by an English contemporary 
 of one of the pageants that were devised for her pleasure, by the 
 courteous dragon by whom the captive princess was guarded, in her 
 own fair mansion of Hatfield and other domains adjacent. 1 
 
 “In April, the same year (1557), she was escorted from Hatfield to 
 Enfield chase, by a retinue of twelve ladies, clothed in white satin, on 
 ambling palfreys, and twenty yeomen in green, all on horseback, that 
 
 MS. Cotton ; Vitell., f. 5; Strype. 
 
96 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 her grace might hunt the hart. At entering the chase or forest, she was 
 met by fifty archers in scarlet boots and yellow caps, armed with gilded 
 bows 5 one of whom presented her a silver-headed arrow winged with 
 peacock’s feathers. Sir Thomas Pope had the devising of this show. 
 At the close of the sport, her grace was gratified with the privilege of 
 cutting the buck’s throat,”—a compliment of which Elizabeth, who 
 delighted in bear-baitings and other savage amusements of those semi- 
 barbarous days, was not unlikely to avail herself. When her sister, 
 queen Mary, visited her at Hatfield, Elizabeth adorned her great state- 
 chamber for her majesty’s reception, with a sumptuous suit of tapestry, 
 representing the siege of Antioch ; and after supper a play was per¬ 
 formed bv the choir-boys of St. Paul’s; when it was over, one-of the 
 children sang, and was accompanied on the virginals by no meaner 
 musician than the princess Elizabeth herself . 1 * The account of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s visit to the queen at Richmond, and the splendid banquet and 
 pageant which Mary, with the assistance of sir Thomas Pope, with 
 whom her majesty was long in consultation on the subject, devised for 
 the entertainment of her sister, has been described in the life of queen 
 Mary . 3 
 
 The pleasant and sisterly intercourse, which was for a brief time 
 established between these royal ladies, was destined to be once more 
 interrupted, by the pertinacious interference'of king Philip, in favour of 
 his friend’s matrimonial suit for Elizabeth. Her hand was, probably, the 
 reward with which that monarch had promised to guerdon his brave 
 friend, for his good services at St. Quentin, but the gallant Savoyard 
 found that it was easier to win a battle in the field, under every disad¬ 
 vantage, than to conquer the determination of an obdurate lady love. 
 Elizabeth would not be disposed of in marriage to please any one, and 
 as she made her refusal a matter of conscience, the queen ceased to im¬ 
 portune her on the subject. Philip, as we have seen, endeavoured to 
 compel his reluctant wife, to interpose her authority, to force Elizabeth 
 to fulfil the engagement he had made for her, and Mary proved, that she 
 had, on occasion, a will of her own, as well as her sister. In short, the 
 ladies made common cause, and quietly resisted his authority . 3 He had 
 sent his two noble kinswomen, the duchesses of Parma and Lorraine, 
 to persuade Elizabeth to comply with his desire, and to convey her to 
 the continent, as the bride elect of his friend, but Elizabeth, by her sis¬ 
 ter’s advice, declined receiving these fair envoys, and they were com¬ 
 pelled to return without fulfilling the object of their mission. 
 
 Meantime, Elizabeth received several overtures from the ambassadoi 
 of the great Gustavus Vasa, king of Sweden, who was desirous of ob¬ 
 taining her in marriage for his eldest son, Prince Eric . 4 She declined 
 listening to this proposal, because it was not made to her through the 
 medium of the queen, her sister. The ambassador told her, in reply, 
 “ that the king of Sweden, his master, as a gentleman and a man of 
 honour, thought it most proper to make the first application to herself. 
 
 1 MS. Cotton; Vitell., f. 5. a Yol. v. 
 
 * Camden; Warton's Life of Pope. 
 
 3 See Mary's Life, vol. v. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 97 
 
 in order to ascertain whether it would be agreeable to her, to enter into 
 such an alliance, and if she signified her consent, he would then, as a 
 king, propose it in due form to her majesty.” This delicacy of feeling 
 was in unison with the chivalric character of Gustavus Vasa, who hav¬ 
 ing delivered his country from a foreign yoke, had achieved the refor¬ 
 mation of her church without persecution or bloodshed, and regarding 
 Elizabeth as a protestant princess who was suffering for conscience’ 
 sake, was nobly desirous of making her his daughter-in-law. Elizabeth, 
 however, who had previously rejected the heir of his neighbour, Chris¬ 
 tian of Denmark, desired the Swedish envoy to inform his master “ that 
 she could not listen to any proposals of the kind that were not conveyed 
 to her‘through the queen’s authority,” and at the same time declared, 
 “that if left to her own free will she would always prefer a maiden 
 life.” This affair reaching her majesty’s ears, she sent for sir Thomas 
 Pope to court, and having received from him a full account of this 
 secret transaction, she expressed herself well pleased with the wise and 
 dutiful conduct of Elizabeth, and directed him to write a letter to her 
 expressive of her approbation. When sir Thomas Pope returned to 
 Hatfield, Mary commanded him to repeat her commendations to the 
 princess, and to inform her “ that an official communication had now 
 ' been made to her, from the king of Sweden, touching the match with 
 his son, on which she desired sir Thomas to ascertain her sister’s senti- 
 ■ ments from her own lips, and to communicate how her grace stood 
 
 [ affected in this matter, and also to marriage in general.” 1 
 
 Sir Thomas Pope, in compliance with this injunction, made the fol¬ 
 lowing report of what passed between himself and Elizabeth on the 
 subject:— 
 
 “ First, after I had declared to her grace how well the queen’s majesty liked 
 
 i of her prudent and honourable answer made to the same messenger (from the 
 king of Sweden), I then opened unto her grace, the effects of the said messen¬ 
 ger’s credence, which after her grace had heard, I said that the queen’s highness 
 
 had sent me to her grace, not only to declare the same, but also to understand 
 J how her grace liked the said motion. Whereunto, after a little pause, her grace 
 I answered in form following:—■ 
 
 “Master Pope, I require you, after my most humble commendations unto the 
 queen's majesty, to render unto the same like thanks, that it pleased her high¬ 
 
 ness of her goodness, to conceive so well of my answer made to the said raes- 
 - senger, and herewithal of her princely commendation, with such speed to com- 
 ij. mand you by your letters, to signify the same unto me, who before remained 
 wonderfully perplexed, fearing that her majesty might mistake the same, for 
 which her goodness I acknowledge myself bound to honour, serve, love, and 
 obey her highness during my life. Requiring you also to say unto her majesty, 
 ‘ that in the king, my brother's time, there was offered me a very honourable 
 marriage or two, and ambassadors sent to treat with me touching the same, 
 » whereunto I made my humble suit unto his highness (as some of honour yet 
 living can be testimonies), that it would like the same (king Edward) to give 
 me leave with his grace’s favour to remain in that estate I was, which of all 
 others best pleased me, and in good faith, I pray you say unto her highness, I 
 im even at this present of the same mind, anil so intend to continue with her 
 najesty's favour, assuring her highness I so well like this state, as I persuade 
 nyself there is not any kind of life comparable to it. And as concerning my 
 
 1 Warton’s Life of Sir Thomas Pope, 
 c 
 
 VOL. VI. — 9 
 
98 
 
 ELIZABtTA. 
 
 liking the motion made by the said messenger, I bfse-ch you say unto her 
 majesty, tha' to my remembrance I never heard c r bis master before this time, 
 and that I so well like both the message and the messenger, as I shall most 
 humbly pray God upon my knees, that from hencetorth I mav never hear of the 
 one nor the other.” 
 
 Not the most civil way in the world, it must be owned, of dismissing 
 a remarkably civil offer, but Elizabeth gives her reason, in a manner 
 artfully calculated to ingratiate herself with her royal sister. “ And 
 were there nothing else,” pursues she, “ to move me to mislike the mo¬ 
 tion, other than that his master would attempt the same without making 
 the queen’s majesty privy thereunto, it were cause sufficient.” “ And 
 when her grace had thus ended,” resumes sir Thomas Pope, in conclu¬ 
 sion, “ I was so bold, as of myself, to say unto her grace, her pardon 
 first required, that I thought few or none would believe but her grace 
 would be right well contented to marry, so there were some honourable 
 marriage offered her, by the queen’s highness, or with her majesty’s 
 assent. Whereunto her grace answered, ‘ What I shall do hereafter I 
 know not, but 1 assure you, upon my truth and fidelity, and as God be 
 merciful unto me, I am not at this time otherwise minded than 1 have 
 declared unto you. No, though 1 were offered the greatest prince in all 
 Europe.’ ” Sir Thomas Pope adds his own opinion of these protesta¬ 
 tions, in the following sly comment, “ And yet percase (perhaps) the 
 queen’s majesty may conceive this rather to proceed of a maidenly 
 shamefacedness, than upon any such certain determination.” 
 
 This important letter is among the Harleian MSS., and is endorsed, 
 “The lady Elizabeth, her grace’s answer, made at Hatfield, the 26th of 
 April, 1558, to sir T. Pope, knt., being sent from the queen’s majesty to 
 understand how her grace liked of the motion of marriage, made by the 
 king elect of Swetheland’s messenger.” 1 It affords unquestionable proof, 
 that Elizabeth was allowed full liberty to decide for herself, as to her 
 acceptance or rejection of this Protestant suitor for her hand, her bro¬ 
 ther-in-law, king Philip, not being so much as consulted on the subject. 
 Camden asserts, “ that after Philip had given up the attempt of forcing 
 her to wed his friend, Philibert of Savoy, he would fain have made up a 
 marriage between her and his own son, don Carlos, who was then a boy 
 of sixteen; but he finally, when he became a widower, offered himself 
 to her acceptance, instead of his heir. 
 
 Elizabeth was so fortunate as to escape any implication in Stafford’s 
 rebellion, but among the Spaniards a report was circulated, that her 
 hand was destined to reward the earl of Westmoreland, by whom the 
 insurrection was quelled. There were also rumours of an engagement 
 between her and the earl of Arundel. These are mentioned in Gonsalez* 
 She is always called “ Madame Isabel” in contemporary Spanish memoirs. 
 Though much has been asserted to the contrary, the evidences of history 
 prove, that Elizabeth was on amicable terms with queen Mary at the time 
 of her death, and for some months previous to that event. 
 
 On the 9th of November, the count de Feria, one of Philip’s most 
 
 ’MS. Harleian., 444-7; also MS. Cotton; Vitell., 12, 16. 
 a Memorias de la Real Academia de la Historia. Madrid. 
 
E LI Z v -B ET II. 
 
 99 
 
 confidential counsellors, brought the dying queen a letter from her ab¬ 
 sent consort, who, already embarrassed in a war with France, and dread¬ 
 ing the possibility of the queen of Scots being placed on the throne, 
 requested Mary to declare Elizabeth her successor. The queen had an¬ 
 ticipated his desire, by her previous appointment of Elizabeth, from 
 whom she, however, exacted a profession of her adherence to the 
 Catholic creed. 
 
 Elizabeth complained, “ that the queen should doubt the sincerity of 
 her faith,” and, if we may credit the duchess of Feria, added, “ That she 
 prayed God that the earth might open and swallow her alive, if she 
 were not a true Roman Catholic.” ' Although Elizabeth never scrupled 
 throughout her life to sacrifice truth to expediency, it is difficult to be¬ 
 lieve that any one could, to secure a temporal advantage, utter so awful 
 a perjury. She afterwards told count Feria, that “she acknowledged 
 the real presence in the sacrament: at least, so the count affirmed, in a 
 letter he wrote to Philip II. the day before queen Mary died. She like¬ 
 wise assured the lord Lamar of her sincerity in this belief, and added, 
 “ that she did now and then pray to the Virgin Mary.” Strype, who 
 quotes documents in support of these words of Elizabeth, offers no con¬ 
 tradiction to them. 2 
 
 Edwin Sandys, in a letter to Bullinger, gives a very different report 
 of the communication which passed between the royal sisters. “ Mary, 
 not long before her death,” says he, 3 “ sent two members of her council 
 to her sister Elizabeth, and commanded them to let her know 4 that it 
 was her intention to bequeath to her the royal crown, together with the 
 dignity that she was then in possession of by right of inheritance.’ In 
 return, however, for this great favour conferred upon her, she required 
 of her three things : first, ‘ that she would not change her privy coun¬ 
 cil secondly, 4 that she would make no alteration in religionand, 
 thirdly, ‘that she would discharge her debts, and satisfy her creditors.’ 
 Elizabeth replied in these terms:—‘ I am very sorry to hear of the 
 queen’s illness, but there is no reason why I should thank her for her 
 intention of giving me the crown of this realm, for she has neither the 
 power cf bestowing it upon me, nor can I lawfully be deprived of it, 
 since it is my peculiar and hereditary right. With respect to the coun¬ 
 cil, I think myself as much at liberty to choose my councillors as she 
 was to choose hers. As to religion, I promise thus much, that I will 
 not change it, provided, only, that it can be proved by the word of God. 
 which shall be the only foundation and rule of my religion. Lastly, in 
 requiring the payment of her debts, she seems to me to require nothing 
 more than what is just, and I will take care that they shall be paid as 
 far as may lie in my power.’ ” 4 
 
 Such is the contradictory evidence given by two contemporaries, one 
 of whom, Jane Dormer, afterwards duchess of Feria, certainly had the 
 surest means of information as to the real state of the case, as she was 
 one of the most trusted of queen Mary’s ladies in waiting; and her sub- 
 
 1 MS. Life of the duchess of Feria, p. 156; Lingard. 
 
 * Strype's Annals, vol. i„ part i., p. 3. s Zurich Letters, 
 
 4 Zurich Letters, published by the Parker Society. 
 
100 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sequent marriage with the Spanish ambassador, the conde de Feria, 
 tended to enlighten her still more on the transactions between the dying 
 queen and the princess. Dr. Sandys was not in England at the time, 
 and merely quotes the statement of a nameless correspondent as to the 
 affairs in England. The lofty tone of Elizabeth’s reply suited not the 
 deep dissimulation of her character, and appears inconsistent with the 
 fact, that she was at that time, in all outward observances, a member of 
 the church of Rome. She continued to attend the mass, and all other 
 Catholic observances, a full month after her sister’s death, and till she 
 had clearly ascertained that the Protestant party was the most numer¬ 
 ous, and likely to obtain the ascendancy. If, therefore, she judged that 
 degree of caution necessary after the sovereign authority was in her own 
 hands, was it likely that she would declare her opinion while the Ca¬ 
 tholics, who surrounded the dying bed of Mary, were exercising the 
 w'hole power of the crown ? Her answer was probably comprised in 
 language sufficiently mystified to conceal her real intentions from Mary 
 and her counsellors. 
 
 On the 10th of November, count Feria, in obedience to the directions 
 of his royal master, went to pay his compliments to the princess, and to 
 offer her the assurances of don Philip’s friendship and good will. Eli¬ 
 zabeth was then at the house of lord Clinton, about thirteen miles from 
 London. There Feria sought and obtained an interview with her, 
 which forms an important episode in the early personal annals of this 
 great sovereign. The particulars are related by Feria, himself, in a con¬ 
 fidential letter to Philip. 1 He says, “ the princess received him well, 
 though not so cordially as on former occasions.” He supped with her 
 and lady Clinton, and, after supper, opened the discourse, according to 
 the instructions he had received from the king his master. The prin¬ 
 cess had three of her ladies in attendance, but she told the count u they 
 understood no other language than English, so he might speak before 
 them.” He replied, “ that he should be well pleased if the whole world 
 heard what he had to say.” 
 
 Elizabeth expressed herself as much gratified by the count’s visit, and 
 the obliging message he had brought from his sovereign, of whom she 
 spoke in friendly terms, and acknowledged, that she had been under 
 some obligations to him when she was in prison; but when the count 
 endeavoured to persuade her that she was indebted, for the recognition 
 of her right to the royal succession, neither to queen Mary nor her 
 council, but solely to don Philip, she exhibited some degree of incre¬ 
 dulity. In the same conference, Elizabeth complained u that she had 
 never been given more that 3000 1. of maintenance, 2 and that she knew 
 the king had received large sums of money.” The count contradicted 
 this, because he knew it to be a fact that queen Mary had once given her 
 7000Z., and some jewels of great value, to relieve her from debts in 
 which she had involved herself, in consequence of indulging in some 
 expensive entertainments, in the way of ballets. She then observed, 
 “ that Philip had tried hard to induce her to enter into a matrimonial 
 
 1 Archives of Simanja. 
 
 3 A general term for income. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 101 
 
 alliance with the duke of Savoy, but that she knew how much favour 
 the queen had lost by marrying a foreigner.” The count probably felt 
 the incivility of this remark, but only replied carelessly, in general 
 terms. 1 Here the details of the conversation end, and Feria proceeds to 
 communicate his own opinion of the princess. 2 “ It appears to me,” 
 says he, 3 “that she is a woman of extreme vanity, but acute. She 
 seems greatly to admire her father’s system of government. I fear 
 much that in religion she will not go right, as she seems inclined to 
 favour men who are supposed to be heretics, and they tell me, the ladies 
 who are about her, are all so. She appears highly indignant at the 
 things that have been done against her during her sister’s reign. She is 
 much attached to the people, and is very confident that they are all on 
 her side, (which is indeed true ;) in fact, she says ‘ it is they that have 
 placed her in the position she at present holds,’ as the declared suc¬ 
 cessor to the crown.” On this point, Elizabeth, with great spirit, re¬ 
 fused to acknowledge that she was under any obligation either to the 
 king of Spain, his council, or even to the nobles of England, though she 
 said “ that they had all pledged themselves to remain faithful to her.” 
 “ Indeed,” concludes the count, “there is not a heretic or traitor in all 
 the realm who has not started, as if from the grave, to seek her and 
 offer her their homage.” 
 
 Two or three days before her death, queen Mary sent Jane Dormer 
 to deliver the crown jewels to Elizabeth, together with her dying re¬ 
 quests to that princess, “first, that she would be good to her servants; 
 secondly, that she would repay the sums of money that had been lent 
 on privy seals ; and, lastly, that she would continue the church as she 
 had re-established it.” 4 Philip had directed his envoy to add to these 
 jewels a valuable casket of his own, which he had left at Whitehall, 
 and which Elizabeth had always greatly admired. In memory of the 
 various civilities this monarch had shown to Elizabeth, she always kept 
 his portrait in her bedchamber, even after they became deadly political 
 foes. 
 
 During the last few days of Mary’s life, Hatfield became the resort 
 of the time-serving courtiers, who sought to worship Elizabeth as the 
 rising sun. The conde de Feria readily penetrated the secret of those 
 who were destined to hold a distinguished place in her councils, and 
 predicted that Cecil would be her principal secretary. She did not con¬ 
 ceal her dislike of her kinsman, cardinal Pole, then on his death-bed. 
 
 “ He had never,” she said, “ paid her any attention, and had caused her 
 great annoyance.” There is, in Leti, a long controversial dialogue be¬ 
 tween Elizabeth and him, in which the princess appears to have the best 
 of the argument, but, however widely he might differ with her on theo¬ 
 logical subjects, he always treated her with the respect due to her ele¬ 
 vated rank, and opposed the murderous policy of her determined foe, 
 Gardiner. He wrote to her in his last illness, requesting her “ to give 
 
 * The expression used by Feria is, Para payar ciertas tropas alemanas 
 
 2 Letter of count Feria to Philip II., in the Archives of Sitnanja. 
 
 3 Reports of the conde de Feria, from Gonzales, pp. 254, 255. 
 
 4 MS. Life of the duchess dc Feria. Lingard. 
 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 credit to what the dean of Worcester could say in his behalf, not doubt¬ 
 ing but his explanations would be satisfactory but her pleasure or 
 displeasure was of little moment to him in that hour, for the sands in 
 the waning glass of life ebbed with him scarcely less quickly than with 
 his departing sovereign and friend, queen Mary. She died on the 17th 
 of November, he on the 18th. 
 
 Reports of the death of Mary were certainly circulated some hour 
 before it took place, and sir Nicholas Throckmorton, who was secretly 
 employed by Elizabeth to give her the earliest possible intelligence of 
 that event, rode off at fiery speed to Hatfield to communicate the tidings. 
 The caution of Elizabeth taught her that it was dangerous to take any 
 steps towards her own recognition till she could ascertain, to a certain¬ 
 ty, the truth of a report that might only have been devised, to betray 
 her into some act that might be construed into treason. She bade 
 Throckmorton u hasten to the palace, and request one of the ladies of 
 the bed-chamber, who was in her confidence, if the queen were really 
 dead, to send her, as a token, the black enamelled ring which her ma¬ 
 jesty wore night and day.” The circumstances are quaintly versified, 
 in the precious Throckmorton metrical chronicle of the “ Life of Sir 
 Nicholas Throckmorton.” 
 
 “ Then I, who was misliked of the time, 
 
 Obscurely sought to live scant seen at all, 
 
 So far was I from seeking up to climb. 
 
 As that I thought it well to scape a fall. 
 
 Elizabeth I visited by stealth, 
 
 As one who wished her quietness with health. 
 
 “ Repairing oft to Hatfield, where she lay, 
 
 My duty not to slack that I did owe, 
 
 The queen fell very sick as we heard say, 
 
 The truth whereof her sister ought to know, 
 
 That her none might of malice undermine, 
 
 A secret means herself did quickly find. 
 
 “ She said (since nought exceedeth woman's fears, 
 
 Who still do dread some baits of subtlety,) 
 
 ‘Sir Nicholas, know a ring my sister wears, 
 
 Enamelled black, a pledge of loyalty, 
 
 The which the king of Spain in spousals gave,— 
 
 If ought fall out amiss, ’t is that I crave. 
 
 ‘“But hark, ope not your lips to any one 
 In hope as to obtain of courtesy, 
 
 Unless you know my sister first be gone, 
 
 For grudging minds will soon coyne treachery, 1 
 So shall thyself be safe and us be sure; 
 
 Who takes no hurt shall need no care of cure. 
 
 < I & 
 
 “ ‘Her dying day shall thee such credit get, 
 
 That all will forward be to pleasure thee, 
 
 •This line stands thus in the MS., which being beautifully written, no mistake 
 can arise on the part of the transcriber. Elizabeth's meaning seems to be, tha* 
 tne ring was not to be sought till Mary's death. Coin treachery, we think, should 
 be the phrase in the fourth line. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 103 
 
 And none at alt shall seek tliy suit to let (hinder) 
 
 But go and come, and look here to find me.’ 
 
 Thence to the court I gal lopped in post, 
 
 Where, when I came, the queen gave up the ghost. 
 
 “ The ring received , my brethren, which lay 
 
 In London town with me, * 1 to Hatfield went, 
 
 And as we rode, there met us by the way 
 An old acquaintance hoping avancement, 
 
 A sugared bait, that brought us to our bane, 
 
 But chiefly me who therewithal was ta’en. 
 
 “ I egged them on with promise of reward ; 
 
 I thought if neither credit nor some gain 
 Fell to their share, the world went very hard 
 Yet reckoned I without mine host in vain. 
 ******* 
 
 “ When to the court I and my brother came, 
 
 My news was stale, but yet she knew them true, 
 
 But see how crossly things began to frame, 
 
 The cardinal died, whose death my friends may rue, 
 
 For then lord Gray and I were sent, in hope 
 To find some writings to or from the pope.” 
 
 While Throckmorton was on his road back to London, Mary expired, 
 and ere he could return with the ring to satisfy Elizabeth of the truth 
 of that event, which busy rumour had ante-dated, a deputation from the 
 late queen’s council had already arrived at Hatfield, 2 * to apprise her of 
 the demise of her sister, and to offer their homage to her as their right¬ 
 ful sovereign. Though well prepared for the intelligence, she appeared 
 at first amazed and overpowered at what she heard, and, drawing a deep 
 respiration, she sank upon her knees and exclaimed:— 4 O domino fac¬ 
 tum est illud , et est mirabile in oculis nostris /” 44 It is the Lord’s doing, 
 it is marvellous in our eyes,” 3 44 which,” says our authority, (sir Robert 
 Naunton,) 44 we find to this day on the stamp of her gold, with this on 
 her silver— Posui Deum adjutorem mcumP 4 “I have chosen God for 
 my helper.” 
 
 Eight-and-twenty years afterwards, Elizabeth, in a conversation with 
 the envoys of France, Chasteauneuf and Bellievre, spoke of the tears 
 which she had shed on the death of her sister Mary, but she is the only 
 person by whom they were ever recorded. 
 
 1 At the close of the year 1556, Throckmorton, who had been banished by Mary 
 for his participation in the rebellion of Wyat, and had narrowly escaped paying 
 the penalty of his life, ventured to return to England. He privately paid his 
 court to the princess Elizabeth, who employed him, on the report of her sister's 
 death, to ascertain the truth thereof: this he effected dexterously and secretly. 
 
 I He was a faithful, but a bold adviser, and soon came to issue with the new 
 queen; their point of dispute was on the propriety of excluding some zealous 
 Catholic lords from the council ; the queen wished to retain them, sir Nicholas 
 Throckmorton insisted on their dismission. The queen, irritated by the freedom 
 of his remonstrances, exclaimed, “God's death, villain, I will have thy head !” 
 
 A remark which proves that swearing was an accomplishment of her youth. 
 Throckmorton very coolly replied to this threat— 
 
 “You will do well, madam, to consider, in that case, how you will afterwards 
 keep your own on your shoulders.” 
 
 * Throckmorton MSS. 3 Psalm cxviii. 23. 4 Fragmenta Regalia. 
 
 i 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Recognition of Elizabeth in parliament—Proclaimed queen in Westminster Hall, 
 &lc .— Her first council — Cecil placed at the helm — Elizabeth's state entry into 
 London — Sojourn at the Tower—Attends her sister's funeral — Temporizes 
 with church reform — Hears mass for a month — Rejects it on Christmas day 
 —Her coronation—Pageants and processions—She re-establishes the reformed 
 church—Declares that she will die a virgin—Refuses Philip II.—Her perilous 
 position in Europe—Instals her favourite, Robert Dudley, as knight of the gar¬ 
 ter— Suitors for her hand — Fetes to the French ambassador — Tournament, 
 &c. —Wooed by the earls of Arran and Arundel — They are rivalled by lord 
 Robert Dudley—Scandals regarding Elizabeth—Offers of the archduke Charles 
 and Eric of Sweden—Portraits of Elizabeth — Reports of her marriage with 
 Robert Dudley—Her popular charities—'Elizabeth's coinage and coins — Her 
 antipathy to J. Knox—Her visit to the Mint—Progress through the city—Cen¬ 
 sures the marriages of the Clergy—Severity to lady K. Gray—Differences with 
 the queen of Scots—Refuses her safe conduct—Entertains the grand prior of 
 France. 
 
 While queen Mary lay on her death-bed, the greatest alarm had pre¬ 
 vailed regarding the expected crisis. A contemporary, who watched 
 closely the temper of the public, thus describes the anxieties of the re¬ 
 sponsible part of the community :—“ The rich were fearful, the wise 
 careful, the honestly-disposed doubtful,” and he adds, emphatically, 
 “the discontented and desperate were joyful, wishing for strife as the 
 door for plunder.” 1 All persons, therefore, who had anything to lose, 
 whatever their religious bias might be, must have felt relieved at the 
 peaceable accession of Elizabeth. 
 
 On the morning of the 17th of November, parliament (which was 
 then sitting) assembled betimes, for the dispatch of business. The de¬ 
 mise of the crown was, however, only known in the palace. Before 
 noon. Dr. Heath, the archbishop of Y ork, and lord-chancellor of Eng¬ 
 land, sent a message to the speaker of the House of Commons, re¬ 
 questing “ that he, with the knights and burgesses of the nether house, 
 would without delay adjourn to the upper house, to give their assents, 
 in a matter of the utmost importance.” When the commons were 
 assembled in the House of Lords, silence being proclaimed, lord-chan¬ 
 cellor Heath addressed the united senate in these words:— 
 
 “The cause of your summons hither, at this time, is to signify to you, that all l 
 the lords, here present, are certainly certified, that God this morning hath called 
 to his mercy our late sovereign lady, queen Mary; Which hap, as it is most heavy 
 
 
 1 Bishop Godwin. 
 
 ( 104 ) 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 105 
 
 and grievous to us, so have we no less cause, otherwise, to rejoice with praise to 
 Almighty God, for leaving to us a true. lawful, and right inheritrix to the crown 
 of this realm, which is the lady Elizabeth, second daughter to our late sovereign, 
 of noble memory, Henry VIII,, and sister to our said late queen, of whose most 
 lawful right and title to the crown, thanks be to God, we need not doubt. 1 
 
 “Albeit the parliament (house of commons), by the heavy accident of queen 
 Mary's death, did dissolve, 8 yet, as they had been elected to represent the com¬ 
 mon people of the realm, and to deal for them in matters of state, they could no 
 way better discharge that trust than in joining with the lords in publishing the 
 next succession to the crown. 3 
 
 “Wherefore the lords of this house have determined, with your assents and 
 consents, to pass from hence into the palace, and there to proclaim the lady 
 Elizabeth queen of this realm, without any further tract of time.’ 
 
 ‘‘God save queen Elizabeth !” was the response of the lords and com¬ 
 mons to the speech of their lord-chancellor—“ Long may queen Eliza¬ 
 beth reign over us!” “And so,” adds our chronicle, “ was this parlia¬ 
 ment dissolved by the act of God.” 
 
 Thus, through the wisdom and patriotism of the lord-chancellor of 
 England, was the title of queen Elizabeth rendered indisputable, for her 
 first proclamation and recognition, were rendered most solemn acts of 
 parliament. It is scarcely possible, but that Meath must have foreseen 
 his own doom, and that of his religion, of which he was at that moment, 
 with the exception of the expiring Pole, the ostensible head in England, 
 yet it is most evident, that he preferred consulting the general good, by 
 averting a civil war, to the benefit of his own particular class. It ought 
 to be remembered that his conduct, at this crisis, secured the loyalty of 
 the Catholics of England to Elizabeth. 
 
 All the important acts of the united houses of parliament respecting 
 the recognition of queen Elizabeth, were completed before the clock 
 struck twelve, that 17th of November. 4 The lords, with the heralds, 
 then entered the palace of Westminster, and directly before its hall door, 
 after several solemn soundings of trumpets, the new queen was pro¬ 
 claimed “Elizabeth, by the grace of God, queen of England, France, 
 and Ireland, and defender of the faith,” &c. “ This,” &.c., hides an im¬ 
 portant historical fact — namely, that she was not then proclaimed 
 supreme head of the church. 
 
 |l The young duke of Norfolk, as earl-marshal, accompanied by several 
 bishops and nobles, then went into the city, where they met the lord- 
 mayor and civic authorities, and the heralds proclaimed queen Elizabeth 
 
 - at the cross of Cheapside. In the afternoon, all the city bells rang, 
 bonfires were lighted, ale and wine distributed, and the populace invited 
 to feast at tables put out at the doors of the rich citizens; all signs of 
 
 1* 1 1 Holinsheil, vol. ii., p. 1784, first edition, 1577. 
 
 ill- ‘Such was the law of the realm till the 7th and 8th years of William III., cap. 
 15, which enacted that parliament should sit for six months, if not sooner dis¬ 
 solved by the reigning monarch. 
 
 3 Hayward's Annals of Elizabeth, Camden Society, p. 2. The important speech 
 )f lord-chancellor Heath is conjointly preserved in Hayward and Holinshed. 
 Drake’s Parliamentary History, after quoting the journals of the house, indignantly 
 points out Rapin's deliberate falsification on this point of history. 
 
 ‘Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1784. 
 
106 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 mourning for the deceased queen being entirely lost in joy for the acces¬ 
 sion of her sister. So passed the first day of the reign of Elizabeth — 
 a day which came to cheer with hope a season of universal tribulation 
 and misery: for, besides the inquisitorial cruelties of Bonner, which had 
 proved plague sufficient to the London citizens, it was a time of famine 
 and of pestilence more universal than the plague, which usually con¬ 
 fined its ravages to great cities. Many thousands had, in the autumn of 
 1558, fallen victims to a fever called a quotidian ague, but which was, 
 doubtless, a malignant typhus. It had broken out in the harvest, and 
 carried olf so many country people, that the harvest rotted on the ground 
 for want of hands. Great numbers of ecclesiastics had died of this 
 fever; thirteen bishops died in the course of four months; and to this 
 circumstance the facile change of religion, which took place directly, 
 may partly be attributed. Cardinal Pole lay in the agonies of death; 
 Christopherson, bishop of Chichester, and Griffin, bishop of Rochester, 
 were either dying or dead. 
 
 While these important scenes were transacting in her senate and 
 metropolis, the new sovereign remained, probably out of respect to hei 
 sister’s memory, in retirement at Hatfield, and the ceremony of her pro¬ 
 clamation did not take place there till the 19th, when it was performed 
 before the gates of Hatfield House. In the same day and hour, however, 
 in which her accession to the regal office was announced to her, she 
 entered upon the high and responsible duties of a vocation, for which 
 few princes possessed such eminent qualifications as herself. 
 
 The privy council repaired to the new queen at Hatfield, and there 
 she sat in council for the first time with them, November 20th. Sir 
 Thomas Parry, the cofferer of her household, Cave, Rogers, and sir I 
 William Cecil, were sworn in as members. 1 
 
 Her majesty’s address to Cecil, on that occasion, is a noble sum¬ 
 mary of the duties which he was expected to perform to his queen and 
 country:— 
 
 “ I give you this charge that you shall be of my privy council, and conten' 
 yourself to take pains for me and my realm. This judgment I have of you, tha' 
 you will not be corrupted by any manner of gift, and that you will be faithful tc 
 the state; and that, without respect to my private will, you will give me tha 
 council which you think best; and if you shall know anything necessary to be 
 declared to me of secrecy, you shall show it to myself only, and assure yourseli 
 1 will not fail to keep taciturnity therein, and therefore herewith I charge you.” 
 
 Elizabeth left no room for doubt or speculation among the eagei 
 competitors for her favour, as to the minister whom she intended tc 
 guide the helm of state, for she accepted a note of advice from sir Wil¬ 
 liam Cecil, on the most urgent matters that required her attention, tha 
 very day, and appointed him her principal secretary of state. Th< 
 political tie that was then knit between Cecil and his royal mistress 
 though occasionally shaken, was only broken by the death of that grea i 1 
 statesman, who was able to elevate or bend the powers of his acute in 
 tellect to all matters of government, from measures that rendered Eng 
 
 1 Slrype; Camden. 
 
 8 Harrington's Nugas Antiquce ; Strype. 
 
ELIZABETH. 107 
 
 land the arbitress of Europe, to the petty details of the milliner and 
 tailor, in sumptuary laws. 
 
 Elizabeth commenced her progress to her metropolis, November 23d, 
 Jttcnded by a magnificent retinue of lords, ladies, and gentlemen, and a 
 prodigious concourse of people who poured out of London and its 
 idjacent villages, to behold and welcome her. On the road to Ilighgate 
 she met a procession of the bishops, who kneeled by the way-side, and 
 offered her their allegiance, which was very graciously accepted . 1 She 
 rave to every one of them her hand to kiss excepting Bonner, bishop 
 of London . 2 This exception she made to mark her abhorrence of his 
 sruelty. The lord-mayor and aldermen, in their scarlet gowns, likewise 
 met her, and conducted her in great state to the Charter House, then the 
 town residence of lord North. Lord-chancellor Heath and the earls of 
 Derby and Shrewsbury, received her there. She stayed at the Charter 
 House five days, and sat in council every day . 3 
 
 The queen left the Charter House on Monday, November 28, to take 
 , formal possession of her royal fortress of the Tower. Immense crowds 
 issembled to greet her, and to gaze on her, both without and within the 
 ' :ity gates, and a mighty retinue of the nobility of both sexes sur¬ 
 rounded her. She ascended a rich chariot, and rode from the Charter 
 ]House along the Barbican, till she reached Cripplegate, where the lord- 
 mayor and city authorities received her. Then she mounted on horse¬ 
 back and entered the city in equestrian procession. She was attired in 
 i riding-dress of purple velvet, with a scarf tied over her shoulder; the 
 terjeants-at-arms guarded her. Lord Robert Dudley, as master of the 
 torse, rode next her; thus early was this favourite exalted to the place 
 te held so long. The lord-mayor preceded her, carrying her sceptre, 
 tnd by his side rode Garter king-at-arms. Lord Pembroke rode directly 
 tefore her majesty, bearing the sword of state. The queen rode along 
 
 I liondon-wall, then a regular fortification, which was richly hung with 
 apestry, and the city waits sounded loud music. She rode up Leaden- 
 tall street to Gracechurch street, called by our citizen journalist “ Grass- 
 thurch street,” till she arrived at the Blanch Chapelton, 4 at the entry of 
 he Mart, or Market-lane, now the well-known Mark-lane, still the corn- 
 nart of England, though few wdto transact business there are aware of 
 he extreme antiquity of their station. 
 
 When the queen arrived at the Blanch Chapelton, the Tower guns 
 >egan to herald her approach, and continued discharging all the while 
 he progressed down Mart Lane and Tower Street; she was greeted at 
 arious places by playing on regals, singing of children, and speeches 
 rom the scholars of Saint Paul’s School. “ The presence of the queen,” 
 ays an eye-witness, 5 gave life to all these solemnities; she promptly 
 nswered all speeches made to her, she graced every person either of 
 ignity or office, and so cheerfully noticed and accepted everything, 
 
 1 'Macintosh, vol iii.; Strype ; Citizens'Journal j and Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1784. 
 ; a Stowe’s Annals, 634. * * Strype’s Citizens’ Journal 
 
 * An ecclesiastical structure, named in Holinshed and the Citizens’ Journal, 
 wept away by the fire of London. 
 
 * Hayward, p. 10. 
 
103 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 that in the judgment of the beholders, these great honours were es¬ 
 teemed too mean for her personal worth.’ Deeply had Elizabeth studied 
 her metier da rot, before she had an opportunity of rehearsing her part. 
 Fortunately for her, the pride and presumption of youth had been a 
 little tamed by early misfortune, and, stimulated by the inexorable ne¬ 
 cessity of self-defence, she had been forced to look into human charac¬ 
 ter and adapt her manners to her interest. Adversity had taught her 
 the invaluable lesson embodied by Wordsworth in these immortal 
 words— 
 
 “Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.” 
 
 As she entered the Tower, she majestically addressed those about 
 her. “ Some,” said she, “ have fallen from being princes of this land, 
 to be prisoners in this place; I am raised from being prisoner in this 
 place to be prince of this land. That dejection was a work of God’s 
 justice; this advancement is a work of his mercy; as they were tc 
 yield patience for the one, so I must bear myself to God thankful, ant 
 to men merciful for the other.” It is said that she immediately went tc 
 her former prison apartment, where she fell on her knees, and offeree 
 up a loud and extempore prayer, in which she compared herself to Da¬ 
 niel in the lion’s den, the words of which are in print, but bear verj 
 strongly the tone of Master Fox’s composition. 
 
 She remained at the Tower till the 5th of December, holding privj 
 councils of mighty import, whose chief tenor was to ascertain, wha 
 members of the late queen’s catholic council would coalesce with he 
 own party—which were the remnants of the administration of Ed wart 
 VI.—Cecil, Bacon. Sadler, Parr, Russell, and the Dudleys. Likewisi 
 to produce a modification between the church of Edward VI. and th 
 Henrican, or anti-papal church of her father, which might claim to be : 
 reformed church, with herself for its supreme head. On the 5th of De 
 cember, the queen removed from the Tower by water, and took up he 
 abode at Somerset House, where a privy council was held daily fo 
 fifteen days. 
 
 Meantime, mass was said at the funerals of queen Mary, of cardina 
 Pole, and the two deceased bishops, whose obsequies were observed 
 with all the rites of the ancient church. 
 
 Elizabeth attended in person at her sister’s burial, and listened atten 
 tively to her funeral sermon, preached by Dr. White, bishop of Win 
 Chester, which was in Latin. The proverb, that “ comparisons ar 
 odious,” Mas truly illustrated by this celebrated discourse, which S. 
 John Harrington calls “a black sermon.” 1 It contained a biographies 
 sketch of the late queen, in which he mentioned, with great praise, he 
 renunciation of church supremacy, and repeated her observation, “ tht 
 as Saint Paul forbade women to speak in the church, it w'as not fittin* 
 for the church to have a dumb head.” This was not very pleasant t 
 Elizabeth, who had either just required the oath of supremacy to be at 
 ministered, or was agitating that matter in the privy council. Had D 
 White preached in English, his sermon might have done her much mi: 
 
 1 Nugce Antiqiue, vol. ii., pp. 84, S5; Camden; Life of Elizabeth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 109 
 
 chief. When the bishop described the grievous suffering of queen 
 Mary, he fell into such a lit of weeping that his voice was choked for a 
 time. When he recovered himself, he added, “ that queen Mary had 
 left a sister, a lady of great worth, also, whom they were bound to 
 obey; for,” said he, “ melior est cams vivus leone mortuo .” Elizabeth 
 was too good a Latinist not to fire at this elegant simile, which declared 
 j‘ that a living dog was better than a dead lionnor did the orator 
 content himself with this currish comparison, for he roundly asserted 
 ‘ that the dead deserved more praise than the living, for Mary had cho¬ 
 sen the better part.” 
 
 As the bishop of Winchester descended the pulpit stairs, Elizabeth 
 ordered him under arrest. He defied her majesty, and threatened her 
 vith excommunication, for which she cared not a rush. He was a pre¬ 
 ate of austere but irreproachable manners ; exceedingly desirous of tes- 
 jfying his opinions by a public martyrdom, which he did and said all 
 n his power to obtain, but Elizabeth was, at that period of her life, too 
 tise to indulge the zealous professors of the ancient faith, in any such 
 fishes. 
 
 No author but the faithful and accurate Stowe, has noted the impor- 
 int result of the daily deliberations held by the queen and her privy 
 ouncil at Somerset House at this epoch : he says, “ the queen began 
 ten to put in practice, that oath of supremacy which her father first 
 rdained, and amongst the many that refused that oath was my lord- 
 lancellor, Dr. Heath. The queen having a good respect for him would 
 Ibt deprive him of his title, but committed the custody of the great seal 
 j Nicholas Bacon, attorney of the wards, who from that time was 
 filed lord keeper, and exercised the authority of lord-chancellor as 
 tnfirmed by act of parliament.” 1 This oath of supremacy was the 
 st which sifted the council from those, to whom the ancient faith was 
 atter of conscience, and those to whom it was matter of worldly busi¬ 
 es : the nonjurors withdrew either into captivity, or country retire¬ 
 ment. 
 
 Of the Catholic members of the privy council who remained, lord 
 illiam Howard was her majesty’s uncle and entire friend, Sackville 
 ns her cousin, the earl of Arundel her lover. The marquis of Win- 
 fester acted according to his characteristic description of his own 
 ) licy, by playing the part of the willow, rather than the oak, 2 and from 
 «e of the most cruel of Elizabeth’s persecutors, became at once the 
 spplest of her instruments. His example was imitated by others in 
 ts list, who for the most part appeared duly impressed with the spirit 
 (the constitutional maxim—“ The crown takes away all defects.” 
 ,Elizabeth acted much as Mary did at her accession; she forbade any 
 c.e to preach without her license, and ostensibly left the rites of reli- 
 §’ii as she found them, but she, for a time, wholly locked up the 
 fhous pulpit of political sermons, Saint Paul’s Cross. 3 
 
 iJf Stowe's Chronicle, black letter, folio 035. s Naunton's Fragment* Regaliae. 
 
 This step, so important to her personal and regnal life, is left in the deepest 
 _county by all but Stowe, who was, it ought to be remembered, persecuted by 
 tl privy coun il for his historical labours. 
 
 VOL. VI.-1U 
 
10 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Meantime, mass was daily celebrated in the chapel royal, and through 
 out the realm;' and the queen, though well known to be a Protestant, 
 conformed outwardly to the ceremonial observances of the church of 
 Rome, t 
 
 It was desirable that the coronation of Elizabeth should take place 
 speedily, in order that she might have the benefit of the oaths of alle¬ 
 giance, of that part of the aristocracy, who regarded oaths. But a great; 
 obstacle arose: there was no one to crown her. The archbishop of 
 Canterbury was dead; Dr. Heath, the archbishop of York, positively 
 refused to crown her as supreme head of the church; there were but 
 five or six Catholic bishops surviving the pestilence, and they all obsti¬ 
 nately refused to perform the ceremony, neither would they consecrate 
 any bishops, who were of a different way of thinking. 
 
 Notwithstanding these signs and symptoms of approaching change, 
 all ceremonies were preparing for celebrating the Christmas festival, ac¬ 
 cording to the rites of the ancient church. It was on the morning of 
 Christmas Day, that Elizabeth took the important step of personal se¬ 
 cession from the mass. She appeared in her closet in great state, at the 
 celebration of the morning service, surrounded by her ladies and offi¬ 
 cers. Oglethorpe, bishop of Carlisle, was at the altar, preparing tc 
 officiate at high mass; but when the gospel was concluded, and ever} 
 one expected that the queen would have made the usual offering, sh< 
 rose abruptly, and with her whole retinue withdrew from the closet intc 
 her privy chamber, which was strange to divers. “God be blessed fo * 1 
 all his gifts!” adds the narrator of this scene . 2 This withdrawal was 
 to signify her disapprobation of the mass; yet she proceeded softly am 
 gradually, till she ascertained the tone of the new parliament, whicl < 
 had not yet met. Had her conduct on Christmas morning excited gene 
 ral reprobation, instead of approbation, she could have laid her retreat 
 and that of her personal attendants, on her sudden indisposition. Whei 
 she found this step was well received she took another, which was ti 
 issue a proclamation, ordering, that from the approaching new year 1 
 day, the litany should, with the epistle and gospel, be said in English ii 
 her chapel, and in all churches. 
 
 Further alteration was not at this time effected, because it was de 
 termined that Elizabeth should be crowned with the religious ceremc 
 nials of the Catholic church; but her mind was occupied with othe 
 thoughts than religion, relative to her coronation. She sent her favoui *' 
 ite, Robert Dudley, to consult her pet conjuror, Dr. Dee, to fix a luck 
 day for the ceremony . 3 
 
 Such were the occupations of the great Elizabeth, in the first exercis -• 
 of her regal power—now dictating the mode of worship in her domir 
 ions, now holding a consultation with a conjuror. Elizabeth has bee 
 praised for her superiority to the superstitions of her age. Her frequei 
 visits, and close consultations with Dr. Dee, throughout the chief pa 
 
 1 Hoiinslied, first edition, vol. ii., 1785. ^ 
 
 1 Ellis's Original Letters, vol. ii., p. 262, second series. Letter of Sir W. Fit 
 
 william to Mr. More. The original is one of the Losely MSS. 
 
 * Godwin’s Life of Dr. Dee. He has drawn his information from Dr. Casaubo 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 Ill 
 
 of her life are in lamentable contradiction to such panegyric. He had, 
 as already noticed , 1 been prosecuted for telling the fortunes of Eliza¬ 
 beth when princess, and casting the nativity of queen Mary, to the infi¬ 
 nite indignation of that queen. He had, it seems, made a lucky guess 
 as to the short duration of Mary’s life; and, truly, it required no great 
 powers of divination to do so. Such was the foundation of queen Eli¬ 
 zabeth’s faith in this disreputable quack; her confidential maid too, 
 Blanche Parry (who was in all the secrets of her royal mistress, before 
 and after her accession) was an avowed disciple of Dr. Dee, and his 
 pupil in alchemy and astrology . 2 
 
 The queen, her privy council, and Dr. Dee, having agreed that Sun¬ 
 day, the 15th of January, would be the most suitable day for her coro¬ 
 nation, she likewise appointed the preceding day, Saturday the 14 th, for 
 her grand recognition-procession through the city of London. As this 
 procession always commenced from the royal fortress of the Tower, 
 the queen went thither in a state-barge on the 12th of January, from the 
 palace of Westminster, by water. The lord mayor, and his city com¬ 
 panies met her on the Thames, 44 with their barges decked with banners 
 of their crafts and mysteries.” The lord mayor’s own company— 
 namely, the mercer’s—had “a bachelor’s barge and an attendant foist, 
 with artillery shooting off lustily as they went, with great and pleasant 
 melody of instruments, which played in a sweet and heavenly manner.” 
 Her majesty shot the bridge about two o’clock, at the still of the ebb, 
 the lord mayor with the other barges following her; and she landed at 
 the private stairs on Tower wharf. The queen was occupied the next 
 day by making knights of the Bath ; she, likewise, created or restored 
 < fire peers; among others she made her mother’s nephew, sir Henry 
 Carey, lord Hunsdon. 
 
 The recognition-procession through the city of London, was one of 
 aeculiar character, marked not by any striking difference of parade or 
 iperemony, but by the constant drama acted between the new queen and 
 he populace. The manner and precedence of the line of march much 
 Resembled that, previously described in the life of her sister, queen 
 i Wary. Elizabeth left the Tower about two in the afternoon, seated, 
 •oyally attired, in a chariot covered with crimson velvet, which had a 
 sanopy borne over it by knights, one of whom was her illegitimate 
 brother, sir John Perrot. “The queen,” says George Ferrers, who was 
 ; m officer in the procession , 3 “ as she entered the city, was received by 
 he people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tender words, and all 
 igns, which argue an earnest love of subjects towards their sovereign ; 
 nd the queen, by holding up her hands and glad countenance to such 
 s stood afar off, and most tender language to those, that stood nigh to 
 ter grace, showed herself no less thankful to receive the people’s good- 
 vill, than they to offer it. To all that wished her well, she gave 
 hanks. To such as bade 4 God save her grace,’ she said, in return, 
 - God save you all!’ and added, 4 that she thanked them with all her 
 
 1 Letter in the State Paper Office. Tytlers Edward and Mary, vol. ii., p. 479. 
 
 ’Lodge's Illustrations. 
 
 * He is the real author of this curious narrative printed in Holinshed. 
 
112 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 heart.’ Wonderfully transported were the people with the loving an¬ 
 swers and gestures of their queen ; the same she had displayed at her 
 first progress from Hatfield. The city of London might, at that time, 
 have been termed a stage, wherein was shown the spectacle of the noble- 
 hearted queen’s demeanour towards her most loving people, and the 
 people’s exceeding joy at beholding such a sovereign, and hearing so 
 princely a voice. How many nosegays did her grace receive at poor 
 women’s hands! How often stayed she her chariot, when she saw any 
 simple body approach to speak to her! A branch of rosemary given to 
 her majesty, with a supplication, by a poor woman about Fleet-bridge, 
 •was seen in her chariot, when her grace came to Westminster, not with¬ 
 out the wondering of such as knew the presenter, and noted the queen’s 
 gracious reception and keeping the same.” An apt simile to the stage 
 seems irresistibly to have taken possession of the brain of our worthy 
 dramatist, George Ferrers, in the midst of this pretty description of his 
 liege lady’s performance. However, her majesty adapted her part well 
 to her audience—a little coarsely in the matter of gesture, perhaps—as 
 more casting up her eyes to Heaven, signing with her hands, and mould¬ 
 ing of her features, are described, in the course of the narrative, than 
 are exactly consistent, with the good taste of a gentlewoman in these 
 days; nevertheless her spectators were not very far advanced in civiliza¬ 
 tion, and she dexterously adapted her style of performance to their ap¬ 
 preciation. 
 
 The pageants began in Fenchurch Street, where a “ fair child,” in 
 costly apparel, was placed on a stage to welcome her majesty to the 
 city. The last verse of his greeting shall serve as a specimen of the 
 rest: 
 
 :i Welcome, O queen, as much as heart can think! 
 
 Welcome again, as much as tongue can tell! 
 
 Welcome to joyous tongues and hearts that will not shrink! 
 
 God thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee ever well!” 
 
 At the words of the last line the people gave a great shout, repeating, 
 with one assent, what the child had said.' “ And the queen’s majesty 
 thanked graciously both the city for her reception, and the people for 
 confirming the same. Here was noted the perpetual attentiveness in the 
 queen’s countenance, while the child spake, and a marvellous change in 
 her look, as the words touched either her or the people; so that her re¬ 
 joicing visage declared that the words took their place in her mind.” 
 Thus Elizabeth, who steered her way so skilfully, till she attained the 
 T highest worldly prosperity, appreciated the full influence of the “mute 
 angel of attention.” It is evident she knew how to listen, as well as to 
 speak. 
 
 “At the upper end of Gracechurch street, before the sign of the Eagle 
 (perhaps the Spread Eagle), the city had erected a gorgeous arch, be¬ 
 neath which was a stage, which stretched from one side of the street tc 
 the other. This was an historical pageant, representing the queen’s im¬ 
 mediate progenitors. There sat Elizabeth of York, in the midst of an 
 immense wliite rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows rount 
 
 1 Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1787. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 113 
 
 fier; by her side was Henry VII. issuing out of a vast red rose, dis¬ 
 posed in the same manner; the hands of the royal pair were locked 
 together, and the wedding ring ostentatiously displayed. From the red 
 and white roses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a second stage, 
 occupied by Henry VIII., issuing from a red and white rose; and, for 
 the first time since her disgrace and execution, was the effigy of the 
 queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn, represented by his side. One branch 
 sprang from this pair, which mounted to a third stage, where sat the 
 effigy of Queen Elizabeth herself, enthroned in royal majesty; and the 
 whole pageant was framed with wreaths of roses, red and white.” 1 
 
 By the time the queen had arrived before this quaint spectacle, her 
 loving lieges had become so outrageously noisy in their glee, that there 
 were all talkers and no hearers ; not a word that the child said, who 
 was appointed to explain the whole puppet-show, and repeat some 
 verses, could be heard, and the queen was forced to command and 
 entreat silence. Her chariot had passed so far forward that she could 
 not well view the said kings and queens, but she ordered it to be 
 backed, “ yet scarcely could she see, because the child who spoke was 
 placed too much within.” Besides, it is well-known, Elizabeth was 
 near-sighted, as well as her sister. 
 
 As she entered Cornhill, one of the knights, wdio bore her canopy, 
 observed that an ancient citizen turned away and w'ept. “Yonder is 
 an alderman,” he said to the queen, “ which weepeth and averteth his 
 face.” 
 
 “ I warrant it is for joy,” replied the queen. “A gracious interpreta¬ 
 tion,” adds the narrator, “ which makes the best of the doubtful.” In 
 Cheapside, she smiled, and being asked the reason, she replied, “ Be¬ 
 cause I have just overheard one say in the crowd, ‘ I remember old king 
 Harry the Eighth.’ ” 
 
 A scriptural pageant was placed on a stage, which spanned the 
 entrance of Soper’s lane: it represented the eight beatitudes, prettily 
 personified by beautiful children. One of these little performers ad¬ 
 dressed to the queen the following lines, which are a more favourable 
 specimen than usual of pageant poetry :— 
 
 “Thou hast been eight times blest, 0 queen of worthy fame! 
 
 By meekness of thy sprite, when care did thee beset, 
 
 By mourning in thy grief, by mildness in thy blame, 
 
 By hunger and by thirst, when right thou couldst not get 
 
 “By mercy shewed, not proved, by pureness of thine heart, 
 
 By seeking peace alway, by persecution wrong; 
 
 Therefore trust thou in God, since he hath helpt thy smart, 
 
 That as his promise is, so he will make thee strong.” 
 
 The people all responded to the wishes the little spokesman had 
 littered, whom the queen most gently thanked, for their loving good 
 will. 
 
 Many other pageants were displayed at all the old stations in Corn- 
 nill and Chepe, with which our readers are tolerably familiar in pre- 
 
 1 Holinshed, p. 1788. 
 
 10 * H 
 
 
114 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ceding biographies. These must we pass by unheeded; so did not j 
 queen Elizabeth, who had some pertinent speech, or least some appro¬ 
 priate gesture, ready for each. Thus, when she encountered the go¬ 
 vernors and boys of Christ Church Hospital, all the time she was lis¬ 
 tening to a speech from one of the scholars, she sat with her eyes and 
 hands cast up to Heaven, to the great edification of all beholders. 1 
 
 Her reception of the grand allegory of Time and Truth, at the-Little 
 Conduit in Cheapside, was more natural and pleasing. She asked, 
 
 “ Who an old man was who sat with his scythe and hour-glass ?” She 
 was told u Time.” “ Time!” she repeated ; “ and time has brought me 
 here!” 
 
 In this pageant, she spied that Truth held a Bible in English, ready 
 for presentation to her, and she bade sir John Perrot (the knight nearest 
 to her, who held up her canopy) to step forward and receive it for her; 
 but she was informed, that was not the regular manner of presentation, 
 for it was to be let down into her chariot, by a silken string. She there¬ 
 fore told sir John Perrot to stay; and at the proper crisis, in some verses 
 recited by Truth, the book descended, “and the queen received it in 
 both her hands, kissed it, clasped it to her bosom, and thanked the city 
 for this present, esteemed above all others. She promised to read it dili¬ 
 gently, to the great comfort of the by-standers.” 
 
 Throughout the whole of Cheapside, from every pent-house and win¬ 
 dow hung banners and streamers, and the richest carpets, stuffs, and 
 cloth of gold tapestried the streets, specimens of the great wealth of the 
 stores within, for Cheapside was the principal location of the mercers 
 and silk-dealers in London. At the upper end of this splendid thorough¬ 
 fare were collected the city authorities, in their gala dresses, headed by 
 their recorder, master Ranulph Cholmely, who, in the name of the lord- 
 mayor and the city of London, begged her majesty’s acceptance of a 
 purse of crimson satin, containing a thousand marks in gold, and 
 withal, beseeched her to continue good and gracious lady and queen to 
 them. 
 
 The queen’s majesty took the purse, “ with both her hands,” and 
 readily answered, 
 
 I thank my lord-mayor, his brethren, and ye all. And whereas, 
 master recorder, your request is, that I may continue your good lady 
 and queen, be ye assured, that I will be as good unto ye as ever queen 
 was to a people.” 
 
 After pausing to behold a pageant of Deborah, who governed Israel 
 in peace for forty years, she reached the Temple Bar, where Gog and 
 Magog, and a concert of sweet-voiced children, were ready to bid her 
 farewell, in the name of the whole city. The last verse of the song 
 of farewell gave a hint of the expected establishment of the Refor¬ 
 mation : 
 
 “Farewell, O worthy queen; and as our hope is sure, 
 
 That into error's place thou wilt now truth restore, 
 
 So trust we that thou wilt our sovereign queen endure, 
 
 And loving lady stand from henceforth evermore.” 
 
 1 Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1776. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 115 
 
 Allusions.to the establishment of truth and the extirpation of error, 
 had been repeated in the previous parts of this song, and whenever they 
 occurred, Elizabeth held up her hands and eyes to heaven, and at the 
 conclusion expressed her wish that all the people should respond, 
 Amen! 
 
 As she passed through Temple Bar, she said, as a farewell to the 
 populace, “ Be ye well assured I will stand your good queen.” 
 
 The acclamations of the people in reply exceeded the thundering of 
 the ordnance, at that moment shot off from the Tower. 
 
 Titus ended this celebrated procession, which certainly gave the tone 
 to Elizabeth’s public demeanour, throughout the remainder of her life. 
 
 The queen’s perplexity regarding the prelate, who was to crown her, 
 must have continued till the last moment, because, had Dr. Oglethorpe, 
 the bishop of Carlisle, been earlier prevailed on, to perform this cere¬ 
 mony, it is certain proper vestments could have been prepared for him, 
 instead of borrowing them from Bonner, which was actually done on 
 the spur of the moment. Dr. Oglethorpe was the officiating bishop at 
 the royal chapel; he might therefore consider that he owed more 
 obedience to the sovereign’s command than the rest of the catholic pre¬ 
 lates. The compromise appears to have been, that if Elizabeth took the 
 ancient oath administered to her catholic predecessors, he would set the 
 crown on her head. That she took such oath is universally agreed by 
 historians. 
 
 She passed the night preceding her coronation at Whitehall, and early 
 in the morning came in her barge, in procession by water, to the old 
 palace at Westminster. She assumed the same robes in which she after¬ 
 wards opened parliament — a mantle of crimson velvet, furred with 
 ermine, with a cordon of silk and gold, with buttons and tassels of the 
 same; a train and surcoat of the same velvet, the train and skirt furred 
 with ermine; a cap of maintenance, striped with passaments of gold 
 lace, and a tassel of gold to the same. This was by no means in ac¬ 
 cordance with the jewelled circlets usually worn by queens of England, 
 whether consort or regnant, preparatory to their coronation. There is 
 every reason to believe, from the utter exhaustion of the treasury, that 
 the coronation of Elizabeth was in many instances abbreviated of its 
 usual splendour. But one very scarce and imperfect detail exists of it: 1 
 for it could not have given pleasure to any party—the protestants must 
 have been ashamed of the oath she took, and the catholics enraged at 
 her breaking it. Her procession from Westminster Hall was met by the 
 one bishop, Oglethorpe. He wore his mitre and the borrowed vestments 
 of Bonner. Three crosses were borne before him, and he walked at the 
 head of the singers of the queen’s chapel, who sang as they went, Salve 
 fesla dies. The path for the queen’s procession was railed in and 
 spread with blue cloth. The queen was conducted, with the usual cere¬ 
 monies, to a chair of state at the high altar. She was then led by two 
 noblemen to the platform for recognition, and presented by bishop Ogle- 
 
 1 The original MS. is in the Ashmolean collection at Oxford. Mr. Nicholls has 
 printed it verbatim in his progresses of Elizabeth, vol. i., p. 30; and Mr. Planch^ 
 lias made a pleasant narrative from it, in his Regal Records. 
 
11G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 thorpe as queen, trumpets blowing between every proclamation. When 
 she presented herself before the high altar, she knelt before Oglethorpe, 
 and kissed the cover (veil) of the paten and chalice, and made an offer 
 ing in money. She returned to her chair while bishop Oglethorpe 
 preached the sermon and “ bade the beads,” a service somewhat similar 
 to our Litany, and the queen, kneeling, said the Lord’s Prayer. Then, 
 being reseated, the bishop administered the coronation oath. The pre¬ 
 cise words of it are omitted, but it has been asserted that it was the 
 same exacted from James I. and the Stuart kings of England, who were 
 required to take a similar oath — viz., to keep the church in the same 
 state as did king Edward the Confessor. 1 Some important points of 
 difference certainly existed between the discipline of the Anglo-Saxon 
 church of the eleventh century and the Roman-oatholic of the sixteenth 
 century; what they were it is the place of theologians to discuss. But 
 it is our duty to our subject to suggest, as her defence from the horrid 
 appearance of wilful perjury, that it is possible she meant at that time 
 to model the reformed church she projected, and for which she chal¬ 
 lenged the appellation of catholic as near as possible to the Anglo-Saxon 
 church. 
 
 When bishop Oglethorpe was kneeling before the altar, the queen 
 gave a little book to a lord .to deliver to him; the bishop refused to re¬ 
 ceive it, and read in other books; but immediately afterwards the bishop 
 took the queen’s book, “ and read it before her grace.” It is supposed, 
 that the queen sent, with her little book, a request that Oglethorpe 
 would read the gospel and epistle in English, which was done, and it 
 constituted the sole difference between the former catholic coronations 
 and that of Elizabeth. Then the bishop sang 2 ***** the mass from 
 a missal, which had been carried in procession before the queen. A 
 carpet was spread before the high altar, and cushions of gold cloth 
 placed upon it, and then secretary Cecil delivered a book to the bishop, 
 another bishop 3 standing at the left of the altar. 
 
 The queen now approached the altar, and leaned upon cushions, 
 while her attendants spread a silken cloth over her, and the bishop 
 anointed her. 4 It seems she was displeased at this part of the ceremony, 
 for when it was finished, and she retired behind her traverse, to change 
 her dress, she observed to her maids, “ that the oil was grease and 
 smelled ill.” 5 
 
 When she re-appeared before the public in the Abbey, she wore a 
 train and mantle of cloth of gold furred with ermine. Then a sword 
 with a girdle was put upon her, the belt going over one shoulder and 
 
 1 Taylor’s Glories of Regality, where the coronation oaths of the English sove 
 reigns are printed from authentic documents. 
 
 2 Here is an hiatus in the MS. 
 
 3 Here is a discrepancy with historical documents, which deny that any oi the 
 Catholic bishops (and there were no other in the kingdom) would assist in the 
 ceremony. 
 
 * Change of apparel was noted before, but it could only have been putting on 
 the coif and the preparation for anointing. 
 
 * Bishop Goodman, Court of James I. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 117 
 
 tinder the other, two garters were put on her arms—these were the 
 armilla, or armlets, and were not connected with the order of the Gar¬ 
 ter. Then the bishop put the crown upon her head, and delivered the 
 sceptre into her hand. She was then crowned with another crown,— 
 probably the crown of Ireland—the trumpets again sounding. The 
 queen then offered the sword, laying it on the altar, and knelt with the 
 sceptre and cross in her hand, while the bishop read from a book. 
 
 The queen then returned to her chair of state, the bishop put his 
 hands into the queen’s hands, and repeated certain words. This was 
 the homage, the whole account being evidently given by an eye wit¬ 
 ness, not previously acquainted with the ceremony. He asserts that 
 the lords did homage to the queen, kneeling and kissing her. He adds, 
 “then the rest of the bishops did homage,” but this must be a mistake, 
 because they would have preceded the nobles. 
 
 Then the bishop began the mass, the epistle being read, first in Latin 
 and then in English, the gospel the same—the book being sent to the 
 queen, who kissed the gospel. She then went to the altar to make her 
 second offering, three unsheathed swords being borne before her, and 
 one in the scabbard. The queen kneeling, put money in the basin, and 
 kissed the chalice; and then and there, certain words were read to her 
 grace. She retired to her seat again during the consecration and kissed 
 the pax . * 1 She likewise received the eucharist, but did not receive from 
 ! the cup . 2 When mass was done, she retired behind the high altar, and 
 as usual, offered her crown, robes, and regalia, in St. Edward’s chapel, 
 coming forth again with the state crown on her head, and robed in vio¬ 
 let velvet and ermine, and so proceeded to the banquet in Westminster 
 hall. 
 
 The champion of England, Sir Edward Dymock, performed his offi¬ 
 cial duty, by riding into the hall, in fair, complete armour, upon a beau¬ 
 tiful courser richly trapped with gold cloth. He cast down his gauntlet 
 in the midst of the hall, as the queen sat at dinner, with offer to fight 
 him, in the queen’s rightful quarrel, who should deny her to be the 
 lawful queen of this realm. 
 
 The proclamation of the heralds on this occasion is an historical and 
 literary curiosity. The right, the champion offered to defend, was, ac- 
 , cording to the proclamation of Mr. Garter King-at-arms, that “ of the 
 most high and mighty princess, our dread sovereign, lady Elizabeth, by 
 the grace of God, queen of England, France, Ireland, Defender of the 
 , ' rue ., ancient , and catholic faith , most, worthy empress from the Orcade 
 Isles to the Mountains Pyrenee. A largess, a largess, a largess .” 3 
 
 Thus, the title of supreme head of the church, was not then publicly 
 
 :• ; 
 
 1 The pax is a piece of board, having the image of Christ upon the cross on it, 
 
 vhich the people, before the Reformation, used to kiss after the service was 
 ,, aided, that ceremony being considered as the kiss of peace. The word has 
 , >een often confounded with pix. —( Johnson’s Dictionary.) 
 
 3 Dr. Lingard, vol. vii., p. 256. 
 
 ^ 3 This curious addition to the scanty records of Elizabeth's coronation, is owing 
 
 o the research of Mr. Planche. See his Regal Records, p. 47, where it is printed 
 tom Hail. MS., No. 13S6. 
 
118 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 challenged by Elizabeth , 1 yet it might appear implied, in the addition to 
 her regal style, so strangely brought in, after the phrase, ‘‘Defender of 
 the true, ancient, and Catholic faith”—as if she were empress of the 
 faith of those, who renounced the papal domination, from the north of 
 Scotland to the reformers in the south of France. For what but to 
 mystify the listening ear, with some such idea, could such a phrase be 
 interpolated in such a ceremony ? For if she meant to challenge the old 
 claim of Bretwalda over Scotland, why was it not added to her temporal 
 titles? besides, by claiming the whole kingdom of France, in the pre 
 ceding sentence, she had previously asserted her empire over that coun 
 try to the Pyrenees. 
 
 Labour dire and weary woe is the struggle for those to appear con¬ 
 sistent, who are wilfully acting a double part; it is withal useless. Eli¬ 
 zabeth, far-famed as she was for courage, personal and mental—and 
 both have, perhaps, been over-rated—had not at this juncture the moral 
 intrepidity to assert, what she had already assumed and acted on in 
 private. 
 
 One of the earliest regnal acts of Elizabeth, was to send friendly and 
 confidential assurances to the kings of Denmark and Sweden, and all 
 the protestant princes of Germany, of her attachment to the reformed 
 faith and her wish to cement a bond of union between all its professors . 2 
 At the same time, with a view of keeping fair with the catholic powers 
 of Europe, and obtaining a recognition, that would ensure the obedi¬ 
 ence of her own subjects of that persuasion, she directed Carne, her late 
 sister’s resident minister at the court of Rome, to announce her acces¬ 
 sion to Pope Paul IV., and to assure him, that it was not her intention 
 to offer violence to the consciences of any denomination of her subjects, 
 on the score of religion . 3 
 
 The aged pontiff, incensed at the “ new doctrine of liberty of con¬ 
 science” implied in this declaration, and regarding with hostile feelings 
 the offspring of a marriage, which had involved the overthrow of the 
 papal power in England, replied “ that he was unable to comprehend 
 the hereditary right of one not born in wedlock; that the queen of 
 Scots claimed the crown, as the nearest legitimate descendant of Henry 
 VJJ., but that if Elizabeth were willing to submit the controversy to his 
 arbitration, every indulgence should be shown to her which justice 
 would permit .” 4 Elizabeth immediately recalled her minister. The 
 
 1 Bishop Jewel, in a private letter to Ballinger, dated 1559, observes tha 
 “Queen Elizabeth had refused to be styled Head of the Church, as it was a title 
 that could not be justly given to any mortal.” Perhaps this herald's proclaina 
 tion gave rise to this notion of Jewel, who arrived in London, from banishmen 
 at Geneva, the very day of Elizabeth's coronation. Some tortuous expression of 
 this queen must have deceived Jewel into his idea ; her proceedings in the pri 
 
 vate recesses of her council told a different tale, but there was much feeling ol 
 the public pulse, before she openly took the title. But this is one of the dart 
 passages in history. See much discussion on this subject in the Zurich letters, i 
 
 a Camden. s Fra. Paolo; Lingard ; Pallavicino. \ 
 
 4 Paolo Sarpis's Hist. Council of Trent; Pallavicino; Lingard; Sir James Mac 
 tntosh. My learned and deeply lamented friend, the late Mr. Howard of Corby 
 has, in his Supplement to the 13th Appendix of the Howard Memorials, throw! 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 119 
 
 pope forbade his return, under peril of excommunication; and Carne, 
 though he talked largely of his loyalty to his royal mistress, remained 
 at Rome till his death. The bull issued by this haughty pontiff, on the 
 12th of January, 1558-9, declaring heretical sovereigns incapable of 
 reigning, though Elizabeth’s name was not mentioned therein, was sup¬ 
 posed to be peculiarly aimed at her; yet it did not deprive her of the 
 allegiance of her catholic peers, all of whom paid their liege homage to 
 her, as their undoubted sovereign, at her coronation. 
 
 The new sovereign received the Hattering submissions of her late 
 persecutors, with a graciousness of demeanour, which proved that the 
 queen had the magnanimity to forgive the injuries, and even the insults, 
 that had been offered to the princess Elizabeth. 
 
 One solitary instance is recorded, in which she used an uncourteous 
 expression to a person who had formerly treated her with disrespect, 
 and now sought her pardon. A member of the late queen’s household, 
 conscious that he had offered many petty affronts to Elizabeth, when 
 she was under the cloud of her sister’s displeasure, came in a great fright 
 to throw himself at her feet, on her first triumphant assumption of the 
 regal office, and, in the most abject language, besought her not to punish 
 him for his impertinences to her when princess. “■Fear not,” replied 
 the queen; “we are of the nature of the lion, and cannot descend to the 
 destruction of mice and such small beasts!” 
 
 To sir Ilenry Bedingfeld she archly observed, when he came to pay 
 his duty to her at her first court—“ Whenever I have a prisoner who re¬ 
 quires to be safely and straitly kept, I shall send him to you.” She 
 was wont to tease him by calling him her jailor, when in her mirthful 
 mood, but always treated him as a friend, and honoured him, subse¬ 
 quently, with a visit at his stately mansion, Oxburgh Hall, Norfolk. 
 
 Elizabeth strengthened her interest in the upper house, by adding and 
 restoring five protestant statesmen to the peerage. Henry Carey, her 
 mother’s nephew, she created lord Hunsdon; the lord Thomas Howard, 
 brother to the duke of Norfolk, she made viscount Bindon; Oliver St. 
 John, also a connexion of the Boleyn’s, baron of Bletsoe. She restored 
 the brother of Katharine Parr, William, marquis of Northampton, to 
 the honours he had forfeited in the late reign, by espousing the cause of 
 lady Jane Gray; and also, the son of the late protector, Somerset, Ed¬ 
 ward Seymour, to the title of earl of Hertford. 
 
 The morning after her coronation, she went to her chapel, it being 
 
 great doubts on the accuracy of this statement, because it has not been mentioned 
 1 by contemporary historians; neither (which is more important) are there the 
 ( slightest traces of it in Sir Edward Carne s letters to Elizabeth at that period, or 
 any other document in the State Paper Office. That such a communication 
 should, however, have been made by Elizabeth, agrees with the temporizing 
 nolicy of herself and cabinet; and the reply is equally characteristic of the proud 
 I fcaraffa pontiff, as the head of a church which could not, consistently with its 
 immutable principles, admit the validity of Henry VIII. s marriage with Anne 
 Boleyn. I am therefore disposed to adopt the generally received opinion, on 
 the authority of the historian of the Council of Trent, which has been followed 
 fcy two acute historians of our own times—Dr. Lingard and Sir James Macintosh, 
 who arc frequently opposed on other points. 
 
 
120 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the custom to release prisoners at the inauguration of a sovereign—per¬ 
 haps there was some forgotten religious ceremony connected with this 
 act of grace. In her great chamber one of her courtiers presented her 
 with a petition, and before the whole court, in a loud voice implored 
 “ that four or five more prisoners might be released!” On inquiry, he 
 declared them to be “ the four evangelists and the apostle St. Paul, who 
 had been long shut up in an unknown tongue, as it were, in prison, so 
 that they could not converse with the common people.” 
 
 Elizabeth answered very gravely—“ It is best first to inquire of them, 
 whether they approve of being released or not.” 1 
 
 The inquiry was soon after made in the convocation appointed by 
 parliament, the result of which was, that the apostles did approve of 
 their translation. A translation of the Scriptures was immediately pub¬ 
 lished by authority, which, after several revisions, became, in the suc¬ 
 ceeding reign, the basis of our present version. 
 
 The religious revolution, effected by Elizabeth was very gently and 
 gradually brought to pass. “ The queen,” writes Jewel to Peter Mar¬ 
 tyr, “ though she openly favours our cause, is wonderfully afraid of al¬ 
 lowing any innovations. This is owing partly to her own friends, by 
 whose advice everything is carried on, and partly to the influence of 
 count Feria, a Spaniard, and Philip’s ambassador. She is, however, pru¬ 
 dently, piously, and firmly following up her purpose, though somewhat 
 more slowly than we could wish.” 2 * * * * u The queen,” continues 
 Jewel, “ regards you most highly; she made so much of your letter, 
 that she read it over a second and third time, with the greatest eager¬ 
 ness. I doubt not but that your book, when it arrives, will be even 
 more acceptable.” 3 
 
 Her charge to her judges, given about the same time, is noble in the 
 simplicity of its language. It may be noticed, that when Elizabeth used 
 perspicuous phraseology, in speaking or writing, she was usually sincere. L 
 
 “ Have a care over my people. You have my people—do you that, 
 which I ought to do. They are my people. Every man oppresseth and 
 spoileth them without mercy. They cannot revenge their quarrel, nor 
 help themselves. See unto them—see unto them, for they are my 
 charge. I charge you, even as God hath charged me. I care not for 
 myself; my life is not dear to me. My care is for my people. I pray 
 God, whoever succeedeth me, be as careful as I am. They who know 
 what cares I bear, would not think I look any great joy in wearing a y 
 crown.” 
 
 “These ears,” added Dr. Jewel, “heard her majesty speak these ! 
 words.” 4 
 
 The queen rode, in her parliamentary robes, on the 25th of January, 
 with all her peers, spiritual and temporal, in their robes, to Westminster 
 Abbey, where she attended a somewhat incongruous religious service. 
 
 1 Bacon’s Apothegms. 2 Zurich Letters. * Ibid. I; 
 
 * Strype's Annals, vol. i., part 2, p. 308. Jewel, a learned protestant divine, 
 had been in exile, and returned, on the death of Mary, to the convocation held | 
 for settling the church of England, of which Elizabeth soon after made him a 
 bishop. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 121 
 
 High mass was celebrated at the altar 1 before queen, lords, and com¬ 
 mons : the sermon was preached by Dr. Cox, Edward VI.’s Calvinistic 
 schoolmaster, who had returned from Geneva for the purpose. The 
 queen’s supremacy was debated in this parliament. Dr. Heath, the lord 
 chancellor, who took his seat with the rest of the catholic bishops, 
 spoke against this measure. Finally, the oath of the queen’s supremacy, 
 as confirmed by parliament, being tendered to Dr. Heath, Archbishop of 
 York, and the rest of the catholic bishops, all refused it but Landaff; 
 they were deprived of their sees, with which the most illustrious of the 
 protestant divines were endowed. 2 
 
 The learned Dr. Parker, the friend of Anne Boleyn, was appointed 
 by the queen, archbishop of Canterbury. He had been an exile for 
 conscience’ sake in the reign of queen Mary; under his auspices the 
 church of England was established, by authority of this session of par¬ 
 liament, nearly in its present state; the common prayer and articles of 
 Edward VI.’s church being restored, with some important modifications; 
 the translation of the scriptures in English was likewise restored to the 
 people. Before the house of commons was dissolved, sir Thomas Gar- 
 grave, their speaker, craved leave to bring up a petition to her majesty, 
 of vital importance to the realm; it was to entreat that she would 
 marry, that the country might have her royal issue to reign over them. 
 Elizabeth received the address 3 presented by the speaker, knights, and 
 burgesses of the lower house, seated in state in her great gallery at 
 Whitehall palace. 
 
 She paused a short space after listening to the request of the com¬ 
 mons, and then made a long oration in reply; which George Ferrers, 
 who was present, recorded, as near as he could bring it away. 4 But 
 whether the fault rests with the royal oratress or the reporter, this task 
 was not very perspicuously achieved. In the course of her speech, she 
 alluded very mysteriously, to her troubles in the former reign. 
 
 f ' “From my years of understanding,” she said, “knowing myself a servitor of 
 Almighty God, I chose this kind of life, in which I do yet live, as a life most 
 acceptable to him, wherein I thought I could best serve him. From which my 
 choice, if ambition of high estate offered me in marriage, the displeasure of the 
 prince, the eschewing the danger of mine enemies, or the avoiding the peril of 
 death, (whose messenger the princess’ indignation was, continually present 
 ti before mine eyes,) by whose means, if I knew, or do justly suspect, I will not 
 01 .row utter them; or if the whole cause were my sister herself, 8 I will not now 
 
 il 
 
 : 1 Dr. Lingard, vol. vii., p. 257. 
 
 a Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1802. Thirteen Catholic bishops were the non-jurors 
 ixpelled their sees. Oglethorpe of Carlisle, who died soon after, broken-hearted 
 or having crowned the queen, was among them. (Macintosh, vol. iii., p. 14.) 
 in 8 We learn from Mr. Falgrave’s Essay on the King s Council (commonly called 
 ISH rrivy council), “that the House of Commons used to sit in the Chapter House, 
 Westminster Abbey, before the well-remembered chapel of St. Stephen was 
 lesecrated for their accommodation. The stately chamber in the Chapter Houso 
 s still entire—a monument of the grandeur of ecclesiastical architecture. 
 v jl > 4 Grafton’s Chronicle, and Holinshed, vol. ii., p. 1777. 
 
 |u{l' 6 It is difficult to define whether, by the three persons named in this involved 
 11( j ientence, the prince, the princess, and her sister. Elizabeth means to designate only 
 he late queen Mary, or to include Philip in the blame. 
 
 VOL. VI.-11 
 
122 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 charge the dead. Could all have drawn or dissuaded me, I had not now re 
 mained in this virgin's estate wherein you see me. But so constant have 1 
 always continued in this my determination, that though my words and youth 
 may seem hardly to agree together, yet it is true that, to this day, I stand free 
 from any other meaning.” 
 
 Towards the conclusion of her speech, she made an observation, 
 which, some years later, would have seemed to imply, the future advan¬ 
 tages of the whole island being united, by the succession of the heirs 
 of Stuart to the English throne, yet, as Mary of Scotland was then 
 dauphiness of France, and childless, nothing of the kind could have 
 been in the thoughts of Elizabeth. 
 
 “And albeit it doth please Almighty God to continue me still in the mind to 
 live out of the state of marriage, it is not to be feared but he will so work in my 
 heart and in your wisdoms, that as good provision may be made in convenient 
 time, whereby the realm shall not remain destitute of an heir, that may be a fit 
 governor, and, peradventure, more beneficial to the realm than such offspring as 
 may come of me; for though I be never so careful for your well-doings, yet may 
 mine issue grow out of kind and become ungracious. 
 
 She then drew from her finger her coronation ring, 1 and, showing it 
 to the commons, told them that— 
 
 “ When she received that ring, she had solemnly bound herself in marriage to 
 the realm; and that it would be quite sufficient for the memorial of her name 
 and for her glory, if, when she died, an inscription were engraved on a marble 
 tomb, saying, 1 Here lieth Elizabeth, which reigned a virgin, and died a virgin.' ” j 
 
 In conclusion, she dismissed the deputation with these words :— 
 
 “ I take your coming to me in good part, and give to you eftsoons my hearty 
 thanks, yet more for your good will and good meaning than for your message.'' 
 
 
 Elizabeth, when she made this declaration, was in the flower of her 
 age, having completed her twenty-fifth year in the preceding September, 
 and according to the description given of her, at the period of her ac¬ 
 cession to the throne, by sir Robert Naunton, she must have been pos¬ 
 sessed of no ordinary personal attractions. 
 
 “ She was of person tall, of hair and complexion fair, and there 
 withal well favoured, but high nosed; of limb and feature neat, and, 
 which added to the lustre of these external graces, of a stately and 
 majestic comportment, participating more of her father than of her 
 mother, who was of an inferior allay—plausible, or, as the French have 
 it, debonnair and affable—which, descending as hereditary to the daugh¬ 
 ter, did render her of a more sweet temper, and endeared her to the love 
 of the people.” 
 
 She had already refused the proffered hand of her sister’s widower, 
 Philip II. of Spain, who had pressed his suit with earnestness, amount¬ 
 ing to importunity, animated by the desire of regaining, with another 
 regal English bride, a counterbalance to the allied powers of France 
 and Scotland. It has also been asserted, that the Spanish monarch had 
 conceived a passion for Elizabeth during the life of her sister, which 
 rendered his suit more lively; and assuredly he must have commenced 
 
 fi 
 
 ii- 
 
 ill 
 
 iy 
 
 DO! 
 
 Ur 
 
 iiti 
 
 IK if 
 .UK 
 
 1 This was a repetition, with variation, of the same action which queen Mar) 
 had previously practised. See Renaud s Despatches. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 123 
 
 1 1 his overtures before his deceased consort’s obsequies were celebrated, in 
 his eagerness to gain the start of other candidates. Elizabeth always 
 attributed his political hostility to his personal pique at her declining to 
 become his wife. 1 
 
 i,|j According to Camden, Philip addressed many eloquent letters to Eli¬ 
 zabeth during his short but eager courtship, and she took infinite plea¬ 
 sure and pride in publishing them among her courtiers. Philip endea- 
 en voured also to overcome the scruples of his royal sister-in-law, whom, 
 ?e[ on that occasion, he certainly treated as a member of the church of 
 Rome, by assuring her “ that there would be no difficulty in obtaining 
 J a dispensation from the pope for their marriage.” Elizabeth felt, how¬ 
 ever, that it would be a marriage even more objectionable than that of 
 her father, Henry VIII., with Katharine of Arragon; and that for her to 
 fit become a party in matrimony, contracted under such circumstances, 
 would at once, by virtually invalidating her own legitimacy, declare 
 Mary queen of Scots the rightful heiress of the late queen, her sister, in 
 the succession to the throne of England ; and Elizabeth had no inclina¬ 
 tion to risk the contingency of exchanging the regal garland of Planta- 
 genet and Tudor, for the crown matrimonial of Spain. Yet she had a 
 1 difficult and a delicate game to play, for the friendship of Spain appeared 
 to be her only bulwark against the combined forces of France and Scot¬ 
 land. She had succeeded to an empty exchequer, a realm dispirited by 
 the loss of Calais, burdened with debt, embarrassed with a base coinage, 
 and a starving population ready to break iirto a civil war, under the pre- 
 '7 dext of deciding the strength of rival creeds by the sword. Moreover, 
 her title to the throne had been already impugned, by the king of 
 ifi France compelling his youthful daughter-in-law, the queen of Scots, 
 et then in her sixteenth year, and entirely under his control, to assume the 
 io arms and regal style of England. “On the 16th of January, 1559, the 
 io dauphin of France and the queen of Scotland, his wife, did, by the 
 style and title of king and queen of England and Ireland, grant to lord 
 i Fleming certain things,” notes sir William Cecil in his diary. A brief 
 ill and quiet entry of a debt incurred in the name of an irresponsible child, 
 which was hereafter to be paid with heavy interest in tears and blood, 
 by that ill-fated princess, whose name had, in the brief season of her 
 t morning splendour, tilled the hearts of Elizabeth and her council with 
 alarm. 
 
 If Elizabeth had shared the feminine propensity of leaning on others 
 for succour, in the time of danger, she would probably have accepted 
 t: inglorious protection, with the nuptial ring of Philip, but she partook 
 not of the nature of the ivy, but the oak, being formed and fitted to 
 stand alone, and she met the crisis bravely. She was new to the cares 
 of empire, but the study of history had given her experience and 
 knowledge in the regnal science, beyond what can be acquired, during 
 years of personal attempts at governing, by monarchs, who have wasted 
 their youthful energies in the pursuit of pleasure or mere finger-end ac¬ 
 complishments. The chart by which she steered was marked with the 
 
 1 Depeches de la Motke Fenelon. 
 
124 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 rocks, the quicksands, and the shoals on which the barks of other princes 
 had been wrecked; and she knew that, of all the false beacons, that 
 had allured the feeble minded to disgrace and ruin, the expedient of call¬ 
 ing in foreign aid, the seasons of national distress, was the most fatal. 
 She- knew the English character, and she had seen the evils and discon¬ 
 tents, that had sprung from her sister’s Spanish marriage, and in her own 
 case, these would have been aggravated by the invalidation of her title 
 to the throne. She therefore firmly, but courteously, declined the pro¬ 
 posal, under the plea of scruples of conscience, which were to her in¬ 
 superable. This refusal preceded her coronation, for the Spanish am¬ 
 bassador, count Feria, in consequence of the slight which he conceived 
 had been put upon his master, by the maiden monarch declining the 
 third reversion of his hand, feigned sickness as an excuse for not as¬ 
 sisting at that ceremonial. 
 
 The next month, Philip pledged himself to the beautiful Elizabeth of 
 France, a perilous alliance for Elizabeth of England ; it rendered Philip 
 of Spain and the husband of Mary queen of Scots, the formidable rival 
 of her title, brothers-in-law. 
 
 Elizabeth’s first care was to procure an act, for the recognition and 
 declaring of her own title, from her parliament, which was unanimously 
 passed, and without any allusion to her mother’s marriage, or the stig¬ 
 ma that had previously been put on her own birth. The statute declares 
 her to be “ rightly, lineally, and lawfully descended from the blood 
 royal,” and pronounces ‘‘all sentences and acts of parliament deroga¬ 
 tory to this declaration to be void.” The latter clause is tantamount to 
 a repeal of all those dishonouring statutes, which had passed in the 
 reign of Henry VIII. against her mother and herself; and, in addition, 
 an act. was passed, which, without reversing the attainder of Anne 
 Boleyn, rendered Elizabeth inheritable to her mother, and to all her ma¬ 
 ternal ancestors. 1 This was a prudential care for securing, malgre all 
 the chances and changes that might befal the crown, a share in the 
 wealth of the citizen-family of Boleyn, implying at the same time, that 
 she was the lawful representative of the elder co-heiress of that house, 
 and, of course, born in lawful wedlock; but in a nobler spirit would it 
 have been, to have used the same influence, for the vindication of her 
 mother’s honour, by causing the statutes which infamed her to be swept 
 from the records. The want of moral courage on the part of Elizabeth, 
 in leaving this duty unperformed, was injurious to her own royal dig¬ 
 nity, and has been always regarded as a tacit admission of Anne 
 Boleyn’s guilt. Many writers have argued that it was a point of wis¬ 
 dom in Elizabeth, not to hazard calling attention to the validity of hei 
 father’s marriage with Anne Boleyn, or the charges against that unfor¬ 
 tunate queen ; but inasmuch as it was impossible to prevent those sub¬ 
 jects from continuing, as they always had been, points of acrimonious 
 discussion, her cautious evasions of questions so closely touching hei 
 own honour gave rise to the very evils she was anxious to avoid; anc 
 we find that a gentleman named Labourite was executed at Preston, whr 
 
 ‘Journals of Parliament. 
 
ELIZABETH. 125 
 
 died saying, “Elizabeth was no queen of England, but only Elizabeth 
 Bullen, and that Mary of Scotland was rightful sovereign.” 1 
 
 Notwithstanding the danger of her position, from the probable coali¬ 
 tion of the powers of Catholic Europe against her, Elizabeth stood un¬ 
 daunted, and, though aware of the difficulty of maintaining a war, with 
 such resources as she possessed, she assumed as high a tone, for the 
 honour of England, as the mightiest of her predecessors, during the 
 conferences at Chateau Cambresis, for the arrangement of a general 
 treaty of pacification, and, declining the offered mediation of Philip II., 
 she chose to treat alone. She demanded the restoration of Calais, as 
 the prominent article, and that in so bold and persevering a manner, that 
 it was guaranteed to her, at the expiration of eight years, by the king of 
 France, under a penalty of 500,000 crowns. 2 With a view to the satis¬ 
 faction of her subjects, she caused lord Wentworth, the last lord deputy 
 of Calais, and others of the late commanders there, to be arraigned, for 
 the loss of a place more dear, than profitable to England, and also to 
 show how firmly the reins of empire could be grasped, in the hand of 
 i maiden monarch. Wentworth was acquitted by his peers, the others 
 were found guilty and condemned, but the sentence was never carried 
 
 i nto execution. 
 
 During the whole of Lent, the queen had kept the fast, heard sermons 
 •egularly, and apparelled herself in black; but the happy restoration of 
 teace caused the Easter festival to be observed with unusual rejoicings. 
 3n St. George’s day, the queen went about the hall, and all the knights 
 ,j >f the garter, singing in procession. The same day, in the afternoon, 
 vere four knights elected—viz., the duke of Norfolk, the marquis of 
 Northampton, the earl of Rutland, and the lord Robert Dudley, master 
 
 J if the queen’s horse. The following lines, from a contemporary poet, 
 tay not be displeasing to the reader : 
 
 “ I saw a virgin queen, attired in white, 
 
 Leading with her a sort of goodly knights, 
 
 With garters and with collars of St. George; 
 
 Elizabeth, on a compartiment 
 Of bice, in gold, was writ, 3 and hung askew 
 Upon her head, under a royal crown. 
 
 She was the sovereign of the knights she led. 
 
 Her face methought I knew, as if the same, 
 
 The same great empress that we now enjoy, 
 
 Had climbed the clouds, and been in person there, 
 
 To whom the earth, the sea, and elements 
 Auspicious are.” 4 
 
 When Elizabeth came to the throne, she found herself in a novel po¬ 
 tion as regarded the order of the garter, for her brother-in-law, Philip 
 " Spain, had, in consequence of his marriage with her late sister, queen 
 
 1 Letter in Strype's Annals, printed by Barker, queen’s printer. 
 
 “Camden; Hayward. 
 
 *i. e., the name “Elizabeth” was written or illuminated in bice (a green colour), 
 a gold label, or fillet. 
 
 _ 'George Peeles Poem on the Honour of the Garter, printed in the year 1593 
 toted by Sir Harris Nicolas, in his splendid work, the Order of the Garter. 
 
 11 * 
 
 - 
 
 » 
 
 :il 
 
126 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Mary, Deen constituted, by the authority of parliament, joint sovereign 
 of the order with his royal consort. Elizabeth having no wish to hold 
 any dignity in partnership with him, yet desiring to do all things with 
 proper courtesy, caused his banner to be removed to the second stall on 
 the prince’s side, intimating that he continued a knight companion of 
 the order, though he had, by the death of the queen his wife, lost the 
 joint sovereignty. Philip, however, returned the garter by the hands 
 of the queen’s ambassador, lord Montague, who had been sent to nego¬ 
 tiate a peace; but Elizabeth did not accept his resignation, and he con¬ 
 tinued a companion of the order till his death, notwithstanding the 
 hostile character of his subsequent proceedings towards England. 1 
 
 Elizabeth’s first chapter of the order was certainly held in St. George’s 
 hall at Greenwich, for we find, that the same afternoon she went to 
 Baynard’s castle, the earl of Pembroke’s place, and supped with him; 
 and after supper she took boat, and was rowed up and down on the 
 river Thames, hundreds of boats and barges rowing about her, and 
 thousands of people thronging the banks of the river to look upon hei 
 majesty, rejoicing to see her, and partaking of the music and sights on 
 the Thames. It seems there was an aquatic festival in honour of the 
 welcome appearance of their new and comely liege lady on the river 
 for the trumpets blew, drums beat, flutes played, guns were discharged 
 and fireworks played off, as she moved from place to place. This con¬ 
 tinued till ten o’clock at night, when the queen departed home. 2 
 
 Bv thus showing herself so freely and condescendingly to her people i 
 she made herself dear and acceptable unto them. Well, indeed, hat 
 nature qualified Elizabeth to play her part, with eclat , in the imposing 
 drama of royalty, by the endowments of wit, eloquence, penetration 
 and self-possession, joined to the advantages of commanding feature 
 and a majestic presence. She had, from childhood upwards, studied th 
 art of courting popularity, and perfectly understood how to please th 
 great body of the people. Tim honest-hearted mechanical classes, woi 
 by the frank manner, in which she dispensed the cheap, but dearly 
 prized favours of gracious words and smiles, regarded her with feeling 
 approaching to idolatry; and as for the younger nobles and gentleme 
 of England, who attended her court, they were, almost to a man, eage 
 for the opportunity of risking their lives in her service; and she kne\, .« 
 how to improve the love and loyalty of all ranks of her subjects, to th nr 
 advancement of her power and the defence of her realm. 
 
 The pecuniary aids granted by her first parliament to queen Elizabetl 
 though only proportioned to the extreme necessity of the crown, at th; 
 period, were enormous, for, besides the tenths, first fruits, and imprc 
 priations of church property, which had been declined by Mary, an 
 the grant of tonnage and poundage for life, they voted a subsidy of tw 
 and eightpence in the pound on all movable goods, and four shillings c 
 land, to be paid in two several payments. 3 How such a properly ta 
 was ever gathered, after a year of famine and pestilence, must indet 
 
 ' History of the Order of the Garter, by Sir H. Nicolas, vol. i., pp. 1S4, 188, IS 
 ‘Nichols’ Progresses. 3 By statute 1st Eliz., cap. 21. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 127 
 
 appear a marvel to those, who witness the irritation and inconvenience 
 caused to the needy portion of the middle classes, by the infliction of a 
 comparatively trivial impost at present. It is always easy to convince 
 the wealthy, of the expediency of sacrificing a part to save the whole; 
 therefore, Elizabeth and her acute premier, Cecil, laid a heavier burden 
 on the lords of the soil, and those, who derived their living from eccle¬ 
 siastical property, than on those, whose possessions were limited to 
 personals, which, at that time were chiefly the mercantile and mechani¬ 
 cal classes. 
 
 The destitution of the crown having been thus relieved, a series of 
 pageants and festivities were wisely ordained by the queen, as a sure 
 means of diverting the attention of the good people of London and its 
 1 neighbourhood, from past troubles and present changes. Stowe gives a 
 quaint account of her majesty coming, in great state, to St. Mary’s, 
 Spital, to hear a sermon delivered from the cross, on which occasion 
 she was attended, by one thousand men in harness, with shirts of mail, 
 pikes, and field-pieces, with drums and trumpets sounding. The pro¬ 
 cession was closed by morris-dancers and two white bears in a cart. 
 These luckless animals were, of course, to furnish a cruel pageant for 
 the recreation of the queen and her loving citizens, after the sermon was 
 ended. 
 
 In a letter of the 14th of April, that eminent reformer, Jewel, laments, 
 lithat the queen continued the celebration of mass in her private chapel. 
 It was not till the 12th of May, that the service was changed, and the 
 use of Latin discontinued. “ The queen,” observes Jewel, “ declines 
 being styled the head of the church, at which I,certainly am not much 
 displeased.” Elizabeth assumed the title of governess of the church, 
 but she finally asserted her supremacy, in a scarcely less authoritative 
 manner than her father had done, and many Catholics were put to death 
 for denying it. 
 
 Touching the suitors for Elizabeth’s hand, Jewel tells his Zurich cor¬ 
 respondent “ that nothing is yet talked about the queen’s marriage, yet 
 there are now courting her the king of Sweden, the Saxon (son of John 
 Frederic, duke of Saxony), and Charles, the son of the emperor Ferdi- 
 aand, to say nothing of the Englishman, sir William Pickering. I know, 
 however, what I should prefer; but matters of this kind, as you are 
 iware, are rather mysterious, and we have a common proverb, that mar¬ 
 riages are made in heaven.” In another letter, dated May 22, 1559, he 
 says, “ that public opinion inclines towards sir William Pickering, a 
 .vise and religious man, and highly gifted as to personal qualities.” 
 
 Jewel is the first person, who mentions Pickering among the aspi¬ 
 rants for the hand of queen Elizabeth. He had been employed on diplo¬ 
 matic missions to Germany and France, with some credit to himself, and 
 he queen bestowed so many marks of attention upon him, that the 
 Spanish ambassador, as well as our good bishop and others, fancied that 
 te had as fair a chance of success, as the sons of reigning princes. He 
 , s also mentioned by Camden “as a gentleman of moderate fortune, but 
 omely person.” It is possible that Pickering had performed some 
 ecret service for Elizabeth, in the season of her distress, which entitled 
 
 
128 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 him to the delusive honour of her smiles, as there is undoubtedly some 
 mystery in the circumstance of a man, scarcely of equestrian rank, en¬ 
 couraging hopes so much above his condition. Be this as it may, he 
 quickly vanished from the scene, and was forgotten. 
 
 On the 23d of May, a splendid embassy from France, headed by the 
 duke de Montmorenci, arrived, for the purpose of receiving the queen’s 
 ratification of the treaty of Cambresis. They landed at the Tower 
 wharf, and were conducted to the bishop of London’s palace, where 
 they were lodged. On the following day, they were brought in great 
 state by a deputation of the principal nobles of the court, through Fleet- 
 street, to a supper-banquet with the queen, at her palace at Westmin¬ 
 ster, where they were entertained with sumptuous cheer and music till 
 after midnight. On the following day they came gorgeously apparelled 
 to dine with her majesty, and were recreated afterwards, with the bait¬ 
 ing of bears and bulls. The queen’s grace herself and the ambassadors 
 stood in the gallery, looking on the pastime, till six in the evening. On 
 the 26th, another bull and bear baiting was provided, for the amuse¬ 
 ment of the noble envoys at Paris garden, and on the 28th, when they 
 departed, they were presented with many mastiffs, for the nobler pur¬ 
 pose of hunting their wolves. 1 
 
 On the 11th of June, at eight o’clock at night, the queen and her 
 court embarked in their barges at Whitehall, and took their pleasure on 
 the river, by rowing along the bank, and crossing over to the other side, 
 with drums beating and trumpets sounding, and so to Whitehall again 
 The Londoners were so lovingly disposed to their maiden sovereign, 
 that when she withdrew to her summer bowers at Greenwich, they were ; 
 fain to devise all sorts of gallant shows, to furnish excuses for following 
 her there, to enjoy, from time to time, the sunshine of her presence u 
 They prepared a sort of civic tournament in honour of her majesty 
 July 2d, each company supplying a certain number of men at arms 
 1400 in all, all clad in velvet and chains of gold, with guns, morri 
 pikes, halberds, and flags, and so marched they over London Bridge 
 into the duke of Suffolk’s park at Southwark, where they musterei 
 before the lord mayor; and in order to initiate themselves into th 
 hardships of a campaign, they lay abroad in St. George’s Fields all tha 
 night. The next morning they set forward in goodly array, and entere' 
 Greenwich Park at an early hour, where they reposed themselves ti 
 eight o’clock, and then marched down into the lawn, and mustered i 
 their arms, all the gunners being in shirts of mail. It was not, how 
 ever, till eventide that her majesty deigned to make herself visible to th 
 doughty bands of Cockaine—-chivalry they cannot properly be callei 
 for they had discreetly avoided exposing civic horsemanship to t! 
 mockery of the gallant equestrians of the court, and trusted no oth 
 legs than their own, with the weight of their valour and warlike accoi 
 trements, in addition to their velvet gaberdines and chains of gold, 
 which this midsummer bevy had bivouacked in St. George’s Fields c 
 
 b 
 
 1 Strype and Nichols. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 129 
 
 the preceding night. At five o’clock, the queen came into the gallery 
 of Greenwich park gate, with the ambassadors, lords, and ladies—a fair 
 and numerous company. Then the lord marquis of Northampton, 
 (queen Katharine Parr’s brother whom, like Edward VI., Elizabeth ever 
 treated as an uncle,) her great uncle, lord William Howard, lord admiral 
 of England, and the lord Robert Dudley, her master of the horse, un¬ 
 dertook to review the city muster, and to set their two battles in array, 
 to skirmish before the queen, with flourish of trumpets, alarum of drums, 
 and melody of flutes, to encourage the counter champions to the fray. 
 Three onsets were given, the guns discharged on one another, the 
 Moorish pikes encountered together with great alarm, each ran to his 
 weapon again, and then they fell together as fast as they could, in imi¬ 
 tation of close fight, while the queen and her ladies looked on. After 
 all this, Mr. Chamberlain, and divers of the commoners of the city, and 
 the wifflers, came before her grace, who thanked them heartily, and all 
 the city; whereupon was given the greatest shout ever heard, with 
 hurling up of caps, and the queen showed herself very merry. After 
 this was a running at tilt; and, lastly, all departed home to London. 
 
 As numerous, if not as valiantly disposed a company, poured down 
 from the metropolis to Woolwich on the morrow : for on that day, July 
 3d. the queen went in state to witness the launch of a fine new ship of 
 war, which, in honour of her, was called “The Elizabeth.” 
 
 The gallantry of the city muster inspired the gentlemen of the court 
 with loyal emulation, and they determined to tilt on foot, with spears 
 before the queen, also, in Greenwich Park. The challengers were three, 
 the earl of Ormond, sir John Perrot, and Mr. North, and there were 
 defendants of equal prowess with lances and swords. The whole of 
 the queen’s band of pensioners were, however, to run with spears, and 
 j preparations were made for a royal and military fete champetre, such as 
 l; might be imitated, with admirable effect, in Windsor park even now. It 
 was both the policy and pleasure of the last of the Tudor sovereigns, 
 to keep her loving metropolis in good humour, by allowing the people 
 to participate, as far at least as looking on went, in her princely recrea¬ 
 tions. Half the popularity of Elizabeth proceeded from the care she 
 took, that the holidays of her subjects should be merry days. “ If ever 
 any person had either, the gift or the style to win the hearts of people,” 
 says Hayward, “it was this queen.” But to return to her July evening 
 
 I pageant, in the green glades of Greenwich park. A goodly banqueting 
 o bouse was built up for her grace with fir poles, and decked with birch 
 it [branches and all manner of flowers, both of the field and garden, as 
 ,11 -oses, July flowers, lavender, marygolds, and all manner of strewing 
 
 II nerbs and rushes. There were also tents set up for providing refresh- 
 all Bents, and a space made for the tilting. About five in the afternoon 
 :o tame the queen, with the ambassadors and the lords and ladies of her 
 11 train, and stood over the park gate, to see the exercise of arms, and 
 liftifterwards the combatants chasing one another. Then the queen took 
 J ier horse, and, accompanied by three ambassadors and her retinue, rode 
 
 o the sylvan pavilion, where a costly banquet was provided for her 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
130 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 This was succeeded by a mask, and the entertainment closed, with fire¬ 
 works and firing of guns, about midnight. 1 
 
 But while Elizabeth appeared to enter into these gay scenes of festive 
 pageantry, with all the zest of a young, sprightly, and handsome woman, 
 who, emerging suddenly from restraint, retirement, and neglect, finds 
 herself the delight of every eye and the idol of all hearts, her mind was 
 intent on matters of high import, and she knew that the flowers, with 
 which her path was strewn, concealed many a dangerous quicksand 
 from those who looked not below the surface. Within one little month 
 of the solemn ratification of the treaty of Chateau Cambresis, by the 
 plenipotentiaries of France in her court, her right to the crown she wore 
 had been boldly impugned by Henry II.’s principal minister of state, the 
 constable de Montmorenci, who, when the duke de Nemours, a prince 
 nearly allied to the throne of France, informed him of his intention of 
 seeking the queen of England in marriage, exclaimed, Do you not 
 know that the queen -dolphin has right and title to England ?” 2 A public 
 demonstration of this claim was made, at the jousts in honour of the 
 espousals of the French king’s sister, with the duke of Savoy, Eliza¬ 
 beth’s oft-rejected suitor, when the Scotch heralds displayed the 
 escutcheon of their royal mistress, the queen of Scots quartered, with 
 those of France and England, which was afterwards protested against by 
 the English ambassador, Throckmorton. 3 
 
 It was retorted that Elizabeth had assumed the title of queeu of France 
 at her coronation—a pretension too absurd, as the operation of the Salic 
 law had always incapacitated females, from inheriting the sceptre of that 
 realm, even when born (as in the case of the daughter of Louis Hutin) 
 sole issue of a reigning monarch, representing the ancient royal line of 
 France. Calais, the last relic of the conquests of Edward III. and Henry 
 V., was now in the hands of the French government; and although 
 Henry II. had virtually acknowledged the right of Elizabeth to that 
 town, by binding himself to restore it at the end of eight years, and a 
 chimerical proposition had also been made to settle all disputes for its 
 possession, by both claimants ceding it, as a marriage portion, to an 
 imaginary first-born son of Elizabeth, and daughter of Mary Stuart, by 
 Francis of Valois, or otherwise, to the son of Mary, and daughter of 
 Elizabeth, it was mere temporizing diplomacy. The mighty plan of 
 uniting the Gallic and Britannic empires, beneath the sceptres of Francis 
 of Valois and Mary of Scotland, had never ceased to occupy the atten¬ 
 tion of Henry II., from the death of Edward VI., till his own course 
 was suddenly cut short, by the accidental wound he received, from a 
 splinter of his opponent’s lance, 4 while tilting in honour of his daughter’s 
 nuptials. That event produced an important change in the fortunes of 
 England’s Elizabeth. She was at once delivered from the most danger¬ 
 ous and insidious of her foes, and the consequences of the formidable 
 alliance between France and Spain: for although the rival claims of his 
 
 •Nichols’ Progresses, vol. i. ’Forbes' State Papers, vol. i., p. 136. 
 
 3 Ibid., p. 100. 
 
 • Count de Montgomeri, the captain of the Scotch guard, and afterwards a ce> 
 lebrated leader of the Huguenot party. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 131 
 
 consort to the throne of England, were asserted by Francis II., he was 
 a sickly youth,’inheriting neither the talents nor the judgment of his 
 father. The nominal power of France and Scotland, both passed into 
 the hands of Mary Stuart’s uncles, the princes of Lorraine and Guise; 
 but the rival factions, both political and religious, by which they were 
 opposed and impeded on every side, deprived them of the means of in¬ 
 juring Elizabeth, who, on her part, actively employed agents, as numer¬ 
 ous as the arms of Briarius, in sowing the seeds of discord, and nursing 
 every root of bitterness, that sprang up in those unhappy realms. The 
 fulminations of John Knox against female government had incited the 
 reformed party, to resist the authority of the queen dowager, Mary of 
 Lorraine, to whom the regent Arran, had in 1555, reluctantly resigned 
 his office. The queen-regent, after an ill-judged, fruitless struggle to 
 crush the progress of the Reformation, summoned the earl of Arran, 
 who had recently accepted the French dukedom of Chatelherault, to her 
 aid, as the most powerful peer in Scotland, and the next in succession 
 to the throne, on which, in fact he had, from the first, cast a longing 
 regard. He was the head of the potent house of Hamilton, but his de¬ 
 signs had been checked by the rival faction of the earl of Lenox, and 
 subsequently by the more popular and able party of the young queen’s 
 illegitimate brother, the earl of Murray; and now, although he gave his 
 lukewarm succour to the queen-regent in her need, he suffered himself 
 to be deluded by the English cabinet, with the idea that the crown might 
 be transferred, from the brows of his absentee sovereign to his own, or 
 rather, to those of his heir, the earl of Arran, to whom queen Elizabeth 
 had been offered in her childhood, by her father, Henry VIII. 1 
 
 There is every reason to believe, that Cecil seriously meditated uniting 
 the island crowns by a marriage between his royal mistress and young 
 Arran, if the Hamilton party in Scotland had succeeded, in deposing 
 i queen Mary, and placing him on the throne. The young earl, who had 
 8 been colonel of the Scotch guards at Paris, had, in anticipation of a 
 more brilliant destiny, embraced the reformed religion, and, as it was 
 . supposed, at the suggestion and with the aid of Throckmorton, Eliza- 
 ; beth’s ambassador at Paris, absconded from the French service; and 
 after visiting Geneva, to arrange his plans with the leaders of that church, 
 he came privately to England. The secret and confidential conference 
 in which he held with queen Elizabeth, on the 6th of August, 2 must have 
 e> taken place at the ancient palace of Eltham, where she arrived on the 
 ns preceding day. Arran was young and handsome, but weak-minded ; at 
 if times, indeed, subject to the direful malady which clouded the mental 
 A perceptions of his father and brothers, just the subject for the royal 
 s t coquette, and her wily premier, to render a ready tool in any scheme, 
 connected with hopes of aggrandizement for himself. 
 
 As the plan and limits of this work will not admit of launching into 
 >fM ffie broad stream of general history, the events of the Scotch campaign, 
 which commenced with Elizabeth sending an army and a fleet to aid 
 ’.he insurgent lords of the congregation, in defending themselves against 
 
 i*| ---—— a- 
 
 1 Forbes’State Papers ; Lingard ; Sliaron Turner. ’Lingard. 
 
 k 
 
132 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the French forces, called in by the queer-regent, and t ended by giving 
 her a predominant power, in the councils of that distracted realm, can¬ 
 not be detailed here. The MSS. in the State Paper Office attest the fact, 
 that the lord James, Mary’s illegitimate brother (afterwards so celebrated 
 as the regent Murray), and the principal leaders of the popular party, 
 were the pensioners of Elizabeth. The treaty of Edinburgh was framed 
 according to her interest, and proved, of course, unsatisfactory to the 
 queen of Scots and her consort. “ I will tell you freely,’’ said Mary’s 
 uncle, the cardinal of Lorraine, to the English ambassador, Throck¬ 
 morton, “ the Scots do perform no part of their duties; the king and 
 queen have the names of their sovereigns, and your mistress hath the 
 effect and obedience .” 1 
 
 The congregational parliament had dispatched a solemn embassy to 
 Elizabeth, consisting of Lethington and the earls of Morton and Glen- 
 cairn, to entreat her to join in marriage with the earl of Arran; the 
 cardinal Lorraine, in allusion to the errand of these nobles, said to 
 Throckmorton, “ This great legation goeth for the marriage of your 
 queen with the earl of Arran. What shall she have with him ? I think 
 her heart too great to marry with such a one as he is, and. one of the 
 queen’s subjects .” 2 
 
 It was not in Elizabeth’s nature to return an immediate or direct 
 answer, in any matter of state policy, especially, if involving a proposal j 
 of marriage. The unexpected death of the royal husband of the queen 
 of Scots, probably, hastened Elizabeth’s decision with regard to her 
 Scottish suitor, and she declined the offer in terms of courtesy; thank¬ 
 ing the nobles at the same time for their good-will, “ in offering her the 
 choicest person they had .” 3 Arran immediately afterwards became, as 
 doubtless Elizabeth was aware he would, the suitor of his own fair 
 sovereign, the widowed Mary Stuart. 
 
 It will now be necessary to return to the chronological order of the 
 personal history of Elizabeth, which we have a little antedated, in put¬ 
 ting the reader in possession of the result of the earl of Arran’s court¬ 
 ship. The queen had many wooers in the interim, both among foreign 
 princes and her own subjects. Of these, Henry Fitzalan, earl of Arun¬ 
 del, claims the first mention as the foremost in rank and consequence, 
 He was the premier earl of England, and at that time there was but one n 
 peer of the ducal order, his son-in-law, Thomas Howard, duke of Nor¬ 
 folk. As the last male of the illustrious house of Fitzalan, he boaster 
 the blood of the Plantagenets and of the ancient royal line of Charier- 
 niagne and St. Louis, and he was nearly allied in blood to the queen a* 
 a descendant of Woodville, earl of Rivers; his possessions were pro¬ 
 portioned to his high rank and proud descent. He had been materiall) 
 instrumental in placing the crown on the head of the rightful heiress 
 queen Mary, at the time of the brief usurpation of the hapless lady Jam 
 Gray; and, though his ardent loyalty to the late queen, and his zeal fo 
 the old religion, had induced him at first to take part against Elizabeth 
 at the time of the Wyat rebellion; we have shown how soon his mam’ 
 
 ' State Paper MSS., letter of Throckmorton to Elizabeth. 2 Ibid. s Tytle. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 133 
 
 heart revolted in her favour, and that she was in all probability indebted 
 to his powerful protection, for the preservation of her life, from the 
 malignant and lawless practices of Gardiner and his party. It is certain 
 that he forfeited the favour of Mary, by the boldness with which he 
 ifterwards stood forth in the court, the council, and the senate, as the 
 idvocate of the captive princess, and that he was employed in embassies 
 o foreign courts, to keep him from dangerous enterprises at home. * 1 His 
 >nly son, whom he had offered to contract to Elizabeth in marriage, in 
 he time of her great adversity, was no more, and the stout earl, who 
 tad not exceeded his forty-seventh year, recalling perchance some of 
 he artful compliments to himself, with which the royal maid had de¬ 
 bited to enter into an engagement with his heir, hastened home from 
 Brussels, on the death of her sister, and presented himself as a candi- 
 late for her hand. Of all the lovers of Elizabeth, his attachment was 
 ; irobably the most sincere, as it commenced in the season of persecution, 
 le now, as lord-steward of the royal household, enjoyed many oppor- 
 ; unities of preferring his suit, and, albeit the maiden majesty of England 
 ad no intention of becoming the third wife of one of her subjects, old 
 nough to be her father, she gave him sufficient encouragement to excite 
 te jealousy of the other courtiers, if not to afford himself reasonable 
 i opes of success. 
 
 About the 8th of August, 1559, the queen honoured him with a visit 
 Nonsuch, 2 one of the royal residences of which he appears to have 
 Ibtained a lease from queen Mary. Here, on the Sunday night, he en- 
 rtained her majesty with a sumptuous banquet, and a mask accompa- 
 ed with military music, till midnight. On Monday a splendid supper 
 as provided for the royal guest, who previously, from a stand erected 
 ' r her in the further park, witnessed a course. At night, the children 
 St. Paul’s school, under the direction of their music-master, Sebastian, 
 irformed a play, which was succeeded by a costly banquet with music, 
 'he queen was served on richly gilded plate, the entertainment lasted 
 ;1 the unusually late hour of three in the morning, and the earl pre- 
 mted her majesty with a cupboard of plate, which was the first of 
 . lose expensive offerings, Elizabeth habitually accustomed herself to 
 i:eive, and sometimes almost extorted, from her nobles. By feeding 
 te hopes of Arundel, Elizabeth obtained his vole and influence in the 
 • uncil and senate, whenever she had a point to carry, even with regard 
 t the peaceful establishment of the reformed church. 3 The royal wea- 
 pn of coquetry was also exercised, though in a playful and gracious 
 
 State Paper Records. 
 
 This sylvan palace, which was built by Henry "VIIT., at a great expense, for 
 
 1 pleasure and retirement, combined elegance with all that magnificence could 
 
 h tow. It was adorned with many statues and casts, and situated in the midst 
 oparks full of deer, delicious gardens, groves ornamented with trellis works, 
 cinets of verdure, with many columns and pyramids of marble, and two foun 
 tits of great beauty. In the grove of Diana was the fountain of the goddess 
 tiling Actteon into a stag, besides another pyramid of marble, full of concealed 
 lies, to spirt on all who came unawares within their reach. It was situated 
 n r Ewel, in Surrey, and has long since been demolished. 
 
 ■ Lingard. 
 fOL. VI.— 12 
 
131 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 manner, towards her former cruel foe Paulet, marquis of Winchester, the 
 lord treasurer, by whom she was splendidly entertained, at his house at 
 Basing, soon after her accession to the throne; at her departure, her 
 majesty merrily bemoaned herself that he was so old, “ for else, by my 
 troth,” said she, “ if my lord treasurer were but a young man, I could 
 find it in my heart to have him for my husband before any man in 
 England.” 1 
 
 When the announcement of the marriage of her former suitor, Philip 
 II., with her fair namesake of France, was made to Elizabeth, she pre¬ 
 tended to feel mortified, and complained to the ambassador of the incon¬ 
 stancy of his master, “ who could not,” she said, “ wait four short 
 months to see if she would change her mind.” 2 She always kept the 
 portrait of this prince by her bedside, it has been said, as a token of re¬ 
 gard, but the probability is, that she found it there, when she took pos¬ 
 session of the state apartments occupied by the late queen her sister. 
 
 The person, however, who held the most conspicuous place in her 
 majesty’s favour, and through whose hands the chief preferments and 
 patronage of her government flowed, was lord Robert Dudley, at that 
 period a married man. He was born, in the same auspicious hour with 
 the queen, with whom his destiny became inseparably connected from 
 the time they were botli prisoners in the Tower. 3 From the first month 
 of her accession to the throne, Elizabeth, so remarkable for her frugal 
 distribution of rewards and honours, showered wealth and distinctions 
 on him. She conferred the office of master of the horse on him, in the 
 first instance, with the fee of 100 marks per annum, and the lucrative 
 employment of head commissioner for compounding the fines of such 
 as were desirous of declining the order of knighthood, and lie was soon 
 after invested with the garter, and made constable of Windsor Castle 
 and forest, and keeper of the great park during life. 4 His wife, Amy 
 Robsart, a wealthy heiress, whom he had wedded with great pomp and 
 publicity during the reign of Edward VI., was not allowed by him tc 
 appear among the noble matronage of Elizabeth’s court lest she shouli 
 mar the sunshine of his favour, by reminding his royal mistress of tht 
 existence of so inconvenient a personage. Elizabeth’s undisguised par¬ 
 tiality for the handsome Dudley, excited the jealousy of the other mem 
 bers of her council, and even the politic Cecil could not forbear hazard 
 ing a biting jest to Elizabeth on the subject, when he told her of thi 
 misalliance of her cousin Frances, duchess of Suffolk, with her equerry 
 Adrian Stokes. “ What!” exclaimed her majesty, u has she married hi 
 horse-keeper ?” “ Yea, madam,” replied the premier, u and she says yo 
 would like to do the same with yours.” 5 
 
 ‘Lodge’s Illustrations, vol. i. 3 Records of Simanja, quoted by Lingard. 
 
 ‘Camden, who attributes it to a mysterious conjunction of their planets. 
 
 4 Sidney Papers. 
 
 “In Mr. Wright's valuable collection of documents of the “Life and Times c _ 
 Queen Elizabeth,” there is a pretty letter from this lady, written, during tb 
 absence of her lord, to one of his agents, touching the pasture of some of the 
 flocUs, and the sale of their wool, for which she wishes to obtain six shilling 
 per stone, and evinces a housewifely care to make the most of everything. “T1 
 Amy Robsart,” observes the talented editor, “ busy about the affairs of her hu 
 
ELIZABETIT. 
 
 135 
 
 Cecil’s inuendo was undoubtedly meant to warn the queen, that her 
 intimacy with Dudley was likely to prove injurious to her reputation, 
 and derogatory to the dignity of the crown. Sir Thomas Chaloner, her 
 majesty’s representative at the court of Spain, had, in a private post¬ 
 script to one of his despatches, addressed the following intimation to the 
 premier on this delicate subject:— 
 
 “I assure you, sir, these folks are broad-mouthed, where I spoke of one too 
 much in favour, as they esteem ; I think ye guess whom they named—if ye do 
 not, I will, upon my next letter, write further. To tell you what I conceive, as 
 I count the slander most false, so a young princess cannot be too wary, what 
 countenance or familiar demonstration she maketh more to one than another. I 
 judge no man's service in the realm worth the entertainment with such a tale 
 of obloquy, or occasion of speech to such men as of eVil will are ready to find 
 faults.” 1 
 
 Chaloner goes on to express the vexation he, as an attached servant 
 of the queen, feels at the impediment such reports are likely to cause in 
 her majesty’s marriage, to the detriment of her whole realm, ministering 
 matter for lewd tongues to descant upon, and breeding contempt. All 
 this, he states, is written in strict confidence to his friend Cecil, and 
 entreats him to keep it to himself. He then alludes to an overture of 
 marriage which had been made to the queen by the king of Spain, in 
 i behalf of his cousin, the archduke Charles, the emperor Ferdinand’s 
 i second son, a prince of noble qualities and stainless reputation. He was 
 a catholic, and Elizabeth on that account, probably, or mistrusting the 
 quarter whence the proposal came, had returned an evasive and unsatis¬ 
 factory answer. Chaloner evidently considered, that the indifference of 
 :he queen proceeded from her predilection in favour of the person, to 
 Whom he had just alluded, and appears anxious lest the honourable alli¬ 
 ance should be lost. 2 
 
 “Consider,” says he, “how ye deal now in the emperor's matter; much de- 
 >endeth on it. Here they hang in expectation, as men desirous it should go 
 orward, but as yet they have small hope. In mine opinion (be it said to you 
 mly), the affinity is great and honourable ; the amity necessary to stop and cool 
 nany enterprises. Ye need not fear his greatness should overrule you. He is 
 iot a Philip, but better for us than a Philip.” * 
 
 The suit of this accomplished prince was afterwards preferred in due 
 orm to Elizabeth, by count Elphinstone, the emperor’s ambassador, and 
 he protested openly, that of all the illustrious marriages that had been 
 ■ffered to her, there was not one greater, or that she affected more than 
 hat of the archduke Charles, and expressed a desire to see him in Eng- 
 tnd. It was generally expected, that the prince would come under an 
 ssumed character, to visit the court of England, and obtain a first sight 
 f his royal lady by stealth, 4 but this chivalric project, well worthy of 
 le poetic age, which gave birth to Spenser, Shakspeare, and sir Philip 
 idney, was never carried into effect. The differences as to their jarring 
 
 ind’s household, is another character from the Amy Robsart of Sir Walter Scot.'’ 
 ( er tragical death at Cumnor Hall occurred in the year 1500, fifteen years belbra 
 e “ princelie pleasures of Kenilworth.” 
 
 11 Burleigh Papers. a Burleigh Papers; Haynes, 212. 
 
 ’Burleigh's State Papers. 4 Lingard. 
 
136 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 creeds, as Elizabeth demanded conformity to the protestant form of 
 worship, appeared insuperable, and for a time put an end to the nego¬ 
 tiations, though they were subsequently renewed, as will be related in 
 due course. 
 
 Meantime the suit of a royal candidate, of the reformed religion, for 
 " her hand, was renewed by the king of Sweden, in behalf of his heir, 
 prince Eric. The ambassador chosen to plead his cause was John, 
 duke of Finland, the second son of the Swedish monarch, a prince of 
 singular talents and address, and possessed of great personal attractions. 
 On the 27th of September, this distinguished envoy landed at Harwich; 
 and, on the 5th of October, he was met and welcomed at Colchester, 
 in the name of the queen, by the earl of Oxford and lord Robert Dud¬ 
 ley, by whom he was conducted to London. At the comer of Grace- 
 church street, Leadenhall, he was received by the marquis of North¬ 
 ampton, lord Ambrose Dudley, and a fair company of ladies, as well as 
 gentlemen, in rich array, with the escort of 100 yeomen on horseback, 
 with trumpets sounding. He proceeded over London-bridge to the 
 bishop of Winchester’s palace, 1 which was appointed for his abode, it 
 being the custom, in the “ good old times,” to quarter any foreigner of 
 distinguished rank, and his train, on some wealthy noble or prelate, for 
 board and entertainment. 
 
 Seven days after, the prince of Sweden came by water to the court, 
 with his guard, and was honourably received by many noble personages 
 at the hall door, where the guard stood, in their rich coats, in a line 
 which extended to the presence-chamber, where the queen received him 
 with the honours due to a royal visitor, and welcomed him with great 
 cordiality. Whenever he went in state to court he threw handfuls of 
 money among the populace, saying, “ he gave silver, but his brother 
 would give gold.” 2 
 
 u The Swede, and Charles the son of the emperor,” observes bishop 
 Jewel, “ are courting at a most marvellous rate. But the Swede is 
 most in earnest, for he promises mountains of silver in case of success. 
 The lady, however, is probably thinking of an alliance nearer home.” 3 
 
 In November, there were great jousts at the queen’s palace, the lord 
 Robert and lord Hunsdon were the challengers, who wore scarfs of 
 white and black, the defendants were lord Ambrose Dudley, and others, 
 wearing scarfs of red and yellow sarsenet. On the last day of the merry 
 year of 1559, a play was acted in the court before the queen, but we 
 learn that the license usually showed on such occasions, being abused 
 in this instance, they acted something so distasteful to her majesty, tha: 
 they were commanded to break oflj and were superseded by a mask anc 
 dancing. 4 
 
 On the 1st of January, prince John of Sweden came, gorgeously ap 
 parelled, to the court, to offer the new year’s greetings to her majesty 
 His retinue wore velvet jerkins and rich gold chains -, it was an eques 
 trian procession, and his guards carried halberts in their hands. Tha 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses. 5 Holinshetl. 
 
 Zurich Letters, published by the Parker Society. 1 Citizens’ Journa 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 137 
 
 ill! 
 
 Jay, her majesty’s silk-woman, mistress Montague, brought her for her 
 new year’s gift a pair of knit black silk stockings. The queen, after 
 wearing them a few clays, was so much pleased with them, that she sent 
 for mistress Montague, and asked her, “ From whence she had them ? 
 and if she could help her to any more?” 
 
 “ 1 made them very carefully on purpose only for your majesty,” 
 said she, “ and seeing these please you so well, I will presently set 
 more in hand.” 
 
 “ Do so,” replied the queen, “ for indeed, I like silk stockings well, 
 because they are pleasant, fine, and delicate, and henceforth I will wear 
 no more cloth stockings.” And from that time to her death, the queen 
 never more wore cloth hose, but only silk stockings.' 
 
 These knit silk stockings were imitations of some which had been 
 previously sent from Spain, perhaps manufactured by the Moors. 
 
 It may be observed, that Elizabeth, on her accession to the throne, 
 considering it no longer expedient to mortify her inordinate love of 
 dress, by conforming to the self-denying costume of the more rigid 
 order of reformers, who then began to be known by the name of Puri¬ 
 tans, passed from one extreme to the other, and indulged in a greater 
 excess of finery and elaborate decoration, than was ever paralleled by 
 any other queen of England, regnant or consort. Horace Walpole, 
 speaking of her portraits, observes, “ that there is not one that can be 
 called beautiful. The profusion of ornaments with which they are 
 loaded, are marks of her continual fondness for dress, while they en¬ 
 tirely exclude all grace, and leave no more room for a painter’s genius, 
 than if he had been employed to copy an Indian idol, totally composed 
 of bands and necklaces. A pale Roman nose, a head of hair loaded 
 with crowns, and powdered with diamonds, a vast ruff, a vaster fardin- 
 gale, and a bushel of pearls, are the features by which everybody knows 
 at once the pictures of Elizabeth. It is observable that her majesty 
 thought enormity of dress a royal prerogative, for, in 1579, an order 
 was made in the star-chamber, ‘ that no person should use or wear ex¬ 
 cessive long cloaks, as of late be used, and before two years past hath 
 not been used in this realm; no persons to wear such great ruffs about 
 their necks, to be left off such monstrous undecent, attiring.’ Jn her 
 father’s reign, who dictated everything from religion to fashions, he 
 made an act prohibiting the use of cloth of gold, silver, or tinsel, satin, 
 silk, or cloth mixed with gold, any sable fur, velvet, embroidery in 
 gowns or outermost garments, except for persons of distinction—dukes, 
 marquises, earls, or gentlemen and knights that had 250/. per annum. 
 This act was renewed 2nd of Elizabeth. No one who had less than 
 100/. per annum, was to wear satin or damask, or fur of conies; none 
 
 1 Stowe, p. 867. The good annalist continues to explain this point of costume . 
 “For you shall understand that king Henry VIII. did only wear cloth hose, ot 
 hose cut out of ell-broad taffety, or if, by great chance, there came a pair of silk 
 stockings from Spain. King Edward VI. had a pair of Spanish silk stockings 
 sent him as a great present.’’ Stowe betrays here knowledge of his own profes¬ 
 sion of the needle, by which he gained his living; the intelligence is, however, 
 at least as interesting to the world in general, as slaughters in battle 
 12 * 
 
138 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 not worth 20Z. per annum, or 200 1. capital, to wear any fur, sa v e lamb, 
 nor cloth above 10s. the yard.” 
 
 The record of presents made by Elizabeth to the ladies of her court 
 is scanty, especially at the early part of her reign, but in a curious MS. 
 wardrobe book of that queen, in possession of sir Thomas Phillipps, 
 bart., appears this item :— 
 
 “ Delivered the 30th of April, anno 4 regina Elizabeth, to the lady Wpdehouse, 
 —one loose gown of black velvet, embroidered overthwart, and cut between the 
 borders with a lozenge cut, lined with sarcenet and fustian, and edged with 
 luzarns, and one French lcirtle of purple satin, raised, lined with purple taffeta 
 belonging to the late queen Mary.” 
 
 Before Elizabeth had given any decided answer touching the Swedish 
 match, the aged king Gustavus died, and her suitor Eric succeeded to 
 the throne of that realm, and having become jealous of his brother, 
 whom he suspected, not without reason perhaps, of playing the wooer 
 on his own account, he recalled him, and sent an ambassador to renew 
 the matrimonial negotiations in his name. The arrival of the new 
 plenipotentiary, Nicholas Guildenstiern, caused great excitement among 
 the Londoners, for it was reported, that he had brought two ships laden 
 with treasure as presents for the queen. 1 Eighteen large pied horses 
 and several chests of bullion, it seems, were actually presented to her 
 majesty, in the name of her royal wooer, with an intimation, “ that he 
 would quickly follow in person, to lay his heart at her feet.” Tins an¬ 
 nouncement caused a little prudish perplexity to Elizabeth and her 
 council, about the manner in which the king of Sweden should be re¬ 
 ceived on his arrival in the palace, “ the queen’s majesty being a maid.” 2 
 As Eric was the handsomest man in Europe, if he had come in person, 
 it is possible that with Elizabeth’s admiration for beauty, the result 
 might have been different, but she was not to be won by proxy court¬ 
 ship. As, however, it had pleased her to accept the king’s presents, he 
 was naturally regarded by the nation as her bridegroom elect. The de¬ 
 sire of some of the speculative pictorial publishers of the day, to be 
 the first to gratify the loyal public, with united resemblances of the illus¬ 
 trious couple, occasioned the following grave admonition to be ad¬ 
 dressed, by the secretary of state, to the lord mayor:— 
 
 “ It may please your lordship, the queen's majesty understandeth, that certain 
 bookbinders and stationers do utter certain papers, wherein be printed the face 
 of her majesty and the king of Sweden; and although her highness is not mis- 
 contented, that either her own face or the said king's should be printed or por- 
 trailed, yet to be joined in the same paper with the said king, or with any other 
 prince that is known to have made any request for marriage to her majesty, is 
 not to be allowed. And therefore her majesty's pleasure is, that your lordship 
 should send for the wardens of the stationers, or for the wardens of any other 
 men that have such papers to sell, and to take order with them, that all such 
 papers be taken and packed up together, in such sort, that none be permitted to 
 be seen in any part. For otherwise her majesty might seem touched in honour 
 by her own subjects, that would in such papers declare an allowance to have 
 hers-df joined, as it were, in marriage with the said king, where indeed her 
 majesty hitherto cannot be induced (whereof we have cause to sorrow) to allow 
 of marlmge with any manner of person.” 9 
 
 “Strype; Nichols. “Burleigh's State Papers. “Haynes’State Papers, 368. 
 
I LIZABETII. 13D 
 
 One of these contraband engravings, if in existence, would at present 
 be readily purchased at its weight in gold. 
 
 About the same period, that the united resemblances of Elizabeth and 
 her comely northern suitor, were thus peremptorily suppressed, her old 
 preceptor, Roger Ascham, whom she had continued in the post of Latin 
 secretary, and occasionally made her councillor, on matters of greater 
 importance than the niceties of the learned languages, informs his friend 
 Sturmius that he had shown her majesty a passage in one of his letters 
 relating to the Scotch affairs, and another on the interesting subject of 
 her marriage—Sturmius, it seems, having undertaken, through the me¬ 
 dium of the Latin secretary, to advocate the suit of Eric, king of Swe¬ 
 den, to the regal spinster. “The queen read, remarked, and graciously 
 acknowledged in both of them,” writes Ascham, “ your respectful ob¬ 
 servance of her. Your judgment in the affairs of Scotland, as they 
 then stood, she highly approved, and she loves you for your solicitude 
 respecting us and our concerns. The part respecting her marriage she 
 read over thrice, as I well remember, and with somewhat of a gentle 
 smile, but still preserving a modest and bashful silence. Concerning 
 that point indeed, my dear Sturmius,” pursues he, “ I have nothing cer¬ 
 tain to write to you, nor does any one truly know what to judge. I 
 told you rightly in one of my former letters, that in the whole ordi¬ 
 nance of her life, she resembled not Phaedra but Hippolyta, for by na¬ 
 ture, and not by the counsels of others, she is thus averse and abstinent 
 from marriage. When 1 know anything for certain, I will write it to 
 you as soon as possible; in the meantime, I have no hopes to give you 
 respecting the king of Sweden.” 
 
 After this confidential passage, the preceptor-secretary launches forth 
 into more than his wonted encomiums, on the learning of his royal pu¬ 
 pil, declaring “ that there were not four men in England, either in 
 church or the state, who understood more Greek than her majesty 
 and, as an instance of her proficiency in other tongues, he mentions 
 “ that he was once present at court, when she gave answers at the same 
 time to three ambassadors,—the Imperial, the French, and the Swed¬ 
 ish,—in Italian, French, and Latin—fluently, gracefully, and to the 
 point.” 
 
 Elizabeth, who was perfectly aware of the important influence of men 
 of learning united with genius on the world at large, paid Sturmius the 
 compliment of addressing to him a letter, expressing her sense of the 
 attachment he had manifested towards herself and her country, pro¬ 
 mising withal “ that her acknowledgments shall not be confined to 
 words alone.” 
 
 While Elizabeth was yet amusing herself with the addresses of the 
 royal Swedes,—for there can be little doubt that Eric’s jealousy of the 
 brother, who finally deprived him of his crown, was well founded, with 
 regard to his attempts to supplant him in the good graces of the Eng¬ 
 lish queen—the king of Denmark sent his nephew, Adolphus duke of 
 Holstein, to try his fortune with the illustrious spinster. lie was 
 young, handsome, valiant and accomplished, and in love wi.h the queen, 
 but though one of the busy-bodies of the court wrote to her ambas 
 
140 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sador in Paris, “ that it was whispered her majesty was very fond ot 
 him,” he was rejected like the rest of her princely wooers; she, how¬ 
 ever, treated him with great distinction, made him a knight of the gar¬ 
 ter, and pensioned him for life. “The duke of Holstein has returned 
 home,” says Jewel, “after a magnificent reception by us, with splendid 
 presents from the queen, having been elected into the order of the gar¬ 
 ter, and invested with its golden and jewelled badge. The Swede is 
 reported to be always coining, and even now to be on his voyage, and 
 on the eve of landing; but as far as 1 can judge he will not stir a foot.” 
 
 Elizabeth, it appears, thought otherwise, for it is recorded by that 
 pleasant gossip, Allen, in a letter written from the court, that her ma¬ 
 jesty was, in the month of September, in hourly expectation of the arri¬ 
 val of her royal suitor, and that certain works were in hand in anticipa¬ 
 tion of his arrival at Westminster, at which the workmen laboured day 
 and night, in order to complete the preparations for his reception. After 
 all, Eric never came, having reasons to believe that his visit would be 
 fruitless; and he finally consoled himself for his failure in obtaining the 
 most splendid match in Europe, by marrying one of his own subjects. 1 
 
 The death of the favourite’s wife at this critical juncture, under pecu¬ 
 liar suspicious circumstances, gave rise to dark and mysterious rumours, 
 that she had been put out of the way to enable him to accept the willing 
 hand of a royal bride. Lever, one of the popular preachers of the day, 
 exhorted Cecil and Knollys to investigate the matter, because “ of the 
 grievous and dangerous suspicion and muttering of the death of her that 
 was the wife of my lord Robert Dudley.” Some contradictory state¬ 
 ments as to the manner in which the mischance (as it was called) hap¬ 
 pened to the unfortunate lady were offered by the sprightly widower 
 and the persons in whose care, or rather we should say in whose cus¬ 
 tody, the deserted wife of his youth was kept at Cumnor Hall, in Berk¬ 
 shire, and it was declared by the authorities to whom the depositions 
 were made, that her death was accidental. So little satisfactory was the 
 explanation, that even the cautious Cecil expressed his opinion “ that 
 Dudley was infamed by the death of his wife.” 2 Throckmorton, the 
 English ambassador at Paris, was so thoroughly mortified at the light in 
 which this affair was regarded on the continent, that he wrote to Cecil, 
 “The bruits be so brim and so maliciously reported here, touching the 
 marriage of the lord Robert and the death of his wife, that 1 know not 
 where to turn me nor what countenance to bear.” 3 In England, it was 
 generally believed that the queen was under promise of marriage to 
 Dudley, and though all murmured, no one presumed to remonstrate 
 with her majesty on the subject. Parry, the unprincipled confidant of 
 the lord admiral Seymour’s clandestine courtship of his royal mistress, 
 
 1 A beauty of humble degree, called Kate the Nut-girl, with whom his majesty 
 fell in love, from seeing her occasionally selling her nuts in the square before 
 his palace. He found her virtue impregnable, and made her bis queen. She 
 proved a model of conjugal tenderness and faith, especially in his reverse of 
 fortune, when supplanted in his royal office by his brother John, by whom he 
 
 was finally murdered. 
 
 “Haynes’ State Papers, 3C2. ’Hardwicke's State Papers, vol. i., p. 121. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 141 
 
 and whom she had, on her accession to the throne, made a privy-coun¬ 
 cillor, and preferred, though a convicted defaulter, to the honourable 
 and lucrative office of comptroller of her household, openly flattered the 
 favourite’s pretensions, who now began to be distinguished in the court 
 by the significant title of “ my lord,” without any reference to his 
 name, 1 while daily new gifts and immunities were lavished on him. 
 Meantime the jealous rivalry of the Earl of Arundel led to open brawls 
 in the court; and as the quarrel was warmly taken up by the servants 
 and followers of these nobles, her majesty’s name was bandied about 
 among them in a manner degrading, not only to the honour of royalty, 
 but to feminine delicacy. On one occasion Arthur Guntor, a retainer 
 of the Earl of Arundel, was brought before the council, on the informa¬ 
 tion of one of Dudley’s servants, to answer for the evil wishes he had 
 invoked on the favourite for standing in the way of his lord’s prefer¬ 
 ment in the royal marriage, to which both aspired. Guntor made the 
 following confession:— 
 
 “ Pleaseth your honours to understand that, about three weeks since, I chanced 
 to he hunting with divers gentlemen, when I fell in talk with a gentleman 
 named Mr.George Cotton, who told me ‘that the queen's highness being at supper, 
 on a time, at my lord Robert’s house, where it chanced her highness to be be¬ 
 nighted homeward, and as her grace was going home by torch-light, she fell in 
 talk with them that carried the torches, and said, ‘that she would make their 
 lord the best that ever was of his name.’ Whereupon I said, ‘ that her grace 
 must make him then a dukeand he said, ‘ that the report was, that her high¬ 
 ness should marry him ;’ and I answered, ‘ I pray God all be for the best, and I 
 pray God all men may take it well, that there might rise no trouble thereof;’ 
 and so have J said to divers others since that time.” a 
 
 It must be evident to every person of common sense, that Dudley’s 
 man was playing upon the credulity of the choleric servant of Arundel, 
 or, in vulgar phraseology, hoaxing him with this tale, since it was ab¬ 
 solutely impossible for her majesty—who on such occasions was either 
 in her state carriage, on horseback surrounded by her own officers of 
 the household, or, which was most probably the case, carried in a sort 
 of open sedan, on either side of which marched the principal nobles of 
 her court, and her band of pensioners with their axes—to have held any 
 such colloquy with Dudley’s torch-bearers, even, if she had felt dis¬ 
 posed to make such disclosures of her royal intentions, in the public 
 streets. In another examination, Guntor affirmed, “ that Cotton said it 
 was rumoured, that his lord (Dudley) should have the queento 
 which Guntor replied, “that, if it pleased her highness, he thought him 
 as meet a man as any in England.” Then Cotton asked him “ if he 
 had heard of any parliament towards?” Guntor said, “No; but of 
 course every nobleman would give his opinion, and some disputes 
 would naturally rise on the subject.” Cotton asked, “ Who were Dud¬ 
 ley’s friends in the matter ?” Guntor replied, “ the lord marquis of 
 Northampton, earl of Pembroke, Mr. Treasurer, and many more;” 
 adding, “ I trust the White Horse (Arundel) will be in quiet, and so 
 shall we be out of trouble; it is well known that his blood, as yet, was 
 never attaint.” 3 
 
 1 Rapin. 
 
 ’Burleigh’s State Papers. 
 
 s Ibid. 
 
142 
 
 E L I 
 
 Z A B E T H . 
 
 This remark was in allusion to the ignominious deaths of the fa¬ 
 vourite’s grandfather, Edmund Dudley the extortioner; his father, the 
 duke of Northumberland ; and his brother, lord Guildford Dudley,—all 
 three of whom had perished on a scaffold. It was reported that Lei¬ 
 cester’s great-grandfather was a carpenter, and his enemies were wont to 
 say of him, “ that he was the son of a duke, the brother of a king, the 
 grandson of an esquire, and the great-grandson of a carpenter; that the 
 carpenter was the only honest man in the family, and the only one who 
 died in his bed.” 
 
 A person who well knew the temper of Elizabeth, notwithstanding 
 the undisguised predilection she evinced for the company of her master 
 of the horse, predicted, “ that the queen would surely never give her 
 Hand to so mean a peer as Robin Dudley—noble only in two descents, 
 and in both of them stained with the block.” The event proved that 
 this was a correct judgment. 
 
 “ ‘ Touching lord Robert,’ continues Guntor, * I have said to Mr. Cotton that I 
 thought him to be the cause that my lord and master (Arundel) might not have 
 the queen’s highness, wherefore I would that he had been put to death with his 
 father, or that some ruffian would have despatched him by the way he has gone, 
 with dagge or gun. Further, I said, if it chanced my lord Robert to marry the 
 queen's highness, then I doubted whether he would not remember some old 
 matter passed to my lord and master's hindrance and displeasure.’ 
 
 “ Guntor made very humble submission and suit to her majesty for pardon, ' 
 stating, ‘ that he had been very properly punished for uttering such lewd and ' 
 unbefitting words.’ ” 1 tl 
 
 This matter was evidently brought before the council by Dudley, for 
 the purpose of showing how publicly his name was implicated with that 
 of the queen, in a matrimonial point of view, and with the intent of 
 ascertaining how his colleagues stood affected towards his preferment in 
 that way. 
 
 Elizabeth passed the matter over with apparent nonchalance , and 
 when Throckmorton, annoyed past endurance at the sneers of his diplo¬ 
 matic brethren in Paris, took the bold step of sending his secretary. 
 Jones, to acquaint her majesty, privately, with the injurious reports that 
 were circulated touching herself and Dudley, she received the commu¬ 
 nication without evincing any of that acute sensibility to female honour, 
 which teaches most women to regard a stain as a wound. She some¬ 
 times laughed, perhaps, at the absurdity of these on dits , and occasion¬ 
 ally covered her face with her hands; and when the secretary, who had 
 been charged with this delicate commission, brought his communication 
 to a close, she informed him, “that he had come on an unnecessary 
 errand, for she was already acquainted with all he had told her; and 
 that she was convinced of the innocence of lord Robert Dudley of the 
 death of his wife, as he was in her own court at the time it happened 
 which had so fallen out that neither his honour nor his honesty were 
 touched therein .” 2 
 
 Notwithstanding the honest warning of Throckmorton to his royai 
 mistress, the favourite continued in close attendance on her person. I 
 
 ’ Burleigh’s State Papers. 
 
 2 Hardwick Papers, 165. 
 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 143 
 
 is related that one of his political rivals, who is generally supposed to 
 have been Sussex, gave him a blow at the council-board, in presence of 
 the queen. Elizabeth, who was well fitted to rule the stormy elements 
 over which she presided, told the pugnacious statesman that he had for¬ 
 feited his hand, in reference to the law which imposed that penalty on 
 any one who presumed to violate the sanctity of the court by the com¬ 
 mission of such an outrage. On which Dudley rejoined, “ that he hoped 
 her majesty would suspend that sentence till the traitor had lost his 
 head,” and the matter went no further. It is shrewdly remarked by 
 Naunton, that this influential noble ever kept clear from quarrels with 
 .he queen’s kinsmen, Henry Carey, lord Hunsdon, 1 and sir Thomas 
 Sackville, for of them he was wont to say, “ that they were of the tribe 
 if Dan, and were noli me tangereP 
 Among the preparations for the Easter festival, in 1560, queen Eliza- 
 )eth kept her Maunday after the old Catholic fashion, in her great hall, 
 n the court at Westminster, bv washing the feet of twenty poor women, 
 ind then gave gowns to every woman, and one of them had the royal 
 obe in which her majesty officiated on this occasion. The queen drank 
 o every woman in a new white cup, and then gave her the cup. The 
 ame afternoon, in St. James’s Park, she gave a public alms of two- 
 ience each to upwards of two thousand poor men, women, and chil- 
 Iren, both whole and lame. The royal gift was in silver coins, and the 
 alue was from sixpence to eight-pence of the present money. Nothing 
 ndeared the sovereign more to tire people than the public exercise of 
 hese acts of personal charity, which afforded them at once a holiday 
 nd a pageant, making glad the hearts of the poor with a gift, to which 
 aestimable value would be attached. Abject, indeed, would be the 
 Recipient of the royal bounty who did not preserve the fair new coin to 
 /ear as a precious amulet about the neck, and to transmit, as a lucky 
 eirloom, to a favoured child, in memory of their gracious queen, 
 "here were no sources of licensed temptation to destroy the health and 
 irtues of the working-classes, in the shape of gin-palaces, under the 
 lorious domestic government of England’s Elizabeth. 
 
 The queen was careful to redress all causes of disaffection among the 
 perative classes, so that royalty should be found no burden to those, 
 horn she regarded as the bones and sinews of the realm. In a p re¬ 
 ading volume of this work, the extortions and robberies committed by 
 te royal purveyors, in the name of the sovereign, have been mentioned, 
 id that to a certain degree they were still practised in the early part of 
 lizabeth’s reign, is evidenced by the following humorous tale, which is 
 ;corded on the authority of an eye-witness. 
 
 One of her purveyors having been guilty of some abuses, in the 
 unity of Kent, on her majesty’s remove to Greenwich, a sturdy coun- 
 yman, watching the time when she took her morning walk w'ith the 
 rds and ladies of her household, placed himself conveniently for catcli- 
 g the royal eye and ear, and when he saw her attention perfectly dis- 
 
 1 They were both of the Boleyn blood. Hunsdon was the son of the queen’s 
 mt, Wary Boleyn ; Sackville of her great aunt, the sister of Sir Thomas Boleyn 
 
141 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 engaged, began to cry, in a loud voice, “ Which is the queen ?” * 1 Where¬ 
 upon, as her manner was, she turned herself towards him, but he con¬ 
 tinuing his clamorous question, she herself answered, “ I am your queen, 
 what wouldst thou have with me ?” “ You,” rejoined the farmer, archly 
 gazing upon her with a look of incredulity, not unmixed with admira¬ 
 tion—“ you are one of the rarest women I ever saw, and can eat no 
 more than my daughter Madge, who is thought the properest lass in our 
 parish, though short of you ; but that queen Elizabeth 1 look for, 
 devours so many of my hens, ducks, and capons, that I am not able to 
 live.” The queen, who was exceedingly indulgent to all suits, offered 
 through the medium of a compliment, took this homely admonition in 
 good part, inquired the purveyor’s name, and finding that he had acted 
 witli great dishonesty and injustice, caused condign punishment to be 
 inflicted upon him; indeed, our author adds that she ordered him to be 
 hanged, his offence being in violation of a statute-law against such 
 abuses. 2 
 
 Great hospitality was exercised in the palace, which no stranger who 
 had ostensible business there, from the noble to the peasant, ever visited, 
 it is said, without being invited to either one table or the other, accord¬ 
 ing to his degree. No wonder that Elizabeth was a popular sovereign, 
 and her days were called “ golden.” 
 
 In May, 1560, the new pope Pius IV., a prince of the house of Medi¬ 
 ci, made an attempt to win back England, through her queen, to th« 
 obedience of the Roman see, by sending Parpaglia, abbot of St. Saviour 
 to the queen, with letters written in the most conciliatory style, ant 
 beginning, “ dear daughter in Christ,” inviting her “ to return into thi 
 bosom of the church,” and professing his readiness to do all thing 
 needful for the health of her soul, and the firm establishment of he 
 royal dignity, and requesting her to give due attention to the matter 
 which would be communicated by his dear son Vincent Parpaglia. Wha 
 the papal concessions were, on which this spiritual treaty was to b 
 based, can only be matter of conjecture, for Elizabeth declined receivin 
 the nuncio, and the separation became final and complete. 3 
 
 In the autumn of the same year, Elizabeth’s great and glorious met 
 sure of restoring the English currency to sterling value was carried int 
 effect. “ A matter, indeed, weighty and great,” says Camden, “ whic 
 neither Edward VI. could, nor Mary durst attempt, since Henry VII 
 was the first king that ever caused copper to be mingled with silver, t 
 the great disgrace of the kingdom, damage of his successors and peopl 
 and a notable token of his excessive expense, since his father had le 
 him more wealth than any other king ever left .his successors, and lik 
 wise he had drawn abundance of money by the means of tribute ai 
 imposts, besides all the revenues, gifts, and goods, belonging to tl 
 monasteries.” 
 
 This mighty and beneficial change, was effected by the enlightem 
 policy of Elizabeth, without causing the slightest inconvenience or di 
 
 ’Osborne's Traditional Memoirs of Elizabeth. 
 
 s Historical Memoirs of the Reigns of Elizabeth and James. London, 1058. 
 
 1 Camden’s Annals. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 145 
 
 tress to individuals. The old money was called in, and every person 
 received the nominal value of the base coin, in new sterling money, and 
 the goverument bore the loss, which was, of course, very heavy, but 
 the people were satisfied, and their confidence in the good faith and 
 honour of the crown, richly repaid this great sovereign for the sacrifice. 
 She strictly forbade melting or trafficking with the coin in any way—a 
 precaution the more necessary, inasmuch as the silver was better and 
 purer in England, during her reign, than in full two hundred years before, 
 and than any that was used in any other nation of Europe in her own 
 time. 1 The reformation of the currency extended to’ Ireland, and the 
 joy of that distressed people was expressed in the following popular 
 ballad, which has been preserved by Simon, in his “ Essay on Irish 
 Coins 
 
 11 Let bonfires shine in every place, 
 
 Sing, and ring the bells apace, 
 
 And pray that long may live her grace 
 To be the good queen of Ireland. 
 
 “ The gold and silver, which was so base 
 That no man could endure it scarce, 
 
 Is now new coined with her own face, 
 
 And made to go current in Ireland.” 
 
 Well had it been for Ireland, and England, also, if the subsequent 
 policy of Elizabeth, towards that portion of her dominions, had been 
 juided by the same maternal and equitable spirit. 
 
 The gold coins of Elizabetli are peculiarly beautiful; they were 
 i Sovereigns, half-sovereigns, or rials, the latter word being a corruption 
 ?rom royals, nobles, double-nobles, angels, half-angels, pieces of an 
 mgel and a half, and three angels, crowns, and half-crowns. One pound 
 if gold was coined into twenty-four sovereigns, or thirty-six nominal 
 founds, for the value of the sovereign was thirty shillings, the value of 
 he royal, fifteen shillings, and that of the angel, ten. On the sovereign 
 Appeared the majestic profile portrait of Elizabeth, itrarmour and ruff, 
 ler hair dishevelled and flowing over her breast and shoulders, and 
 rowncd with the imperial crown of England, similar in form to that 
 vorn by all her successors, including our present fair and feminine liege 
 ady. It is impossible, however, for the lovers of the picturesque and 
 ■raceful not to regret the want of taste, which induced the Tudor sove- 
 eigns to abandon the elegant garland-shaped diadem of the Saxon and 
 ’lantagenet monarchs of England, for the heavy double-arched regal 
 ap, which so completely conceals the contour of a finely shaped head, 
 ad the beauty of the hair. The legend round Elizabeth’s sovereign, 
 n the side charged with her bust, is, “ Elizabeth D. G. Ang. Fra. et 
 Iib. Regina.” Reverse—the arms of England and France. She bore 
 le latter at the very time she signed the death-doom of her cousin, 
 lary Stuart, for quartering the first, though entitled by her descent, 
 om Henry VII., to bear them, as the duchess of Suffolk, Frances Bran- 
 on did, without offence. The arms on the reverse of Elizabeth’s sove- 
 
 VOL. VI.- 13 
 
 ’ Camden. 
 
 K 
 
116 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 reign are flanked by the initials E. R., and this inscription as defender 
 of the faith— “Scutum Fidei Proteget Eam.” 
 
 The double-rose noble, which is esteemed the finest of her coins, has 
 on one side, the queen in her regal costume, with crown, sceptre, and 
 ball, seated on her throne with a portcullis at her feet, signifying her 
 descent from the Beauforts; same legend as the sovereign. On the 
 reverse, a large rose enclosing the royal arms, with the motto chosen by 
 Elizabeth when her accession was announced to her,—“A D.vo. Factu. ■ 
 Est. Istud. et Mirae. Occul. Nris,” —“The Lord hath done it, and 
 it is marvellous in our eyes.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth’s silver money are crowms, half-crowns, shillings, 
 six-pences, groats, three-pences, two-pences, pennies, half-pennies, and 
 farthings. There was no copper money coined before the reign of king 
 James. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the difficulties with which she had to contend, 
 on her accession to the throne. Elizabeth very early assumed the proud 
 position of protectress of the reformed church, not only in England, but 
 throughout the world. She supplied the Huguenot leaders in France 
 privately with arms and money, and afterwards openly with a military 
 force, under the command of lord Robert Dudley’s eldest brother, the 
 earl of Warwick. 1 She also extended her succour, secretly, to the 
 Flemish Protestants, and excited them to resist the oppression of their 
 Spanish rulers. The reformed party in Scotland were in her pay, and 
 subservient to her will, although her dislike to John Knox w'as uncon¬ 
 querable, having been provoked by his abuse of the English Liturgy, in 
 the first place, and in the second, by his work, entitled, “ First Blast of 
 the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment (meaning government) of 
 Women.” It is true that this fulmination was published during her 
 sister’s reign, and was more especially aimed against the queen-regent 
 of Scotland, and her daughter, the youthful sovereign of that realm, but 
 Elizabeth considered, that the honour of the whole sex was touched in 
 his book, and that all female monarchs were insulted and aggrieved by 
 it. It was in vain, that he endeavoured, by personal flattery to herself, 
 to excuse his attack upon the folly and incapacity of womankind, in 
 general. He assured her, “ that she was an exception to the sweeping 
 rule he had laid down, that her whole life had been a miracle, which 
 proved, that she had been chosen by God, that the office which was un¬ 
 lawful to other women, was lawful to her, and that he was ready to 
 obey her authoritybut the queen was nauseated with the insincerity 
 of adulation from such a quarter, and notwithstanding the persuasions 
 of Cecil and Throckmorton, refused to permit him to set a foot in Eng¬ 
 land on any pretence. 2 
 
 On the 18th of January, 1561, the first genuine English tragedy, in 
 five acts, composed on the ancient tragic model, with the interlude of 
 assistant choruses, in lyric verse, was performed before queen Elizabeth, 
 whose classic tastes must have been much gratified by such a produc¬ 
 tion. It was the joint composition of her poetic cousin, sir Thomas 
 
 • Camden. 
 
 a Strype ; Tytler ; Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 147 
 
 Sackville (who shared the literary genius of the Boleyn family), and 
 Thomas Norton, and was called, “Ferrex and Porrex, or Gorbaduc.” 
 Probably the quaint and impertinent representation of the whole life and 
 reign of the royal Blue-beard, Henry VIII., which, it is said, was among 
 the popular dramatic pageants of the reign of Edward VI., would have 
 given an unsophisticated audience more genuine delight, than all the 
 lofty declamations of the imitator of the Greek drama. Elizabeth caused 
 a stage to be erected at Windsor Castle for the regular performance of 
 the drama, with a wardrobe for the actors, painted scenes, and an 
 orchestra, consisting of trumpeters, luterers, harpers, singers, minstrels, 
 viols, sagbuts, bagpipes, domejlads , rebecks, and flutes,—and very queer 
 music they must have made. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth passed much of her time at Windsor Castle, on the 
 spacious terrace erected by her, for a summer promenade, in the north 
 front of the castle. She generally walked for an hour before dinner, if 
 not prevented by wind, to which she had a particular aversion. Rain, 
 if it was not violent, was no impediment to her daily exercise, as she 
 took pleasure in walking under an umbrella in rainy weather, upon this 
 commanding and beautiful spot. 
 
 In the neighbouring park she frequently hunted, and we have the fol¬ 
 lowing testimony, that her feminine feelings did not prevent her from 
 taking life with her own hand, as this letter, written by Leicester, at her 
 command, will testify :— 
 
 “ To the right honorable and my singular good lord my lord of Canterbury’s 
 grace, give these. 
 
 “ My lord, 
 
 “ The queen's majesty being abroad hunting yesterday in the forest, and hav¬ 
 ing had very good hap, beside great sport, she hath thought good to remember 
 your grace with part of her prey, and so commanded me to send you a great fat 
 stag, killed with her own hand; which, because the weather was wet, and the 
 deer somewhat chafed, and dangerous to be carried so far without some help, I 
 caused him to be parboiled, for the better preservation of him, which. I doubt not, 
 will cause him to come unto you as I tvould be glad he should. So, having no 
 other matter at this present to trouble your grace withal, I will commit you to 
 the Almighty, and with my most hearty commendations take my leave in haste. 
 
 “Your grace's assured, 
 
 “At Windsor, this iiii of September. 1 “ R. Dudley.” 
 
 While Elizabeth kept court at her natal palace of Greenwich, she, on 
 St. George’s clay, celebrated the national festival with great pomp, as the 
 sovereign of the order of the Garter, combining, according to the cus¬ 
 tom of the good old times, a religious service with the picturesque or¬ 
 dinances of this chivalric institution. “ All her majesty’s chapel came 
 through the hall in copes, to the number of thirty, singing, ‘O God the 
 Father, of heaven, &c., the outward court to the gate being strewed 
 with green rushes. After came Mr. Garter, and Mr. Norroy, and Master 
 Lean of the chapel, in robes of crimson satin, with a red cross of St. 
 George, and after eleven knights of the garter in their robes ; then came 
 the queen, the sovereign of the order, in her robes, and all the guard 
 
 ‘No other date, but it must have been before the year 1564, when he wat 
 created earl of Leicester. 
 
148 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 following, in their rich coats, to the chapel. After service, they returned 
 through the hall to her grace’s great chamber. The queen and the ■ 
 lords then went to dinner, where she was most nobly served, and the ' 
 lords, sitting on one side, were served on gold and silver. After dinner, 
 were two new knights elected—viz., the earl of Shrewsbury and lord 
 Hunsdon.” * 1 
 
 On the 10th of July, the queen came by water to the Tower, to visit 
 her mints, where she coined certain pieces of gold with her own hand, 
 and gave them away to those about her. Katharine Parr’s brother, the 
 marquis of Northampton, and her own cousin, lord Hunsdon, each re¬ 
 ceived one of these memorable pieces. About five she went out at the 
 iron gate, and over Tower-hill, in great state, on horseback, with trum¬ 
 peters, and her gentlemen-pensioners, heralds, serjeants-at-arms, gentle¬ 
 men, and nobles preceding her, lord Hunsdon bearing the sword of state 
 before her majesty, and the ladies riding after her. In this order, the 
 maiden monarch and her train proceeded by the way of Aldgate, down 
 Houndsditch and Hog-lane, 2 places little accustomed, now, to behold 
 royal equestrian processions, with gorgeous dames and courtly gallants, 
 sweeping in jewelled pomp through those narrow, dusky streets ; but 
 Elizabeth, whose maternal progenitors had handled the mercer’s yard 
 and wielded the civic mace, was peculiarly the queen of the city of 
 London, where she was always hailed with enthusiastic affection. As 
 long as the Tower was a royal residence, our sovereigns did not entirely 
 confine the sunshine of their presence to the western quarter of the 
 metropolis, but gave the city, in turn, a share of the glories of regality. 
 Elizabeth and her train, on the above occasion, proceeded, we are told, 
 through the fields to the Charter-house, the splendid residence of the 
 lord North, where she reposed herself till the 14th, when Burleigh has ! 
 noted in his diary the following entry:—“ The queen supped at my 
 house in Strand (the Savoy), before it was finished, and she came by 
 the fields from Christ-chuich.” Here her council waited on her grace, [ 
 with many lords, knights, and ladies. Great cheer was made till mid¬ 
 night, when she rode back to the Charter-house, where she lay that 
 night. 
 
 The next day, Elizabeth set forth on her summer progress into Essex 
 and Suffolk. All the streets of the city, through which she was to pass, 
 were freshly sanded and gravelled, and the houses hung with cloth of 
 arras, rich carpets, and silk ; but Cheapside, then proverbially called the 
 Golden Chepe, made a display of magnificence in honour of the pas¬ 
 sage of the sovereign, which we should vainly look for in these days 
 of flimsy luxury, being hung with cloth of gold and silver, and velvets 
 of all colours. 3 All the crafts of London were ranged in their liveries 
 from St. Michael the Quern as far as Aldgate. The aldermen, in their 
 scarlet robes, had a distinguished place in the royal procession, nearer 
 to her majesty’s person than her nobles and officers of state, save my 
 lord Hunsdon, who bore the sword of state before her, and was imme 
 
 1 Hist. Order of the Garter, by Sir H. Nicolas, vol. i., p. 189. 
 
 1 Nicbols’ Progresses. 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 149 
 
 diately preceded by the lord mayor, who bore the sceptre. At White¬ 
 chapel, the lord mayor and aldermen took their leave of her grace, and 
 she proceeded on her way towards Essex, and is supposed to have 
 lodged that night at Wansted-house, in the forest. 1 On the 19th of 
 July, Elizabeth reached Ingatestone, the seat of sir William Petre, one 
 of her secretaries and privy councillors. She had had the wisdom, as 
 well as the magnanimity, to overlook his former inimical proceedings in 
 the time of her adversity, regarding them probably as political rather 
 than personal offences. She remained at his house two days, and then 
 passed on to Nevvhall, one of the seats of her maternal grandfather, sir 
 Thomas Boleyn, where Henry VIII. had oftimes visited, and wooed her 
 fair, ill-fated mother, during the fervour of his passion. Over the por¬ 
 tal, the words Viva Elizabetha , and a complimentary Italian quatrain, 
 still bear record of her visit. 
 
 She visited Colchester during this progress,® and arrived at Harwich 
 August 2nd, where she enjoyed the sea breezes for several days, aim 
 was so well pleased with the entertainment she received, that she in¬ 
 quired of the mayor and corporation if she could do anything for them. 
 They returned humble thanks to her majesty, but said, “ they did not 
 ] require anything at that time.” When the queen departed, she looked 
 i rack at Harwich, with a smile, and said, “ A pretty town, and wants 
 
 1 nothing.” 3 
 
 Her majesty arrived at Ipswich, August 6th, the inhabitants of which, 
 ' c like the other towns through which she passed, had been assessed for 
 r he expenses of her entertainment. She found great fault with the 
 !i Jdergy for not wearing the surplice, and the general want of order ob¬ 
 served in the celebration of divine service. The bishop of Norwich, 
 
 2 jtimself, came in for a share of the censure of the royal governess of 
 iy he church, for his remissness, and for winking at schismatics. Above 
 j'y 11, she expressed her dislike of the marriage of the clergy, and that in 
 -v athedrals and colleges there were so many wives and children, which 
 [jljhe said, was “contrary to the intention of the founders, and much 
 jjljending to the interruption of the studies of those who were placed 
 
 here.” -1 She even proceeded to issue an order, on the 9th of August, 
 ddressed to the archbishop of Canterbury for his province, and to the 
 1S i rchbishop of York for his, forbidding the resort of women to the 
 oil of cathedrals or colleges on any pretence. Her indignation at 
 
 J le marriage of her bishops carried her almost beyond the bounds of 
 elicacy, and when archbishop Parker remonstrated with her on what 
 e called, the “ Popish tendency,” of a prohibition, which was pe- 
 uliarly offensive to him as a married man, she told him, “ she repented 
 f having made any married bishops,” and even spoke with contempt 
 f the institution of matrimony altogether. 5 It is well known, that the 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
 ’Queen Elizabeth relished the Colchester oysters so greatly, which she proba- 
 
 • y tasted lor the first time during her visit to the town, that they were after- 
 — ards sent for by horse-loads by the purveyors of the royal table.—Corporation 
 ecords of Colchester. 
 
 ’Taylor's History of Harwich. 4 Strype’s Parker, p. 106. e Strype. 
 
 1,1 13* * 
 
150 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 first time the queen honoured the archiepiscopal palace with a visit—on 
 which occasion an enormous expense, and immense trouble and fatigue, 
 had been incurred by the primate and his wife—instead of the gracious 
 words of acknowledgment, which the latter naturally expected to receive 
 at parting from the royal guest, her majesty repaid her dutiful attention 
 with the following insult:—“ And you,” said she, “ madam I may not 
 call you, mistress I am ashamed to call you, and so I know not what tc 
 call you ; but, howsoever, 1 thank you.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth looked as sourly on bishops’ daughters as she did on theii 
 wives ; and having heard that Pilkington, bishop of Durham, had given 
 his daughter in marriage a fortune of 10,0007., equal to the portion be¬ 
 queathed by her father, Henry VIII., to her and to her sister, she scotched 
 the see of Durham of a thousand a year, and devoted the money to her 
 garrison at Berwick. 2 
 
 During her majesty’s sojourn at Ipswich, the court was thrown into 
 the greatest consternation by the discovery that the lady Katharine 
 Gray, sister to the unfortunate lady Jane, was on the point of becoming 
 a mother, having contracted a clandestine marriage with Edward earl of 
 Hertford, the eldest son of the late protector Somerset. The matter 
 was the more serious, because the young lady, was not only of the 
 blood-royal, but, as the eldest surviving daughter of Frances Brandon, i 
 to whose posterity the regal succession stood entailed by the will of 
 Henry VIII., regarded by the party opposed to the hereditary claim of 
 Mary queen of Scots as the heiress presumptive to the throne. Lady 
 Katharine held an office in the queen’s chamber, which kept her in con¬ 
 stant attendance on her majesty’s person, but having listened to th( 
 secret addresses of the man of her heart, love inspired her with inge- ' 
 nuity to elude the watchfulness of the court. One day, excusing her¬ 
 self, under pretence of sickness, from attending her royal mistress to tin 
 chase, she employed the time, not like her accomplished sister, the un 
 fortunate lady Jane Gray, in reading Plato, but in hastening with lad’ 
 Jane Seymour, one of the maids of honour, the sister of her lover, ti 
 his house, where lady Jane Seymour herself procured the priest, wh 
 joined their hands in marriage. Hertford left England the next day I ft 
 lady Jane Seymour died in the following March, and thus poor lad 
 Katharine was left to meet the consequences of her stolen nuptial.’ 
 The queen, forgetful of her own love passages, when princess, with th | 
 late lord admiral, uncle to this very Hertford, and the disgraceful di: 
 closures which had been made in king Edward’s privy council, scare i 
 ten years ago, treated the unfortunate couple with the greatest severit 
 Her premier, Cecil, whose cold heart appears, at all times, inaccessib 
 to the tender impulses of sympathy for beauty in distress, in a letter I 
 the earl of Sussex, sums up the leading circumstances, as far as the 
 had then proceeded, in this piteous romance of royal history, in the fo 
 lowing laconic terms : “The 10th of this, at Ipswich, was a great mi 
 hap discovered.” After naming the situation of the unfortunate lac 
 Katharine, in the coarsest language, he adds, “ as she saith, by the ee 
 
 1 Strype. 
 
 a Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 151 
 
 of Hertford, who is in France. She is committed to the Tower; he is 
 sent for. She saith that she was married to him secretly before Christ¬ 
 mas last.” 
 
 The reader will remember, that the father of the husband of lady 
 Katharine Gray was the first great patron of this climbing statesman, 
 and herself the sister of the illustrious victim whom he had acknow¬ 
 ledged as his sovereign. “ The queen’s majesty,” pursues he, “ doth 
 well, thanked be God, although not well quieted with the mishap of the 
 lady Katharine.” It was in vain that the unfortunate sister of lady Jane 
 Gray, in her terror and distress, fled to the chamber of the brother of 
 lord Guildford Dudley, lord Robert, and implored him to use his pow- 
 erful intercession with their royal mistress in her behalf. The politic 
 courtier cared not to remind the queen of his family connexion with 
 those, who had endeavoured to supplant her in the royal succession ; 
 and lady Katharine was hurried to the Tower, where she brought forth 
 a fair young son. Her husband, on his return, was also incarcerated in 
 the Tower. They were in separate prison lodgings, but he found 
 means to visit his wedded love, in her affliction. She became the mo¬ 
 ther of another child, for which offence he was fined in the star chamber 
 20,000/., the marriage having been declared null and void, as the sister 
 of Hertford, lady Jane, the only efficient witness, was no more. Eliza¬ 
 beth was obdurate in her resentment to her unfortunate cousin; and, 
 disregarding all her pathetic letters for pardon and pity, kept her in du¬ 
 rance apart from her husband and children, till she was released by 
 death, after seven years of doleful captivity. 1 Her real crime was being 
 the sister of lady Jane Gray, which queen Mary had overlooked, but 
 Elizabeth could not; yet lady Katharine was a Protestant. 
 
 After Elizabeth had relentlessly despatched her hapless cousin to the 
 Tower, she proceeded on her festive progress to Smallbridge House, in 
 Suffolk, the seat of Air. Waldegrave, a catholic gentleman, who with his 
 lady and some others, had been committed to the Tower for recusancv. 
 He was at that very time a prisoner there, and there died, on the first of 
 the following September. From thence she passed on to Helmingham 
 Hall, the fair abode of sir Lionel Tollemache, then sheriff for Norfolk 
 and Suffolk, and honoured him by standing godmother to his heir, and 
 left the ebony lute, inlaid with ivory and gems, on which she was ac¬ 
 customed to play, as a present for the mother of the babe. This relic, 
 which has the royal initials “ E. R.” is carefully preserved by the family, 
 land proudly exhibited among the treasures of Helmingham Hall. It was 
 i customary thing for a king or queen of England to leave some trilling 
 bersonal possession, as a memorial of the royal visit at every mansion 
 where majesty was entertained. Hence, so many embroidered gloves, 
 ans, books of devotion, and other traditionary relics of this mighty 
 jueen are shown in different old families, with whom she was a guest 
 hiring her numerous progresses. She returned through Hertfordshire 
 his year, and revisited the abode of her childhood, Enfield House; and 
 in the 22d of September came from Enfield to London. She was so 
 
 'See Ellis' Letters of English History; Camden; Mackintosh. 
 
152 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 numerously attended on her homeward route, that from Islington to 
 London, all the hedges and ditches were levelled to clear the way for 
 her; and such were the gladness and affection manifested by the loyal 
 concourse of people who came to meet and welcome her, “ that,” says 
 the contemporary chronicler, “ it was night ere she came over Saint 
 Giles’s in the Fields.” 
 
 Before Elizabeth left town on her late progress, the widowed queen 
 of Scots, after the death of her consort, Francis II. of France, sent her 
 French minister, D’Oisell, to ask her for a safe conduct to pass into 
 Scotland, either by sea, or, if compelled by indisposition or danger, to 
 land in England, and travel without let or hindrance to her own realm. 
 
 It had been considered the height of inhumanity in that brutal mo- , 
 narch, Henry VIII., when he denied a like request, which had been pro¬ 
 posed to him in behalf of the bride of his nephew James V., the beauti¬ 
 ful Mary of Lorraine, whom he had passionately desired for his own 
 wife; but that one lady should refuse so small an accommodation to 
 another, had certainly not been anticipated. Elizabeth, however, acted 
 like the true daughter of Henry VIII. on this occasion, for though 
 D’Oisell presented the queen of Scotland’s request in writing, she de¬ 
 livered her answer to him in the negative at a crowded court, with a 
 loud voice and angry countenance, observing, “ that the queen of Scots 
 should ask no favours till she had ratified the treaty of Edinburgh.”' 
 
 When this discourtesy was reported to the youthful sovereign of 
 Scotland, and dowager of France, then only in her nineteenth year, she 
 sent for the English ambassador, Throckmorton; and having, in the 
 first place, to mark her own attention to the conventional forms ob¬ 
 served, even by hostile princes, in their personal relations towards each 
 other, waved her hand as a signal to the company to withdraw out of 
 hearing, she addressed to him a truly queenly comment on the insult 
 that had been offered to her, on the part of his royal mistress. 2 
 
 “ My lord ambassador,” said she, “ as 1 know not how far I may be 
 transported by passion, I like not to have so many witnesses of mine 
 infirmity, as the queen your mistress had, when she talked, not long 
 since, with monsieur D’Oisell. There is nothing that doth more grieve 
 me than that I did so forget myself, as to have asked of her a favour, 
 which I could well have done without. I came here, in defiance of the 
 attempts made by her brother Edward to prevent me, and, by the grace 
 of God, I will return without her leave. It is well known that 1 have 
 friends and allies who have power to assist me, but I chose rather to be 
 indebted to her friendship. If she choose, she may have me for a loving i 
 kinswoman and useful neighbour; for I am not going to practise agains’ 
 her with her subjects, as she has done with mine, yet I know there be 
 in her realm those, that like not of the present state of things. The 
 queen says, I am young, and lack experience : I confess I am younge; 
 than she is, yet I know how to carry myself lovingly and justly wit! 
 my friends, and not to cast any word against her, which may be un 
 
 1 Camden ; Chalmers ; D’Oisell’s Reports, State Paper Office. * 
 3 Throckmorton's Letter to Queen Elizabeth, apud Cabala. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 153 
 
 worthy of a queen and a kinswoman; and, by her permission. I am as 
 much a queen as herself, and can carry my courage as high, as she 
 knows how to do. She hath heretofore assisted my subjects against 
 me; and now that I am a widow, it may be thought strange that she 
 would hinder me in returning to my own country.” Mary, then, in a 
 few words stated that the late king, her husband, had objected to ratify 
 the treaty of Edinburgh; that while he lived, she was bound to act by 
 bis advice; and now her uncles had referred her to her own council, 
 and the states of Scotland, for advice in a matter in which they, as peers 
 of France, had no voice; and she was too young and inexperienced to 
 decide of herself, even if it had been proper that she should do so. 
 
 Throckmorton, in reply, adverted to the old offence of Mary and her 
 late husband, having assumed the title and arms of England. “•But,” 
 rejoined the young queen, with great naivete , “ my late lord and father, 
 king Henry, and the king, my late lord and husband, would have it so. 
 1 was then under their commandment, as you know, and since their 
 death I have neither borne the arms, nor used the style of England.” 1 
 
 The attempt of Elizabeth to intercept and capture the youthful widow, 
 on her voyage to Scotland, has been contested by some able writers of 
 the present day; but it is certain that the traitors, Lethington and Mur¬ 
 ray, counselled the English cabinet to that step. 2 An English squadron 
 was, at this critical juncture, sent into the north sea, under pretext of 
 protecting the fishers from pirates; and Cecil, in his letter to Sussex, 
 after stating the fact, significantly observes, “ I think they will l>e sorry 
 to see her pass .” The royal voyager passed the English ships in safety, 
 under the cover of the thick fog; but they captured one vessel, in which 
 was the young earl of Eglinton, and carried him into an English port. 
 On finding their mistake, they relinquished the prize, and apologised for 
 the blunder they had committed. 3 Safe conduct having been peremp¬ 
 torily denied to Mary, by Elizabeth, it was impossible for her to place 
 any other construction on the seizure of one of her convoy, than the 
 ivery natural one she did. Elizabeth, however, without waiting to be 
 accused, proceeded to justify herself from so unkind an imputation, in 
 i formal letter to her royal kinswoman, in which she says, u It seemeth 
 hat report hath been made to you, that we had sent out our admiral 
 with our fleet to impede your passage. Your servants know how false 
 his is. We have, only at the desire of the king of Spain, sent two or 
 hree small barks to sea, in pursuit of certain Scotch pirates.” 4 
 
 The young queen of Scotland accepted the explanation with great 
 •ourtesy, and though perfectly aware of the intrigues that had been, and 
 ontinued to be, practised against her in her own court by Elizabeth, she 
 'ursued an amicable and conciliatory policy towards her, entered into a 
 ■iendly correspondence, and expressed the greatest desire for a personal 
 iterview. Mary’s youngest uncle, the grand prior of France, who had 
 ccompanied her to Scotland — a bold military ecclesiastic of the class 
 f Walter Scott’s Brian de Bois Guilbert, asked and obtained leave to 
 
 1 Throckmorton’s Letter to Elizabeth, in Cabala. ’ Camden ; Tytler. 
 
 ’Tytlet's Scotland. 4 Robertson's Appendix. 
 
154 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 visit the court of England, on his return to France. 1 He was a victorious 
 admiral, and was commander-in-chief of the French navy, and 1 , being the 
 handsomest and the most audacious, of his handsome and warlike race, 
 probably felt no alarm at the possibility of being detained by the maiden 
 queen. He was, in fact, the sort of paladin likely to captivate Elizabeth, 
 who became animated with a livelier spirit of coquetry than usual, at the 
 sight of him, and soon treated him with great familiarity. “ I have often 
 heard the queen of England address him thus,” says Brantome, ‘‘Alt, 
 mon Prieur, 1 love you much; 2 but I hate that brother Guise of yours, 
 who tore from me my town of Calais.” He danced more than once 
 with her, for she danced much—all sorts of dances. 
 
 “ The testimony of an eye-witness,” says a modern French biographer, 
 “ can never be useless or devoid of interest, when, like the pigeon of La 
 Fontaine, he can truly say:— 
 
 “J’etais la, telle chose m'advint.” 
 
 Such was the testimony of the chivalrous biographer, Brantome, who, 
 with more than a hundred other gentlemen of rank, in attendance on the 1 
 grand prior and constable of France, were guests at the courts of Eng¬ 
 land and France, and saw and spoke to both the island queens, when in 
 the height of their beauty and prosperity. Next to female dress, a 
 Frenchman is the most sedulous critic on female beauty; and, surely. 
 Brantome bears witness that, at twenty-seven, Elizabeth possessed a con¬ 
 siderable share of personal charms. “ This queen gave us all, one even¬ 
 ing,” says he, “ a supper, in a grand-room hung round with tapestry, re¬ 
 presenting the parable of the ten virgins of the Evangelists. When the 
 banquet was done, there came in a ballet of her maids of honour, whon 
 she had dressed and ordained to represent the same virgins. 3 Some of 
 them had their lamps burning, and full of oil; and some of them car 
 ried lamps which were empty; but all their lamps were silver, most ex 
 qtiisitely chased and wrought; and the ladies were very pretty, wel 
 behaved, and very well dressed. They came in the course of the ballet 
 and prayed us French to dance with them, and even prevailed on th> 
 queen to dance, which she did with much grace, and right royal majesty 
 for she possessed then no little beauty and elegance.” 
 
 She told the constable of France, “ that of all the monarchs of th 
 earth, she had had the greatest wish to behold his late master, kin 
 Henry II., on account of his warlike renown. He had sent me word, 
 pursued she, “ that we should meet very soon, and I had commande 
 my galleys to be made ready to pass to Fiance, for the express purpos 
 of seeing him.” The constable replied, “Madame, I am certain vo 
 
 1 Probably early in September, 1561, as he had landed his niece, Mary, quee 
 of Scots, in the middle of August, at Leith. 
 
 ’•‘Je vous aime fort,” are the words Brantome uses. Les Hontmes Illustre . 
 2d part, p. 399. 
 
 ’ Brantome, Les Hommes Illustres, second partie, p. 60. He mentions the t 
 pestry of the ten virgins in another of his historical recollections. It is probab 
 that this fete was at the celebration of her birthday, September 7th—that tl 
 grand chamber was at Greenwich palace, the room queen Elizabeth was bo: 
 in, which was hung with such tapestry. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 155 
 
 would have been well pleased with him, if you had seen him, for his 
 temper and tastes would have suited yours, and he would have been 
 charmed with your pleasant manners, and lively humour; he would 
 have given you an honourable welcome, and very good cheer.” 
 
 “ There are at present alive, besides the constable,” continues Bran- 
 tome, “ M. de Guiche, M. de Castelnau, Languedoc, and M. de Beloiz, 
 besides myself, who heard queen Elizabeth speak thus, and we all right 
 well remember her, as she was then.” 
 
 It has been customary for the learned chroniclers of Elizabeth’s life 
 and reign, from Camden downwards, to diverge at this period of her 
 annals into the affairs of Scotland, and for the succeeding seven years 
 to follow the fortunes of the fair ill-fated Mary Stuart, rather than those 
 of our mighty Tudor queen, who is certainly a character of sufficient 
 importance to occupy at all times the foreground of her own history. 
 
 It is, however, requisite to point out the first germ of the personal ill- 
 will so long nourished by Elizabeth against Mary. This seems to have 
 arisen from the evil report brought by Mrs. Sands, Elizabeth’s former 
 maid of honour, when she returned from France, at the accession of her 
 royal mistress. The exile of this lady has already been mentioned. As 
 she was forced from Elizabeth’s service on account of her zeal for the 
 protestant religion, it was not very probable that she would be admitted 
 to the confidence of Mary Stuart, who was then queen consort of France. 
 Yet Mrs. Sands affirmed that queen Elizabeth was never mentioned by 
 Mary without scorn and contempt.' Such was the beginning of that 
 hatred which never diminished while the troubled existence of Mary 
 Stuart continued. 
 
 Elizabeth was too deeply skilled in the regnal science, not to be 
 aware, that a country is never so sure of enjoying the blessings of peace, 
 as when prepared for war, and therefore, her principal care was bestowed 
 in providing her realm with the means of defence. Gunpowder was first 
 manufactured by her orders and encouragement in England; which all 
 her predecessors had contented themselves with purchasing abroad. She 
 sent for engineers, and furnished regular arsenals in all fortified towns 
 along the coast and the Scottish borders, increased the garrison of Ber¬ 
 wick, and caused a fort to be built on the banks of the Medway, near 
 Upnor, where the ships should ride in shelter, and increased the wages 
 of the mariners and soldiers, to encourage them to serve her well. 1 2 She 
 not only caused ships of war to be built for the increase of her navy, 
 but she encouraged the wealthy inhabitants of sea-ports to emulate her 
 example; so that, instead of hiring, as her father and others of her pre¬ 
 decessors had done, ships from the Hans towns and Italian republics, 
 she was, in the fourth year of her reign, able to put to sea a fleet with 
 twenty thousand men at arms. Strangers named her the queen of the 
 sea, and the north star—her own subjects proudly styled her the restorer 
 of naval glory. 3 
 
 1 State Paper in Cecil's handwriting, Sadler Papers, vol. i. 
 
 a Camden. 'Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Elizabeth's persecutions of Nonconformists—Her visit to St. Paul's—Displeasure 
 with ti e Dean—New-year's gift—Predictions of her death—Parliament peti¬ 
 tions her to marry or declare her successor—Her irritability—She prevents the 
 queen of Scots’ marriage—Her letter to Warwick—Her Cambridge progress— 
 Offers Robert Dudley's hand to the queen of Scots—Creates him earl of Lei¬ 
 cester— Levity of her behaviour — Marriage offer of Charles IX. — Discourses 
 of Leicester and French ambassadors—Elizabeth imprisons lady Mary Gray— 
 Takes offence with Leicester—Her favour to Cecilia of Sweden—The queen 
 gives Leicester hopes—Her irresolution—Her manner of receiving the sacra¬ 
 ment— Cruelty to Heath — Her deceitful treatment of the Scotch rebels — Re¬ 
 newal of matrimonial negotiations with the archduke Charles—Hopes and 
 fears of Leicester — Elizabeth's vexation at the birth of Mary Stuart s son — 
 Visit to the university of Oxford—Tries to cut short Dr. Westphaling's oration 
 ■—His pertinacity—Her whimsical reproof—Dispute with parliament—Her 
 encouragement of alchemists and conjurors—Adventures with Dr. Dee—Her 
 patronage of him—Her wardrobe—Remonstrates with Mary Stuart—Her letter 
 to Catherine de Medicis — Description of the archduke Charles—Arrival of 
 Mary, queen of Scots, in England—Crooked policy of Elizabeth—Conferences 
 at York — Norfolk's suspected correspondence with Mary — Elizabeth's reply 
 to Lady Lenox. 
 
 The evidences of history prove that religious persecution generates 
 faction, and lends the most formidable weapons to the disaffected by dig¬ 
 nifying treason with the name of piety. Thus was it in the Pilgrimage 
 of Grace, in the reign of Henry VIII.; with Kett’s rebellion, in that of 
 Edward VI.; and the Wyatt insurrection, in that of Mary. Whether 
 under the rival names of Catholic or Protestant, the principle was the 
 same, and the crown of martyrdom was claimed, by the sufferer for con- 
 science’-sake, of either party. 
 
 The experience of the religious struggles, in the last three reigns, had 
 failed to teach Elizabeth the futility of monarchs attempting to make 
 their opinions, on theological matters, a rule for the consciences of tlieii 
 subjects. Her first act of intolerance was levelled against the anabap¬ 
 tists, by the publication of an edict, in which they and other heretics, 
 whether foreign or native, were enjoined to depart the realm within 
 twenty days, on pain of imprisonment and forfeiture of goods.' Sub¬ 
 sequently, in a fruitless attempt to establish uniformity of worship 
 throughout the realm, she treated her dissenting subjects, of all classes 
 with great severity, as well as those who adhered to the tenets of tin 
 church of Rome. The attempt to force persons of opposite opinion; 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 (156) 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 157 
 
 to a reluctant conformity with the newly-established ritual rendered it 
 distasteful to many, who would probably, if left to the exercise of their 
 own discretion, have adopted it, in time, as the happy medium between 
 the two extremes of Rome and Geneva. In Ireland, coercive measures 
 were followed by disaffection and revolt, and opened the door to plots 
 and perpetual enterprises against the queen’s person and government 
 both from foreign powers, and those within her own realm, who were 
 desirous of being governed by a sovereign of their own creed. 
 
 On the first day of 1562, the queen went in state to St. Paul’s cathe¬ 
 dral. The dean, having notice of her intention, had been at some pains 
 and great expense in ornamenting a prayer-book with beautiful prints, 
 illustrative of the history of the apostles and martys, which were placed 
 at the epistles and gospels appointed to be read by the church of Eng¬ 
 land, on their commemorations. The book, being intended as a new 
 year’s gift for her majesty, was richly bound, and laid on the cushion 
 for her use. 1 A proclamation had, indeed, lately been set forth, to 
 alease the puritan party, against images, pictures, and Romish relics, but 
 is Elizabeth continued to retain a large silver crucifix over the altar of 
 he chapel royal, with candlesticks and other ornaments, the use or 
 lisuse of which might be regarded rather as a matter of taste than re- 
 igion, the dean supposed, that her majesty did not object to works of 
 rt on scriptural subjects, as embellishments for her books of devotion, 
 iElizabeth, however, thought it expedient to get up a little scene on this 
 i Occasion, in order to manifest her zeal against Popery before a multi¬ 
 tude. When she came to her place, she opened the book, but, seeing 
 ae pictures, frowned, blushed, and shut it (of which several took 
 otice), and calling to the verger, bade him, “bring her the book she 
 i /as accustomed to use.” After the service was concluded she went 
 traight into the vestry, where she asked the dean, “ how that book 
 ame to be placed on her cushion ?” He replied, “ that he intended it as 
 new year’s gift to her majesty.” “You never could present me with 
 worse,” rejoined the queen. “Why so?” asked the dean. Iler ma- 
 ?sty, after a vehement protestation of her aversion to idolatry, remind- 
 1 him of her recent proclamation against superstitious pictures and 
 rages, and asked “ if it had been read in his deanery.” The dean re- 
 ied “ that it had, but he meant no harm in causing the prints to be 
 pund up in the service-book.” She tcld him, “ that he must be very 
 norant indeed to do so, after her prohibition.” The poor dean humbly 
 ;ggested, “that if so her majesty might the better pardon him.” The 
 ueen prayed. “ that God would grant him a better spirit and more wis- 
 (m for the futureto which royal petition, in his behalf, the dean 
 lsekly cried, “Amen.” Then the queen asked, “ how he came by the 
 jptures, and by whom engraved ?” He said, 2 “ he bought them of a 
 firman;” and her majesty observed, “ it is well it was from a stranger; 
 Id it been any of our subjects we should have questioned the matter.” 3 
 'ie menace, implied in this speech, against native artists, who should 
 tature to engrave plates from scriptural subjects, naturally deterred 
 
 - 
 
 ‘Fox. a Ibid. 
 
 vol. vi. — 14 a 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
158 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 them from copying the immortal works of the great Flemish, Italian, 
 and Spanish masters, which were chiefly confined to themes from sacred 
 history or saintly lore, and may well explain the otherwise unaccount¬ 
 able fact, that the pictorial arts in England retrograded, instead of im¬ 
 proved, from the accession of Elizabeth till the reign of Charles I. 
 
 About this time, Margaret, countess of Lenox, the queen’s nearest re¬ 
 lation of the royal Tudor blood, and who stood next to the queen of 
 Scots in the hereditary order of the regal succession, was arrested and 
 thrown into prison. Her ostensible offence was, having corresponded 
 secretly with her royal niece, the queen of Scots; but, having been the 
 favourite friend of the late queen, who was at one time reported to have 
 intended to appoint her as her successor, to the prejudice of Elizabeth, 
 that princess had cherished great ill-will against her, and she now caused 
 her to be arraigned on the formidable charges of treason and witch- , 
 craft. The countess was, with four others, found guilty of having s 
 consulted with pretended wizards and conjurors, to learn how long the , 
 queen had to live. 1 The luckless lady, being perfectly aware that the 
 royal animosity proceeded from a deeper root, addressed the following , 
 curious letter in her own justification to Mr. Secretary Cecil:— 
 
 “Good Master Secretary, 
 
 “ I have received your answer, by my man Fowler, upon the queen’s words 
 to you, whereby the queen hath been informed, and doth credit the same, that I, 
 in the time of her highness’s trouble in queen Mary’s reign, should be rather a 
 means to augment the same than diminish it, in putting it then in queen Mary’s 
 head, that it was a quietness for the times to have her shut up. Master Secre- 
 tary, none on live (alive) is able to justify this false and untrue report made of 
 me, among others the like ; as therein 1 will be sworn, if I were put to it, that: 
 never, in all my life, I had, or meant to have said such words touching the 
 queen’s majesty; nor I, for my part, bare no such stroke to give any advice in 
 any such weighty matter 
 
 “But what should I say? even as my lord and I have had extremity showed 
 upon the informations most untruly given unto the queen's majesty of us so late! 
 I, for no other, but the continuance thereof, as long as her highness doth hear 
 and credit the first tale, without proof to be tried, and, as it appeareth, discredit- 
 eth my answers any way made to the contrary, how true soever they be. Bui 
 if my lord and I might find the queen’s majesty so good and gracious to us, as 
 to hear our accusers and us, face to face, I would then be out of doubt to find 1 
 shortly some part of her highness’s favour again, which I beseech you to be i 
 
 means for, and to participate the contents of this my letter to her majesty, ir 
 which doing ye give me occasion to be ready to requite the same as my powei 
 shall extend. 
 
 “And so, with my hearty commendations, I bid you likewise farewell. Frorr 
 Sheatliys , the second of October, your assured friend to my power, 
 
 “Margaret Lenox and Angus.” 
 
 Margaret had some cause of alarm when she penned this earnest let 
 ter, for her life lay at the mercy of the queen, and the accusation ol , 
 sorcery against royal ladies had hitherto generally emanated, either fron 
 the hatred or rapacity of the sovereign. *1'® 
 
 In the autumn of 1562, the queen was attacked with a long an- % 
 dangerous illness, and an astrologer named Prestal, who had cast he 
 
 * Camden. 
 
 f ■ 
 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 150 
 
 
 nativity, predicted that she would die in the ensuing March. This 
 prophecy, becoming very generally whispered abroad, inspired two 
 royally-descended brothers of the name of Pole, the representatives of 
 the line of Clarence, with the wild project of raising a body of troops, 
 and landing them in Wales, to proclaim Mary Stuart queen, in the event 
 of her majesty’s death, in the hope that the beautiful heiress of the 
 crown would reward one of them with her hand and the other with the 
 dukedom of Clarence. This romantic plot transpired, and the brothers 
 with their confederates were arraigned for high treason. They pro¬ 
 tested their innocence of conspiring against the queen, but confessed to 
 having placed implicit reliance on the prediction of Prestal, and that 
 their plot only involved the matter of the succession. 1 It appears pro¬ 
 bable that this political soothsaying was connected with the misde¬ 
 meanor of lady Lenox. Cecil laboured hard to construe the visionary 
 scheme of the deluded young men into a confederacy of the Guises 
 and Mary queen of Scots, but the notion was too absurd. They were 
 condemned to die, but Elizabeth, having no reason to suppose they had 
 practised against her life, revolted at that time from the thought of shed¬ 
 ding kindred blood on the scaffold, on a pretence so frivolous. She 
 graciously extended her pardon to Arthur Pole and his brother, and al- 
 owed them to pass beyond sea. 2 
 
 On the last of December this year, Mistress Smytheson, her majesty’s 
 aunderer, was presented by the royal command with a kirtle of russet 
 satin, edged with velvet and lined with russet taffeta. 3 The materials of 
 his rich but simple dress prove that the office of laundress to the sove- 
 eign was held by a gentlewoman, whose duty it was to superintend the 
 abours of the operative naiads of the royal household. 
 
 The queen in her royal robes, with her bishops and peers, rode in 
 
 « ‘reat state, from her palace, January 12th, 1563, to open the parliament 
 t Westminster. She proceeded first to the Abbey, and alighting at our 
 >ady of Grace’s chapel, where she and her noble and stately retinue en- 
 ered at the north door, and heard a sermon preached by Noel, the dean 
 >f St. Paul’s; and then a Psalm being sung, she proceeded through the 
 outh door to the parliament chamber, then evidently held in the chap- 
 ir house. 
 
 The first step taken by this parliament, after the choice of a speaker, 
 /as to petition the queen to marry, this, indeed, appeared the only 
 leans of averting the long and bloody successive wars, with which, ac 
 ording to human probability, the rival claims of the female descendants 
 f Henry VII. threatened the nation, in the event of Elizabeth dying 
 'ithout lawful issue of her own. The elements of deadly debate, 
 
 _ 
 
 i 
 
 fa 
 
 Stiype. 
 
 Burleigh and Mason’s Letters in Wright’s “Elizabeth and her Times.” 
 
 3 MS. Wardrobe Book of Queen Elizabeth, in the possession of Sir Thomas 
 hillipps, Bart. From the same MS. we find, that on the 13th of January, anno 
 R. Eliz., ten yards of black satin were delivered from the queen’s great ward 
 •be to make Dr. Ctesar a gown; and on the 14th of February (anno 6), eigh 
 ■'< irds of black satin, and the same of black velvet, were delivered to the lady 
 arew, out of the great wardrobe, to make hoods. 
 
1G0 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 which Henry VIII. had left as his last legacy to England, by his arbi¬ 
 trary innovations in the regular order of succession, had been augmented 
 by Elizabeth’s refusal to acknowledge the rights of the queen of Scots, 
 as the presumptive inheritor of the throne. The cruel policy which 
 had led her to nullify the marriage and stigmatize the offspring of the 
 hapless representative of the Suffolk line, had apparently provided fur¬ 
 ther perplexities and occasions of strife. With this stormy perspective, 
 the people naturally regarded the life of the reigning sovereign as their 
 best security against the renewal of struggles, no less direful than the 
 wars of the Roses. In this idea Elizabeth wished them to remain, and 
 it was no part of her intention to lessen the difficulties in which the 
 perilous question of heirship to the crown was involved. 
 
 “ Oh, how wretched are we,” writes Bishop Jewel, to his friend at 
 Zurich, “ who cannot tell under what sovereign we are to live !” Eliza¬ 
 beth briefly replied to the remonstrance of her parliament on this sub¬ 
 ject, and that of her marriage—“ that she had not forgotten the suit of 
 the house, nor ever could forget it, but it was a matter in which she 
 would be advised.” 1 Elizabeth was just then, too busily occupied in 
 traversing every proposal of marriage that was made to the queen of 
 Scots, to have leisure to think much of her own. 
 
 Since the widowhood of Mary Stuart, all Elizabeth’s rejected suitors 
 had transferred their addresses to the younger and fairer queen of the 
 sister realm, and nothing but the political expediency of maintaining 
 the guise of friendship she had assumed towards Mary prevented her 
 from manifesting the jealousy and ill-will, excited in her haughty spirit 
 by every fresh circumstance of the kind. Mary very obligingly com¬ 
 municated all her offers to her good sister of England, having promised 
 to be guided by her advice on this important subject, and all were 
 equally objectionable in Elizabeth’s opinion. Mary, in the morning 
 freshness of youth, beauty, and poetic genius, cared for none of these 
 things; her heart was long faithful to the memory of her buried lord, 
 and she allowed Elizabeth to dictate refusals to her illustrious wooers 
 with perfect unconcern, in the hope that in return for this singular con¬ 
 descension her good sister would be won upon to acknowledge her 
 right to succeed to the crown of England, in the event of that queen 
 dying without lawful issue. 2 
 
 Elizabeth was inflexible in her refusal to concede this point. She 
 replied, “ that the right of succession to her throne should never be 
 made a subject of discussion; it would cause disputes as to the validity 
 of this or that marriage,” in allusion to the old dispute of Henry VIII.’s 
 marriage with her mother, which was, in truth, the source of Elizabeth’s 
 jealousy of all her royal kindred. Mary consented to acknowledge 
 that the right to the English crown was vested in Elizabeth and her pos¬ 
 terity, if, in return, Elizabeth would declare her claims to the successioi 
 as presumptive heiress. Elizabeth in reply said, “ that she could no 
 do so without conceiving a dislike to Mary,” and asked, “How it wen 
 possible for her to love any one whose interest it was to see her dead ?’ 
 
 1 Strvpo. a Camden; Haynes’ State Papers ; Tytler ; Lingard. j 
 
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ELIZABETH. 
 
 161 
 
 She enlarged withal on the inconstancy of human affections and the 
 proneness of men in general to worship the rising sun. “ It was so in 
 her sister’s reign,” she said, “ and would be so again if she were ever 
 to declare her successor.” 1 It was then proposed that the two queens 
 should meet, and settle their differences in an amicable manner. Mary, 
 with the confiding frankness that marked her character, agreed to come 
 to York for this purpose, and a passport was even signed for her and 
 her retinue, of a thousand horse; and when Elizabeth, for some reason, 
 postponed the meeting to an indefinite time, the young sovereign of 
 Scotland, in her romantic infatuation wept with passionate regret at her 
 disappointment. 
 
 Elizabeth had at this time much to harass and disquiet her. The 
 j expedition which she had been persuaded to send out to the shores of 
 • Normandy had been anything but successful; much treasure and blood 
 1 had been uselessly expended, and the city of Rouen, after it had been 
 defended with fruitless valour, was taken by the royalist forces, and two 
 hundred brave English auxiliaries put to the sword. On lord Robert 
 Dudley the unwelcome task devolved of imparting the news of this mis¬ 
 fortune to her majesty. He had the presumption to conceal the fact that 
 the city had actually fallen, but represented it to be in great distress, and 
 !! artfully persuaded his royal mistress, that if the worst happened, her 
 parsimony would have been the cause. 2 Elizabeth was in an agony at 
 ! the possibility of such a calamity, and despatched reinforcements and 
 i! (supplies to Warwick, with a letter of encouragement from her council, 
 to which she added the following affectionate postscript in her own 
 in hand 
 
 •f 1 “ My dear Warwick, 
 
 a I “If your honour and my desire could accord with the loss of the needfullest 
 .finger I keep, God so help me in my utmost need, as I would gladly lose that 
 one joint for your safe abode with me ; but since I cannot, that I would, 1 will 
 do, that I may and will rather drink in an ashen cup. than you and yours should 
 J |wnot be succoured, both by sea and land, and that with all speed possible; and 
 'fillet this my scribbling hand witness it to them all. 
 
 “Yours as my own, 
 
 t | “ E. R.” 8 
 
 ie i There is an honest, generous warmth in this brief note, which does 
 Elizabeth more honour than all her laboured, metaphorical, epistolary 
 5 compositions. She felt what she wrote in this instance, and the feeling, 
 ,4 that she would rather drink out of an ashen cup than her suffering sol- 
 j| diers, on foreign service, should want succour, is worthy of being in- 
 III scribed on her monument. The supplies could not prevent the secret 
 t il negotiation between the royalists and the Huguenots, by which the 
 English allies were sacrificed. The plague breaking out in the garrisons 
 of Newhaven and Havre de Grace, caused such ravages, that the earl 
 . of Warwick found himself compelled to surrender Havre to the French, 
 and bring the sickly remnant of his army home. They brought the 
 J election with them, and twenty thousand persons died in the metropo 
 is alone. 4 The pestilence lasted nearly a year, which caused the queen 
 
 I 
 
 1 Spotiswood. 
 
 * Arclueologia, vol. xiii., p. 201. 
 
 14* * 
 
 2 Forbes. 
 4 Stowe. 
 
 L 
 
1G2 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 to withdraw her court to Windsor. The approach of the maiden mon> 
 arch was hailed by the youthful classics at Eton with rapturous delight; 
 and in the fervour of their loyal enthusiasm they proclaimed an ovation 
 to queen Elizabeth, and offered their homage in every variety of Latin 
 verses and orations, which were very graciously received by her majesty. 
 Elizabeth was always on the most affectionate terms with this royal 
 nursery of scholars, was much beloved and honoured by them. 1 
 
 Cecil, in his diary, proudly recalls the fact, that the queen’s majesty 
 on the 6th of July, 1564, stood for his infant daughter, to whom she 
 gave her own name. Lady Lenox appears not only to have obtained 
 her liberty at that time, but to have regained her standing at court, as 
 first lady of the blood-royal; for we find that she assisted her majesty 
 on that occasion as the other godmother. The same summer, the queen 
 decided on visiting the university of Cambridge, at the request of sir 
 Williiam Cecil, who, in addition to his other high offices, was also chan¬ 
 cellor of this university. He was unluckily attacked with what he 
 termed “an unhappy grief in his foot”—no other than a painful fit of 
 the gout—just at the time when he was nervously anxious that all 
 things should be arranged, in the most perfect manner, for the honour 
 of his sovereign and alma mater. The energy of his mind prevailed 
 over the malady so far, that he went with his lady in a coach on the 
 4th of August, to overlook the preparations for her majesty’s reception. 
 The next day the queen came from Mr. Worthington’s house at Has- 
 tingfield, where she had slept on the preceding night. She was met by 
 the duke of Norfolk, the earl of Sussex, the bishop of Ely, and an 
 honourable company, by whom she was conducted towards the town. 
 The mayor and corporation met the sovereign a little above Newnham, 
 and there alighted and performed their devoir , and the recorder made an 
 oration in English. Then the mayor delivered the mace with a fair 
 standing cup, which cost 19/., and twenty old angels in it, which her 
 majesty received, gently returned the mace to the mayor, and delivered 
 the cup to one of her footmen. When she came to Newnham mills, 
 being requested to change her horse, she alighted, and went into the 
 miller’s house for a little space. Then she and all her ladies being re¬ 
 mounted, proceeded in fair array; and as they neared the town, the 
 trumpeters by solemn blast declared her majesty’s approach. When 
 they entered Queens’ College, and her majesty was in the midst of the 
 scholars, two appointed for the purpose knelt before her, and, kissing 
 their papers, offered them to her grace; the queen, understanding that 
 they contained congratulatory addresses in prose and verse, received and 
 delivered them to one of her footmen. When they reached the doctors, 
 all the lords and ladies alighted, her majesty only remained on horse¬ 
 back. 
 
 “ She was dressed in a gown of black velvet pinked (cut velvet), and 
 had a caul upon her head set with pearls and precious stones, and a hat 
 that was spangled with gold, and a bush of feathers. When her ma¬ 
 jesty came to the west door of the chapel, sir William Cecil kneeled 
 
 PMS. Harleian.; Nichols. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 163 
 
 down and welcomed her, and the beadles kneeling, kissed their staves, 
 and delivered them to Mr. Secretary, who, likewise kissing the same, 
 delivered them into the queen’s hands, who could not well hold, them 
 all, and her grace gently and merrily re-delivered them, willing him and 
 all the other magistrates of the university “to minister justice uprightly, 
 or she would take them into her own hands, and see to it;” adding, 
 “ that though the chancellor halted, his leg being sore, yet she trusted 
 that Justice did not halt.” 
 
 All this time Elizabeth was on horseback, and before she alighted 
 came master W. Masters, of King’s College, orator, making his three 
 reverences, kneeling down on the first step of the west door (which was 
 with the walls outward covered with verses), and made his oration, in 
 length almost half an hour, in effect as follows. First, he praised many 
 and singular virtues set and planted in her majesty, which her highness 
 not acknowledging, bit her lips and fingers, and sometimes broke into 
 passion, and interrupted with these words, “ Non est vcritas.” But the 
 orator praising virginity, she exclaimed, “ God’s blessing on thine heart, 
 there continue!” 
 
 When he had finished, the queen much commended him, and mar¬ 
 velled that his memory did so well serve him to repeat such divers and 
 sundry matters, saying, “ that she would answer him again in Latin, but 
 for fear she should speak false Latin, and then they would laugh at her.” 
 But in fine, in token of her contentment she called him to her, offered 
 him her hand to kiss, and asked his name. 
 
 She was lodged in King’s College, the best chambers and gallery 
 being devoted to her use. The fellows of King’s resigned their monas¬ 
 tic dormitories for the accommodation of lady Strange and the fair maids 
 of honour of the virgin queen. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and the queen went in great state to 
 King’s College chapel; she entered at the Litany under a canopy, car¬ 
 ried over her head by four doctors of divinity. Dr. Perne preached the 
 sermon, and when he was in the midst of it, her majesty sent the lord 
 Hunsdon to will him to put on his cap, which he wore to the end. At 
 which time, ere he could leave the pulpit, she sent him word by the 
 lord chamberlain “ that it was the first sermon she had ever heard in 
 Latin, and she thought she should never hear a better.” When the 
 music of the choir concluded, she departed by the private way into the 
 college, the four doctors bearing her canopy. 1 
 
 At evening prayer, the queen was not expected at the chapel, there¬ 
 fore the singing commenced, but, being informed her majesty was then 
 coming through the private passage, it stopped; and when she was 
 seated in her traverse, even-song commenced anew, which ended, she 
 departed by her usual way, and went to the play. This, by the pro- 
 testants who surrounded Elizabeth, must have been considered a dese¬ 
 cration of the Sabbath evening, if Cambridge did not at that time follow 
 an ancient practice, (prevalent in some parts of Europe,) where the 
 
 1 Which the footmen, adds the Cambridge Diary, claimed as their fee, and it 
 was redeemed for 3/. Gs. 8 d. 
 
164 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Sabbath was considered to commence on the Saturday evening, and to 
 end on the Sunday after evening prayer. The customs and manners of 
 an age and people must always be considered charitably, before violent 
 blame is incurred; and it is possible, from so many traces that exist of 
 Elizabeth’s uproarious mode of spending our Sabbath evening, that some 
 such reckoning of time was in vogue in her days. 
 
 She went to see one of Plautus’ plays—the “ Aulularia,”—“ for the 
 hearing and playing of which, at her expense a vast platform was erected 
 in King’s College church.” The performance of a pagan play in a 
 Christian church, on the Sunday evening, was no great improvement on 
 the ancient Moralities and Mysteries, which, in retrospective review, are 
 so revolting to modern taste. Those who glance over the Mysteries 
 must feel displeased at finding that sacred subjects could be so absurdly 
 dramatized, yet these Mysteries were listened to with reverential awe 
 by a demi-savage people, who saw nothing ridiculous or profane in the 
 manner of showing the Creation, the history of Noah, or of Joseph, the 
 intention being to make them comprehensible to the eye, when the un¬ 
 taught ear refused to follow the thread of sacred history. But Eliza¬ 
 beth and Cambridge had more knowledge, if not more wisdom, and 
 ought to have banished their pagan play from the walls of a Christian 
 temple. 1 
 
 When all things were ready in the church for this play, the lord 
 chamberlain and Cecil came in with a multitude of the guard bearing 
 staff torches, no other lights being used at the play. The guard stood 
 on the ground, bearing their torches on each side of the stage; and a 
 very curious pictorial effect must the glaring torch-light have thrown on 
 the groups of spectators standing or sitting among the pillars and deep 
 Gothic arches of that church-playhouse. At last, the queen entered 
 with her ladies and gentlewomen, lady Strange carrying her train, and 
 the gentlemen pensioners preceding her with torch staves. She took 
 her seat under a canopy of state, raised on the south wall of the church 
 opposite to the stage, where she heard out the play fully, till twelve 
 o’clock, when she departed to her chamber in the order that she came. 
 
 The next day the queen attended the disputations at St. Mary’s 
 church, where an ample stage was erected for the purpose. All the 
 scholars had been ordered previously to enclose themselves in their 
 colleges and halls; none but those who had taken a degree were per¬ 
 mitted to appear, and among these, great inquisition was made regarding 
 dress, for the queen’s eyes had been roaming, during sermon time the 
 preceding day, over the congregation, and she found sharp fault with 
 sundry ragged and soiled hoods and gowns, likewise she was displeased 
 that some of the doctors’ hoods were lined with white silk, and some 
 with miniver. 
 
 “ At the ringing of the university bell the queen’s majesty came to 
 her place with royal pomp. As she passed, the graduates kneeled, and 
 
 1 The stage was at first erected in King’s College Hall, but was not considered 
 large enough, and therefore taken down, and erected in the church, by the queen's 
 orders. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 165 
 
 cried, modestly, 4 Vivat Regina!’ and she thanked them.” She then 
 questioned the chancellor, her minister Cecil, on the degrees and differ¬ 
 ence of every person present. 
 
 The question whether u monarchy were better than a republic,” was 
 the leading subject of the disputation, which was moved by the cele¬ 
 brated Dr. Caius. But, as the voices of the three doctors who disputed 
 were low, the queen repeatedly called to them, “Loquimini altius.” 
 But finding this did no good, she left her seat and came to the edge of 
 the stage, just over their heads, yet she could hear little of the disputa¬ 
 tion. Her own physician, Dr. Hyckes, a doctor of the college, decided 
 the disputation, “ with whom her majesty merrily jested when he asked 
 license of her grace.” After his oration concluded, the queen departed 
 merrily to her lodging, about seven o’clock. At nine she went to an¬ 
 other play, acted in the church, called Dido. Her entertainment at 
 King’s ended next evening with another play in English, called Eze- 
 chias, and she liked her entertainment so well “ that she declared if 
 there had been greater provision of ale and beer she would have re¬ 
 mained till Friday.”' 
 
 Her visit to Cambridge was however not concluded, she was enter¬ 
 tained at various colleges, and at Christ’s received a pair of gloves, in 
 memory of her great-granddame, lady Margaret, the foundress, mother 
 of Henry VII. As she rode through the street to her lodging, she 
 talked much with divers scholars in Latin, and, at alighting from her 
 horse, dismissed them in Latin. 
 
 The day before she quitted Cambridge, at the conclusion of a dispu¬ 
 tation in St. Mary’s church, the duke of Norfolk and lord Robert, kneel¬ 
 ing down, humbly desired her majesty “ to say somewhat in Latin,” 
 who at first refused (mark, she had a set Latin oration ready prepared 
 and conned by heart for the occasion), and said, “ that if she might 
 speak her mind in English, she would not stick at the matter.” But 
 understanding by Mr. Secretary that nothing might be said openly to 
 the university in English, she required him rather to speak, “ because he 
 was chancellor, and the chancellor is the queen’s mouth.” AVhereunto 
 he answered, “ that he was not her chancellor, but chancellor of the 
 university.” Then the bishop of Ely, kneeling, said “ that three words 
 of her mouth were enough.” So being pressed on every side, she com¬ 
 plied, and made a very sensible speech, in which, among other things, 
 she raised the expectations of the university with respect to some royal 
 foundation, which, however, she never thought fit to gratify. 
 
 Her speech began thus :— 
 
 “Although womanly shame-facedness, most celebrated university, might well 
 letermine me from delivering this my unlaboured oration before so great an 
 issembly of the learned, yet the intercession of my nobles, and my own good 
 ■vill towards the university, impels me to say somewhat.” 
 
 It contained nine other sections. The conclusion was— 
 
 'She seems to have continued to use her sleeping apartments at King's during 
 ter whole stay. 
 
166 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “It is time, then, that your ears, which have been so long detained by thi» 
 barbarous sort of an oration, should now be released from the pain of it .” 1 
 
 At this speech of the queen’s, the auditors, being all marvellously 
 astonished, brake forth in open voice, w Vivat Regina!” But the queen’s 
 majesty responded to this shout, u Taceat Regina!” and moreover 
 wished “that all those who heard her had drank of Lethe.” 
 
 She departed from Cambridge on the 10th of August, passing from 
 King’s college by the schools. Dr. Perne, with many of the univer¬ 
 sity, knelt, and, in Latin, wished her majesty a good journey. To 
 whom she mildly answered with a distinct voice, “ Yalete omnes”— 
 “ Farewell all.” The master of Magdalen was ready with a Latin ora¬ 
 tion of farewell, which she declined on account of the heat of the day; 
 and rode forward to dinner at the bishop of Ely’s house at Stanton. 
 All the benefaction she bestowed at this visit was 20 l. per annum to a 
 handsome student who had acted Dido much to her satisfaction. 
 
 The report that her former suitor, the archduke Charles, was in treaty 
 for the hand of the queen of Scots, fdled Elizabeth’s mind with jealous 
 displeasure, for of all the princes of Europe he was esteemed the most 
 honourable and chivalric, and Elizabeth’s rejection of his suit appears 
 to have been only for the purpose of obtaining concessions on the sub¬ 
 ject of his religion more consistent with her own profession. She made 
 very earnest remonstrances to the queen of Scots on the unsuitableness 
 of this alliance; and Cecil, at the same time, wrote to Mundt, 2 one of 
 the pensionaries in Germany, to move the duke of Wirtemburg to advise 
 the emperor to repeat the offer of his son to the queen of England. The 
 duke performed his part with all due regard to the honour of her maiden 
 majesty, for he sent an envoy to entreat her to permit him to name a 
 person whom he considered would make her very happy in the wedded 
 state, at the same time that he preferred his private mission to the em¬ 
 peror. Elizabeth replied, with her usual prudery on the subject of mar¬ 
 riage, “ that although she felt no inclination towards matrimony, she 
 was willing, for the good of her realm, to receive the communication 
 of which the duke had spokenunfortunately, however, the emperor 
 had taken umbrage at the previous rejection of his son’s addresses, and 
 declared “ he would not expose himself to a second insult of the kind.” 3 
 When Elizabeth found she could not withdraw the archduke from Mary, 
 she determined to compel Mary to resign him. Accordingly, she gave 
 that queen to understand that she could not consent to her contracting 
 such a marriage, which must prove inimical to the friendship between 
 the two crowns, and that, “ unless Mary would marry as she desired, 
 she would probably forfeit all hope of a peaceful succession to the Eng¬ 
 lish crown.” Mary had the complaisance to give up this accomplished 
 prince, who was, perhaps, the only man in Europe worthy of becoming 
 her husband, and professed her willingness to listen to the advice of hei 
 good sister, if she wished to propose a more suitable consort. 
 
 1 Translation by Mr. Peck. The whole is drawn from a diary in MS., ant. 
 collated by Mr. Nicholls in his “Progresses of Elizabeth,” with a contemporarj 
 
 MS. in the Harleian Collection. 
 
 3 Haynes. 5 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 167 
 
 Randolph, Elizabeth’s ambassador, suggested that an English noble 
 would be more agreeable to his royal mistress than any other person. 
 Mary requested to be informed more clearly on this point, for it was 
 generally supposed, that the young duke of Norfolk, being the kinsman 
 of the queen, and one of the richest subjects in England, was the person 
 intended for this signal honour by his sovereign. 1 Elizabeth electrified 
 both courts by naming her own favourite, lord Robert Dudley. Mary 
 replied, “ that she considered it beneath her dignity to marry a subject,” 
 and told her base brother, Murray, who repeated her unlucky witticism 
 to the English ambassador, “ that she looked on the offer of a person so 
 dear to Elizabeth, as a proof of good-will rather than of good-mean¬ 
 ing.” 2 Elizabeth, soon after, complained, that Mary had treated the 
 proposal of lord Robert Dudley with mockery, 3 which Mary, in a letter 
 to her own ambassador at Paris, affirms that she never did, and wondered 
 “ who could have borne such testimony, to embroil her with that queen.” 
 Jf, however, Mary forbore from mockery at this offer, no one else did, 
 for it was a theme of public mirth and satire, in England, Scotland, and 
 France. Dudley, who had the presumption to aim at a still higher mark, 
 and had been encouraged, by the extraordinary tokens of favour lavished 
 upon him by his royal mistress, to conceive confident hopes of success, 
 was surprised and offended at his own nomination to an honour, so in¬ 
 finitely above the rank and pretensions of any person of his name and 
 family. In fact, he regarded it as a snare laid in his path by Cecil, who 
 was jealous of his influence with Elizabeth, and would, he suspected, 
 avail himself of this pretence to remove him from her court and pre¬ 
 sence. Elizabeth was flattered at Dudley’s reluctance to wed her fairer 
 rival, and redoubled her commendations of his various qualifications to 
 the favour of a royal lady; she even offered to acknowledge Mary as 
 her successor to the crown of England, on condition of her becoming 
 his wife. 4 The hope of obtaining this recognition was artfully held out 
 to Mary, as the lure to draw her into the negotiation, and so far it suc¬ 
 ceeded, although the royal beauty was not sufficiently an adept in diplo 
 matic trickery, to conceal, at ail times, the scorn with which she re 
 garded a suitor so infinitely beneath her. Meantime, she was secretly 
 courted by her aunt, lady Lenox, for the young Henry, lord Darnley, 
 and was believed to incline towards that alliance. 
 
 At the very time Elizabeth was recommending her handsome master 
 of the horse to her good sister of Scotland, she had so little command 
 over herself, that she was constantly betraying her own partiality tor 
 him to sir James Melville, Mary’s envoy, who, in his lively “Historic 
 Memoirs” gives a succession of graphic scenes between Elizabeth and 
 himself. “ She told me,” says his excellency, “ that it appeared to her 
 as if I made but small account of lord Robert, seeing that 1 named the 
 earl of Bedford before him, but ere it were long she would make him a 
 greater earl, 5 and I should see it done before me, for she esteemed him 
 
 1 Keith. 5 Ibid. 
 
 * Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. i. 4 Melville. 
 
 6 her fifth year, the queen granted' lord Robert Dudley the castle and manor 
 of Kenilworth and Astel-grove, the lordships and manors of Denbigh and Chirk, 
 
168 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 as one, whom she should have married herself, if she had ever been 
 minded to take a husband; but being determined to end her life in vir¬ 
 ginity, she wished that the queen, her sister, should marry him, for with 
 him she might find it in her heart to declare queen Mary second person 
 rather than with any other: for, being matched with him, it would best 
 remove out of her mind all fear and suspicion of usurpation before her 
 death.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth would not permit sir James Melville to return home till he 
 had seen Dudley created earl of Leicester, and baron of Denbigh. This 
 was done with great state at Westminster; “herself,” says Melville, 
 “helping to put on his robes, he sitting on his knees before her, and 
 keeping a great gravity and discreet behaviour, but as for the queen, she 
 could not refrain from putting her hand in his neck to tickle him, 
 smilingly, the French ambassador and 1 standing beside her. 2 Then she 
 asked me, ‘ how 1 liked him ?’ I said, ‘ as he was a worthy subject, so 
 he was happy in a great prince, who could discern and reward good 
 service.’ ‘Yet,’ replied she, ‘ye like better of yon lang lad,’ pointing 
 towards my lord Darnley, who, as nearest prince of the blood, that day 
 bare the sword before her. My answer again was, ‘ that no woman of 
 spirit would make choice of sic a man, that was liker a woman than a 
 man, for he was lusty, beardless, and lady-faced.’ I had no will that 
 she should think I liked him, though 1 had a secret charge to deal with 
 his mother, lady Lenox, to purchase leave for him to pass to Scotland.” 
 
 “ During the nine days I remained at court,” pursues Melville, “ queen 
 Elizabeth saw me every day, and sometimes thrice a day; to wit, afore- 
 noon, afternoon, and after supper; she continued to treat of queen 
 Mary’s marriage with Leicester, and meantime I was familiarly and 
 favourably used; sometimes she would say, ‘ that since she could not 
 see the good queen, her sister, she should open a good part of her in¬ 
 ward mind to me, that she was not offended with queen Mary’s angry 
 letter, in which she seemed to disdain the marriage with Leicester, and 
 she should set the best lawyers in England to search out, who had the 
 best right to the crown of England, which she would wish to be her 
 dearest sister, rather than any other.’ I replied, ‘ there could be no 
 doubt on that head, but lamented, that even the wisest princes did not 
 take sufficient notice of the partialities of. their familiar friends and coun¬ 
 cillors, except it were sic a notable and rare prince as Henry VIII., her 
 father, who, of his own head, was determined to declare his sister’s son, 
 James V. (at which time Elizabeth was not born, but only her sister, 
 queen Mary), heir apparent to the crown of England, failing the heirs 
 of his own body, for the earnest desire he had to unite the whole island.’ 
 
 with other possessions, and a license for transporting cloth, which he sold to 
 John Mark, and others of the company of merchant-adventurers; the next year, 
 the queen recommended him for a husband to Mary, queen of Scots, which, 
 however, only seems to have been an excuse for lavishing new honours and 
 immunities upon him, for she then advanced him to the dignity of earl of Lei¬ 
 cester and baron of Denbigh, with a plurality of offices and privileges, too nume¬ 
 rous to detail here.—See Sidney Papers. 
 
 ' Sir James Melville’s Memoirs, p. 119. a Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 1G9 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
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 11 i 
 
 4 
 
 *ii 
 
 n- i 
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 .he. 
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 not 
 DIM 
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 iter. 
 
 ieiti 
 
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 sanl 
 
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 lunfr 
 
 jii 
 
 She said, 4 she was glad he did notI said, 1 he had but then a daughter, 
 and was in doubt to have any more children, and as yet had not so 
 many suspicions in his head.’ And added, ‘ that her majesty was out 
 of all doubt regarding her children, being determined to die a virgin.’ 
 
 44 She said, ‘ she was never minded to marry, except she were com¬ 
 pelled by the queen her sister’s hard behaviour to her.’ J said, 4 Madam, 
 ye need not tell me that. I know your stately stomach. Ye think, gin 
 ye were married, ye would be but queen of England, and now ye are 
 king and queen baith,—ye may not suffer a commander.’ 
 
 “She appeared to be so affectionate to queen Mary, her good sister, 
 that she had a great desire to see her, and because that could not be, 
 she delighted oft to look on her picture. She took me to her bed¬ 
 chamber, and opened a little lellroun ,, (perhaps a desk,) where there 
 were divers little pictures wrapped in paper, their names written with 
 her own hand. Upon the lirst she took up was written, 4 My lord’s 
 picture.’ This was Leicester’s portrait. ] held the candle, and pressed 
 to see my lord’s picture. Albeit, she was loth to let me see it, but I 
 became importunate for it, to carry home to my queen; she refused, 
 saying, 4 she had but one of his.’ I replied, 4 She had the original.’ She 
 was then at the further end of her bed-chamber, talking with Cecil. 
 Elizabeth then took out my queen’s (of Scots) miniature, and kissed it.” 
 Melville kissed her hand in acknowledgment of the great fondness she 
 manifested to Mary. 
 
 “•She showed me,” he continues, “a fair ruby, great like a racket 
 ball. 1 desired she would either send it to my queen, or the earl of 
 Leicester’s picture. She replied, 4 If queen Mary would follow her 
 counsel she would get them both in time, and all she had, but she 
 would send her a diamond as a token by me.’ Now, as it was late, 
 after supper she appointed me to be with her next morning at eight, at 
 which time was her hour for walking in the garden; she talked with 
 me of my travels, and invited me to eat with her dame of honour, my 
 lady Stafford, one honourable and godly lady, who had been banished to 
 Geneva in the reign of queen Mary of England.” 
 
 In the course of Melville’s conferences with queen Elizabeth, the 
 female costume of different countries was discussed, and how they be¬ 
 came the persons of women. She told him she had the weeds (costume) 
 of every civilized country, and gave proof of it by appearing in a fresh 
 one every day, and asking the Scotch ambassador which was most be¬ 
 coming. “1 said, 4 The Italian weed,’” continues Melville, 44 which 
 pleased her well, for she delighted to show her golden-coloured hair by 
 wearing a caul and bonnet as they do in Italy. Her hair was tedder 
 than yellow, and curled apparently by nature.” Then she inquired 
 • 4 what coloured hair was reputed best, and whether my queen’s hair or 
 hers was the best, and which of the two was the fairest ?” 1 
 
 Melville’s answer was perplexing in its ambiguity, he said, 44 The fair¬ 
 ness of both was not their worst faults.” Elizabeth was not to be baf¬ 
 fled by an oracular compliment, she came again to the question direct, 
 
 1 Meaning the most beautiful woman. 
 
 VOL. VI.- 15 
 
170 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and was earnest for Melville to declare which of them both he thought 
 the fairest. 
 
 Melville answered, “‘You are the fairest queen in England and ours 
 the fairest queen in Scotland.’ Yet,” he continues, “ was she earnest.” 
 The poor ambassador then declared “ They were both the fairest ladies 
 in their courts; that she was the whitest, but that our queen was very 
 lovely.” She inquired “‘which of them was the highest stature.’ I 
 answered ‘ our queen.’ ‘Then she is over high,’ returned Elizabeth, 
 ‘for I am neither too high nor too low.’ Then she asked how she 
 (queen Mary) exercised and employed her time. I answered, ‘ When I 
 left Scotland on my embassy, our queen was newly come from the 
 Highland hunting; but that when she had leisure, she read in good 
 books, the histories of divers countries, and would sometimes play on 
 the lute and virginals.’ Elizabeth,” continues Melville, “ speered (asked) 
 whether Mary played well.” 
 
 “ Reasonably well for a queen,” was the very discreet answer. This 
 conversation occasioned a droll little scene of display and vanity to be 
 got up by Elizabeth. The same day after dinner, Lord Hunsdon, Eliza¬ 
 beth’s cousin, drew Melville into a retired gallery to hear some music. 
 He whispered, as a secret, “ that it was the queen playing on the vir¬ 
 ginals.” 
 
 The ambassador listened awhile, and then withdrew the tapestry that 
 hung before the doorway, boldly entered the room, and stood listening 
 in an entranced attitude near the door, and heard her play excellently 
 well. Her back was to the listener, at length she turned her head, af¬ 
 fected to see him, and left off, coming forwards as if to strike him with 
 her hand, as pretending to be ashamed; alleging “that she used not to 
 play before men, but when she was solitary, to eschew melancholy, and 
 asked ‘ how 1 came there ?’ I replied, ‘ that as I was walking with my 
 lord Hunsdon, as we passed by the chamber-door, I heard sic melody, 
 which raised and drew me into the chamber, 1 wist not how, excusing 
 my fault of homeliness, as being brought up in the court of France, and 
 that I was now willing to endure any punishment it would please her to 
 lay on my offence.’” This expert flattery had its expected effect. The 
 royal coquette sat herself down low on a cushion, to imbibe another 
 dose of it, and the audacious flatterer placed himself on his knee beside 
 her. She gave him, with her own hand, a cushion to place under his 
 knee; Melville protested against such an innovation on the rules of gal¬ 
 lantry, but the queen compelled him, and called in my lady Stafford out 
 of the next chamber to chaperon the conference, for hitherto she had 
 been tete-a-tete with the Scotch ambassador. This arrangement having 
 been happily made, her majesty proceeded to display the rest of her ac¬ 
 complishments. First, she demanded “ whether she or the queen of 
 Scots played best ?” “ In that,” says Melville, “ I gave her the praise. 
 
 She said my French was good, and speered whether 1 could speak Ita¬ 
 lian, which she spake reasonably well. Then she spake to me in 
 Dutch, but it was not good; she would know what kind of books I 
 liked best, whether theology, history, or love matters, I said, ‘ I liked 
 weel of all the sorts.’ I was earnest to be despatched, but she said 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 171 
 
 ‘that I tired sooner of her company than she did of mine;’ I said, 4 Al¬ 
 beit there was no occasion to tire, yet it was time to return.’ But two 
 days longer was I detained, that I might see her dance; quhilk being 
 done, she inquired at me, 4 whether she or my queen danced best?’ I 
 said, 4 my queen danced not so high or disposedly as she did.’ ” 
 Whereby it may be gathered that Mary danced like an elegant woman ; 
 but surely the elaborate dancing of a vain affected person could scarcely 
 be better defined than by Melville. 
 
 44 Elizabeth wished that she might see the queen of Scotland at some 
 convenient place of meeting. I offered,” pursues Melville, 44 to convey 
 her secretly to Scotland by post, clothed in the disguise of a page, that 
 she might see our mistress, as king James V. passed in disguise to 
 France, to see the duke of Vendome’s sister, that should have been his 
 wife.” Melville carried on this romantic badinage by proposing 44 that 
 queen Elizabeth should give out that she was sick and kept her cham¬ 
 ber, and none to be privy to her absence but my lady Stafford and one 
 of the grooms of her chamber. She said, 4 Alas, would she might do 
 it!’ and seemed to like well of that kind of language.” This scene 
 took place at Hampton Court, where Melville at last received his dis¬ 
 missal, and departed with Leicester, by water, to London. On their 
 voyage, Leicester apologised for his presumptuous proposal for the hand 
 of the queen of Scots, which he assured her ambassador, apparently 
 with sincerity enough, 44 was a wily move of Mr. Secretary Cecil, de¬ 
 signed to ruin him with both queens.”' 
 
 Elizabeth appears to have pressed this marriage on her royal kins¬ 
 woman of Scotland, without any real intention of resigning her favour¬ 
 ite to that queen, but rather for the purpose, it has been supposed, of 
 paving the way for her own marriage with him, by having proved that 
 she esteemed him worthy of being the consort of another female sove¬ 
 reign. If Mary could have been induced to signify her consent to ac¬ 
 cept Leicester for her husband, then probably it was intended for him to 
 declare the impossibility of his resigning the service of his royal mis¬ 
 tress, even to become the spouse of the queen of Scots, and this would 
 have afforded Elizabeth a really popular opportunity of rewarding him 
 for the sacrifice, with her own hand. Matters never reached this point; 
 for when Mary was urged to accept the newly created English earl, the 
 queen mother of France, and her kinsmen of the house of Guise, ex¬ 
 pressed the utmost contempt at the idea of so unsuitable an alliance, and 
 assured her, that Elizabeth intended to marry him herself. 2 This opin¬ 
 ion must have had some weight when united with Melville’s report, of 
 the indecorous manner in which the English queen had committed her¬ 
 self, in toying with Leicester, during the ceremonial of his investiture, 
 unrestrained even by the presence of the foreign ambassadors. Mean¬ 
 time, peace having been established with France, a regal suitor was 
 offered to Elizabeth’s acceptance in the person of Charles IX., the 
 youthful monarch of that realm, who had been recently declared by the 
 states of France to have attained his majority, although his mother, 
 
 ‘Melville's Memoirs, p. 126. Sept., 1564. 
 
 3 Camden. 
 
172 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Catherine de Medicis, continued to govern in his name A He was, at 
 this time, about sixteen, and Elizabeth with great propriety replied to 
 Michel Castelnau, the ambassador by whom the proposal was submitted 
 to her, “ that she was greatly obliged for the signal honour that was 
 done her by so mighty and powerful a king, to whom, as well as to the 
 qu°en, his mother, she professed herself infinitely beholden, but that she 
 felt tins difficulty—the most Christian king, her good brother, was too 
 great and too small—too great, as a monarch of such a realm, to be 
 able to quit bis own dominions to cross the sea and remain in England, 
 where the people always expected their kings and queens to live. Too 
 small,” she explained by saying, “ that his majesty was young and she 
 was already thirty, which she called old.” Castelnau, not being accus¬ 
 tomed to Elizabeth’s coquettish manners, far from suspecting that this 
 depreciatory remark on her own age, was a trap for a complimentary re¬ 
 joinder, on his part, gave her credit for meaning what she said, and 
 adds with great simplicity, “ She has said the same thing ever since her 
 accession to the throne, although there is not a lady in her court who 
 surpasses her in her endowments of mind and body.” 1 
 
 The English nobles suggested to Castelnau, that the young duke of 
 Anjou, Charles IX.’s brother, would be, in point of situation, a more 
 suitable consort for the queen than Charles, as neither France nor Eng¬ 
 land could permit the absence of their respective sovereigns. The 
 French, they said, would not like their king to reside in England, nor 
 would the English permit their queen to live in France. Elizabeth gave 
 no encouragement, at that time, to overtures for her union with either 
 of the royal brothers of Valois, and Castelnau proceeded to Scotland to 
 offer the younger prince to the other island queen, Mary Stuart, of 
 whom he speaks, in his despatches to his own court, in the most lively 
 terms of admiration and respect. 2 
 
 A matrimonial union between the crowns of England and France, 
 was too brilliant a chimera to be hastily or lightly abandoned by that 
 restless intriguante and shallow politician, Catherine de Medicis, and 
 she subsequently empowered the resident French ambassador de Foys, 
 to renew the proposal for a mariiage between her eldest son, the youth¬ 
 ful sovereign of France, and the maiden monarch of England. To this 
 second overture, Elizabeth replied 3 — 
 
 “ I find myself, on the one hand, much honoured by the proposal of 
 the French king; on the other, I am older than he, and would rather 
 die than see myself despised and neglected. My subjects, I am assured, 
 would oppose no obstacle, if it were my wish, for they have more than 
 once prayed me to marry after my own inclination. It is true they have 
 said, k that it would pleasure them if my choice should fall on an Eng¬ 
 lishman.’ In England, however, there is no one disposable in marriage 
 but the earl of Arundel, 4 and he is further removed from the match than 
 
 1 Memoirs de Michel Castelnau, folio edition. 2 Ibid. 
 
 3 Despatches of De Foys. 
 
 * This great peer was at that time under the cloud of his royal mistress's dis¬ 
 pleasure He had stood her friend, in the season of her utmost peril, at the risk 
 of his life and estate. He had been made her tool in politics and her sport in 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 173 
 
 the east from the west; and as to the earl of Leicester, I have always 
 loved his' virtues.” The ambassador was too finished a courtier, it 
 seems, to interrupt her majesty by asking her to point these out—a 
 question, which certainly would embarrass the most partial apologist of 
 the crimes, of this bold, but not brave, bad man. “But,” pursues Eli¬ 
 zabeth, “ the aspirations towards honour and greatness which are in me, 
 cannot suffer him as a companion and a husband.” 
 
 After this confidential explanation of her feelings towards the two 
 rival earls, her subjects, her majesty, in allusion to the extreme youthful¬ 
 ness of her regal wooer, added, laughing, “ My neighbour, Mary Stuart, 
 is younger than I am ; she will perhaps better please the king.” “ This 
 has never been spoken of,” replied de Foys, “she having been the wife 
 of his brother.” “ Several persons,” rejoined Elizabeth, “ and among 
 others, Lethington, have tried to persuade me that such a plan was in 
 agitation, but I did not believe it.” 
 
 A few days after, Elizabeth sent for de Foys again, and repeated her 
 objections to the marriage with his boy-king. De Foys endeavoured to 
 convince her they were of no weight, but, after a little courtly flattery 
 had been expended, the negotiation was broken off - . 1 
 
 This summer Elizabeth honoured Leicester with her first visit to his 
 new manor of Kenilworth, in the course of her progress through the 
 midland counties. 
 
 When she entered the city of Coventry, the mayor and corporation 
 who had met and welcomed her, presented her with a purse supposed 
 to be worth twenty marks, containing a hundred pounds in gold angels. 
 The queen, on receiving it, said to her lords, “ It is a good gift; I have 
 but few such, for it is a hundred pounds in gold.” The mayor boldly 
 rejoined, “ If it like your grace, it is a great deal more.” “ What is 
 that ?” asked the queen. The mayor answered, “ It is the faithful 
 hearts of all your true loving subjects.” “ We thank you, Mr. Mayor,” 
 said the queen; “that is a great deal more indeed.” 2 She invited the 
 mayor and corporation to visit her at Kenilworth, on the following 
 Tuesday, which they did, and were admitted to kiss her hand. She 
 gave them thirty bucks, and knighted the recorder. 
 
 If Elizabeth, at this period, were not in love with Leicester, the pro¬ 
 verb which affirms that “ of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh,” 
 must go for nought; for she was always talking of him, and that not 
 only to those sympathizing listeners, her ladies of the bed-chamber, 
 but to such unsuitable confidants as the ambassadors—ergo, accredited 
 
 secret. His vast fortune had proved unequal to support the expenses he had 
 incurred, in presents and entertainments suited to the magnificent tastes of the 
 lofty lady on whom he had the folly to fix his heart, and he was involved in 
 pecuniary difficulties. At length, irritated by the undisguised preference the 
 queen daily manifested towards those who had no such claims on her conside¬ 
 ration, he haughtily returned his staff of office, as lord high steward, to her ma¬ 
 jesty, with sundry offensive speeches, which she took in such ill part, as to con¬ 
 stitute him a prisoner in his own house. He then solicited, and after a time 
 obtained, leave to travel in Italy to recruit his ruined fortunes. See Cecil's lette* 
 in Wright, i. 180. 
 
 1 De Foys' Despatches. 
 
 15* 
 
 Dugdale’s Warwickshire. 
 
174 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 spies, of foreign potentates. Well might the wily son of Burleigh ob¬ 
 serve of this queen, “ that if to-day she was more than man,’to-morrow 
 she would be less than woman.” 1 
 
 De Foys’ reports appear to have convinced his own court, that it was 
 Elizabeth’s positive intention to give her hand to Leicester, for Catherine 
 de Medicis enjoined him to cultivate the good-will of this favoured 
 peer, and entitle the royal family of France to his gratitude, by advo¬ 
 cating the match with the queen of England. “ I told queen Elizabeth,” 
 writes de Foys, in reply to the queen-mother, “that she could do 
 nothing better for the welfare, repose, and content of her kingdom, than 
 to espouse one of the great peers of England, and that she would put 
 an affront upon the king and your majesty, if she were to wed any 
 other foreign prince, after having finally grounded her rejection of the 
 king on the plea that a stranger would be unwelcome to the English.” 
 Elizabeth replied, “ that she was not yet decided whom to marry,” ob¬ 
 serving, “ that even if she espoused a person without extensive posses¬ 
 sions, his marriage with her would give him the means of engaging in 
 pernicious schemes and intrigues. For this reason,” continued she, “ I 
 will never concede to a husband any share in my power;” and added, 
 “ that but for the sake of posterity and the good of her realm, she 
 would not marry at all. If she did, however, she did not mean to fol¬ 
 low his advice by wedding a subject; she had it in her power to wed a 
 king if she pleased, or a powerful prince so as to over-awe France.” 2 
 This was in allusion to the archduke Charles, who having been deci¬ 
 sively rejected by Mary of Scotland, was renewing his suit to her. She 
 complained “ that Charles IX. took part with the queen of Scots, while 
 Darnley was writing her submissive letters and seeking her protection.” 
 This reproachful observation proves that Elizabeth and Darnley were 
 already secretly reconciled. She had vehemently opposed his marriage 
 with Mary Stuart, and yet had permitted him to visit the court of that 
 queen. 
 
 The hitherto impregnable heart of the beautiful widow, had surren¬ 
 dered itself at first sight of “ the beardless, lady-faced boy,” and Darn¬ 
 ley paid no heed to the peremptory mandates of his sometime English 
 sovereign, to return at peril of outlawry, and forfeiture of his English 
 inheritance. He kept the field of his new fortunes, and was a thriving 
 wooer. 
 
 De Foys, as soon as he heard the queen of Scots had resolved on the 
 marriage with her cousin Darnley, went to Elizabeth with the intention 
 of defending Mary; he found the queen at chess, and said, profiting by 
 the opportunity of introducing the subject, “ This game is an image of 
 the words and deeds of men. If, for example, we lose a pawn, it seems 
 but a small matter; nevertheless, the loss often draws after it that of 
 the whole game.” The queen replied, “ I understand you ; Darnley is 
 but a pawn, but may well check-mate me, if he is promoted.” 
 
 After these words she left off playing, complained much of the dis- 
 
 * Si' R. Cecil’s Letter, in Harrington's Nugae. 
 ’From the Despatches of De Foys, August, 1565. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 175 
 
 loyalty of Darnley and his father, and made evident her intentions of 
 dealing', if it were possible, hostilely by them. 1 The only means she 
 had, however, of testifying her anger effectively, was by sending Mar¬ 
 garet countess of Lenox to her old quarters in the Tower. 2 
 
 Two, out of the four royal ladies, who stood in immediate proximity 
 to the throne, were now incarcerated on frivolous charges, and on the 
 21st of August, a third of this luckless quartette, Lady Mary Gray, was 
 added to the list of fair state prisoners, for no greater crime than steal¬ 
 ing a love-match, like her sister, lady Katharine. Cecil, in a letter to 
 Sir Thomas Smith, relates the circumstance in the following words: 
 “ Here is an unhappy chance and monstrous. The serjeant-porter being 
 the biggest gentleman in this court, hath married secretly the lady Mary 
 Gray, the least of all the court. They are committed to several pri¬ 
 sons. The offence is very great.” 3 Both the meek inoffensive sisters 
 of lady Jane Gray, were thus torn from their husbands, and doomed to 
 life-long imprisonment by the inexorable queen. Their piteous appeals 
 to her compassion, may be seen in Ellis’s royal letters. Can any one 
 suppose that she would have scrupled to shed the blood of either or 
 both of these broken-hearted victims, if their names had been used to 
 excite an insurrection in her metropolis ? 
 
 In a foregoing passage of the letter, wherein Cecil relates the disgrace 
 of lady Mary Gray, he favours his absent colleague with the following 
 important piece of secret information, which is partly written in cipher: 
 —“ You may perchance, by some private letter hereafter, hear of a 
 strange accident here, and therefore I will, in a few words, give you 
 some light. The queen’s majesty is fallen into some misliking with my 
 lord of Leicester, and he therewith much dismayed. You know how 
 busy men in court will be to descant hereupon. The queen’s majesty 
 letteth it appear, in many overt speeches, that she is sorry for her loss 
 of time, and so is every good subject.” 4 In what other way can this 
 sentence be explained than that Elizabeth, having quarrelled with her 
 presumptuous favourite, repented of the impediment which her flirta¬ 
 tions with him had opposed in her matrimonial treaties with foreign 
 princes ? 
 
 “ Wliat shall follow of this,” pursues her anxious premier, “ God knoweth. 
 For my part, I will do that beeometh an honest man, not to procure harm to him, 
 though I know he hath not lacked procurers for my harm. But God forgive 
 them ! for I fear none of them, having so good a conscience of my well meaning 
 both to her majesty and her realm. If I were as evil disposed as others, I could 
 make a flame of this sparkel ; but fiat voluntas Dei! The queen's majesty, 
 thanked be God, is well disposed towards marriage. The emperor’s ambassa¬ 
 dor is departed with an honourable answer, and himself well satisfied, and 
 common opinion is, that the archduke Charles will come ; which if he do, and 
 will accord with us in religion, and shall be allowable for his person to her 
 majesty, then, except God shall continue his displeasure against us, we shall see 
 some success.” 
 
 In another letter to Smith, Cecil declares, “ that the queen’s majesty 
 will marry with none without sight of his person, nor with any that 
 
 * Raumer, front the despatches of De Foys. 
 
 * Wrightjg Elizabeth and her Times, vol. i., p. 207. 
 
 2 Camden. 
 * Ibid. 
 
176 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 shall dissent in religion; that the articles of marriage are to be much 
 the same as in the treaty between Philip and Mary, and expresses his 
 opinion that the archduke will come. He considers that the nobility 
 approve of the match, and notices that my lord of Leicester hath be¬ 
 haved himself very wisely to allow of it.” 1 The very day on which 
 this letter is dated, August 30th, the premier inscribed the following 
 sentence in his private diary:—■“ The queen seemed to be very much 
 offended with the earl of Leicester, and so she wrote an obscure sen¬ 
 tence in a book at Windsor.” This oracular sentence was probably her 
 Latin epigram, on the presumption of a bear presuming to cherish hopes 
 of mating with the lion. 2 
 
 The quarrel between Leicester and his royal mistress, is, by some 
 authors, supposed to have originated in the following incident, which is 
 related by sir Thomas Naunton, as an evidence that the influence of 
 that nobleman was not so great as many have represented:—Bowyer, 
 the gentleman of the black rod, having been expressly charged by the 
 queen to be very particular as to whom he admitted into the privy 
 chamber, one day prevented a very gay captain, and a follower of Lei¬ 
 cester’s, from entrance, because he was neither well known nor a sworn 
 servant of the queen’s; on which the other, bearing high on his patron’s 
 favour, told him tc that he might perchance procure him a discharge.” 
 Leicester, coming to the contest, said publicly, which was contrary to 
 his custom, “ that Bowyer was a knave, and should not long continue 
 in his office,” and turned about to go to the queen; but Bowyer, who 
 was a bold gentleman, and well beloved, stepped before him, fell at her 
 majesty’s feet, and related the story, humbly craving her grace’s plea¬ 
 sure, and whether my lord of Leicester was king, or her majesty queen ? 
 On which the queen, turning to Leicester, exclaimed, with her wonted 
 oath, “ God’s death, my lord! I have wished you well, but my favour 
 is not so locked up in you that others shall not participate thereof, for 
 I have many servants, unto whom 1 have and will, at my pleasure, con¬ 
 fer my favour, and likewise reassume the same; and if you think to 
 rule here, I will take a course to see you forthcoming. 1 will have 
 here but one mistress and no master, and look that no ill happen tc 
 him, lest it be severely required at your hands.” “ Which so quailei 
 my lord of Leicester,” pursues Naunton, “ that his feigned humility was 
 long after one of his best virtues.” 3 Small, however, at the utmost 
 were Leicester’s claims to this rare quality. Lloyd observes of him 
 “ His treasure was vast, his gains unaccountable, all passages to prefer 
 ment being in his hand, at home and abroad. He was never reconcile! 
 to her majesty under 5000Z., nor to a subject under 500Z., and was eve 
 and anon out with both.” 
 
 'Wright’s Elizabeth, vol. i., p. 207. 
 
 ’ Among other impudent assumptions, Leicester and his parvenu brother 
 helped themselves to the right noble cognizance of the Beauchamp-Nevilles, th 
 bear and ragged staff, relinquishing their own cognizance, a green lion with tw 
 tails. This gave rise to a Warwickshire proverb, in use at this day, “The bee 
 wants a tail, and cannot be a lion.” 
 
 * Fragmenta Regalia. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 177 
 
 Just at this period, Elizabeth lavished much regard on a royal female 
 guest, the lady Cecilia of Sweden, daughter to the great Gustavus Vasa, 
 and sister to Elizabeth’s former suitor, Eric. She and her husband, the 
 margrave of Baden, had recently encountered many perils and hardships 
 during eleven months’ wanderings in the northern parts of Germany. 
 At length, they landed in England, and, four days after, the lady was 
 delivered of a son. This child was, on the last day of September, chris¬ 
 tened in the chapel-royal at Whitehall, the queen herself standing god¬ 
 mother in person, the godfathers being the archbishop of Canterbury, 
 anti the duke of Norfolk. The queen gave the little stranger the name 
 of Edward Fortunatus, 1 “for that God had so graciously assisted his 
 mother in her long, dangerous journey, and that she regarded it as an 
 auspicious circumstance that he was born in her realm.” The queen 
 took such great delight in the company and conversation of the Swedish 
 princess, that when the margrave returned to his own dominions, she 
 persuaded the lady Cecilia to remain with her, and not only allowed her 
 /very honourable louche , or table, at her court, three messes of meat 
 [twice a day for her maids and the rest of her family, 2 but allowed her 
 husband a pension of two thousand crowns a year as long as he would 
 permit his consort to reside in her court. This lady was given the 
 entree of the queen’s chamber, and enjoyed sufficient influence with 
 Elizabeth to excite the jealousy of her watchful premier, Cecil, who, in 
 i letter to sir Thomas Smith, betrays some anxiety to discover the real 
 object of her coming to England :—• 
 
 { “ Of the lady Cecilia of Sweden,” writes he, “ your son can report how boun- 
 ifully she liveth here; of whom also there are sundry opinions; some that she 
 neant to set on foot her brother's former suit of marriage, but perceiving that 
 lot to be found probable, some now say that she will further my lord of Lei- 
 ■ester; but if she shall find no success there, then some will say as they list; 
 nd thus, you see, all things are subject to reports." 3 
 
 In the same letter, Cecil observes, “that there are rumours that the 
 ords of the court do not agree among themselves, that Leicester was 
 lot so much in favour as heretofore, that Sussex and he were on strange 
 erms, that the duke of Norfolk, the lord chamberlain, and lord Huns- 
 ion, were opposed to Leicester .” i These three peers, and Sussex, also, 
 vere the kinsmen of the queen, through her grandmother, lady Eliza¬ 
 beth Howard. Mr. Iieneage is also mentioned, by Cecil, “ as reported 
 jo be in very good favour with her majesty, and so misliked bv my lord 
 f Leicester. To tell you truly,” continues the watchful premier, “ I 
 hink the queen’s favour to my lord of Leicester is not so manifest to 
 love men to think that she will marry with him, and yet his lordship 
 ath favour sufficient, as I hear him say, to his good satisfaction.” 3 
 ’his letter is dated October 16th. A few days later, the queen mani- 
 - >sted an increase of regard for Leicester, such as made his enemies 
 asten to effect a reconciliation with him. 6 lie received their advances 
 l a conciliatory manner, and took a more subtle revenge on Cecil than 
 
 Stowe. 3 Lodge’s Illustrations. 
 
 ’Wright, vol. i., p. 211. 4 Ibid., p. 29. 
 
 “Ibid. °De Foys’ Despatches. 
 
 M 
 
ITS 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 if he had exerted his renewed influence to effect his fall, by honouring 
 him with a provoking offer of his patronage, in a tone that could not 
 fail to recal to the mind of the man who ruled the destinies of Protes¬ 
 tant Europe, and feared not to controvert and bend to his own policy 
 the declared will of the lion-like sovereign herself, the time when he 
 was an underling official in the train of his own parvenu father, the 
 duke of Northumberland. 
 
 “ 1 have long known your good qualities,” said Leicester, “ your con¬ 
 scientiousness, and knowledge of business. I have, on these accounts, 
 always loved you, although I know that you would fain marry the 
 queen to a foreign prince. 1 will now tell you plainly that I am a 
 claimant for the hand of the queen, and it seems to me that she looks 
 upon no one with favour but myself. I therefore beseech you that you 
 will lay aside all other projects, and then I will always give you my 
 hand, and not only keep you where you are, but take care for your 
 further elevation as you deserve, and as the service of the state may re¬ 
 quire.” 1 Cecil had sufficient command over his feelings to thank the 
 favourite for his good opinion and apparent good-will. 
 
 During the period of Elizabeth’s transient coolness to Leicester, he 
 had manifested some degree of sullenness, and it is supposed, that he 
 testified his resentment by soliciting to be sent on a diplomatic mission 
 to France. When De Foys, through whom Leicester had chosen to 
 prefer his request, mentioned it to the queen, she was surprised and 
 offended that the earl should wish to absent himself. She caused him 
 to be summoned to her presence, and asked him, if he really wished to 
 go to France? On his replying, “that, with her permission, it was one 
 of the things he most desired,” she told him,“ that it would be no great 
 honour to the king of France were she to send a groom to so great a 
 prince;” and then she laughingly observed to the ambassador, “ J can¬ 
 not live without seeing him every day; he is like my lap-dog, so soon 
 as he is seen anywhere, they say I am at hand ; and wherever I am seen, 
 it may be said, that he is there also.” 
 
 Elizabeth had formerly condescended to discuss with Quadra, the 
 Spanish ambassador, the scandalous reports then prevalent, not only on 
 the continent, but in her own court, regarding her intimacy with Dud¬ 
 ley. She even forgot the dignity of a gentlewoman and a sovereign so 
 far, as to demonstrate the improbability of what was said, by showing 
 him the situation of'her sleeping apartment and that of the favourite.' 
 Subsequently, however, she found that her favourite’s health was likely 
 to be impaired by the dampness of the room he occupied in the lowei 
 story of the palace, and assigned him a chamber contiguous to hei 
 own". 2 
 
 De Foys, in his report of the 19th of December, says, “ Leicester ha! 
 
 * De Foys, from Raumer. . 
 
 ’ Sharon Turner considers this arrangement was a prudential measure, for tin 
 defence of the royal person against the attempts of those who sought her majet 
 ty’s life. No attempts of the kind, however, are on record, till after she excitet 
 the ill will of a portion of her subjects, by her unjust detention of Mary Sluar 
 and her unfeminine cruelty to that princess. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 179 
 
 pressed the queen hard to decide by Christmas on her marriage. She, 
 on the other hand, has entreated him to wait till Candlemas. I know, 
 from good authority,” pursues he, “ and have also learned from the 
 most credible persons, that she has promised him marriage before wit¬ 
 nesses. Nevertheless, if she chooses to release herself from such 
 promise, no one will summon her to justice, or bear witness against 
 her.”' 
 
 At Christmas, Leicester was in close attendance on the queen, even 
 while she was in the solemn act of communicating at the altar, and was 
 one of her assistants in that holy rite. The ceremonials observed, on 
 that occasion, have been thus recorded by a contemporary, 1 2 and are 
 highly curious:— 
 
 “ On Christmas day her majesty came to service, very richly ap¬ 
 parelled in a gown of purple, velvet, embroidered with silver, very richly' 
 set with stones, and a rich collar set with stones. The earl of War¬ 
 wick (Leicester’s brother) bore the sword, the lady Strange (the daughter 
 of the queen’s cousin, lady Eleanor Brandon) bore her train. After the 
 creed, the queen went down to the offering, and having a short bench 
 with a carpet and a cushion laid by a gentleman usher, her majesty 
 kneeled down. Her offering was given her by the marquis of North¬ 
 ampton ; after which she went into her traverse, where she abode till 
 the time of the communion, and then came forth and kneeled down on 
 the cushion and carpet. The gentlemen ushers delivered the towel (or 
 communion cloth) to the lord chamberlain, who delivered the same to 
 be holden by the earl of Sussex on her right hand, and the earl of 
 Leicester on the left. 3 The bishop of Rochester served her majesty 
 both with the wine and bread. Then the queen went into the traverse 
 again, and the lady Cecilia, wife to the marquis of Baden, came out of 
 the traverse, and kneeled at the place where the queen had kneeled, but 
 she had no cushion, only one to kneel on. After she had received, she 
 returned to the traverse again. Then the archbishop of Canterbury and 
 the lord chamberlain received the communion with the mother of the 
 maids, after which the service proceeded to the end. The queen returned 
 to the chamber of presence, and not to the closet. Her majesty dined 
 not abroad.” 
 
 Elizabeth was fond of jesting, and now and then perpetrated a pun. 
 This year she sent Man, dean of Gloucester, as ambassador to Philip 
 of Spain, whose envoy at the English court was Gusman, dean of To¬ 
 ledo. Elizabeth thought meanly of the person and abilities of dean 
 Man, and this opinion gave rise to a very bad pun by her majesty. She 
 said, “King Phil ip had sent Gooseman (Gusman) to her, and she, in 
 return, had sent a Man to him not a whit better than a goose .” She 
 also made the following quaint rhyming rebus on a gentleman of the 
 name of Noel:— 
 
 1 Von Raumer. 
 
 “Donation MS. 4812, No. 8, lib. W. Y. 193, British Museum. 
 
 * This cloth was to be held up before the queen's face the moment she had 
 received the elements: it was a remnant of the Catholic ceremonial. 
 
180 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “ The word of denial and letter of fifty 
 Is that gentleman's name that will never be thrifty.” 1 
 
 A few of the less pleasing traits of Elizabeth’s character developed 
 themselves this year, among which may be reckoned her unkind treat¬ 
 ment of the venerable Dr. Heath, the nonjuring archbishop of York, 
 and formerly lord chancellor. It has been shown that he performed 
 good and loyal service for Elizabeth, whose doubtful title was estab¬ 
 lished, beyond dispute, by his making her first proclamation a solemn 
 act of both houses of parliament. Subsequently, in 1560, he was or¬ 
 dered into confinement in the Tower, because he would not acknow¬ 
 ledge Elizabeth’s supremacy over the church. He remained there till 
 he was sent into a sort of prison restraint at one of the houses belong¬ 
 ing to his see in Yorkshire. His mode of imprisonment permitted him 
 to take walks for exercise. These rambles could not have been very 
 far, for he was turned of eighty. They were regarded with jealousy, 
 and the following order of council exists, in answer to a letter from 
 lord Scrope, relative to the examination by him to be taken of Nicholas 
 Heath, with whom his lordship is required to proceed somewhat sharply 
 withal, “ to the end, that he should declare the full truth why he wan- 
 dereth abroad; and if he will not be plain, to use some kind of torture 
 to him, so as to be without any great bodily hurt, and to advertise his 
 (lord Scrope’s) doings herein.” 2 
 
 The old man had been on terms of friendship with the queen, had 
 done her worthy service, he had been considered an opponent of perse¬ 
 cution, yet could Elizabeth, then little turned of thirty, sit in her con¬ 
 clave, and order the unfortunate prisoner to be pinched with the torture, 
 to reveal some vague and indefinite crime, which perhaps only existed 
 in the suspicions of his enemies. 
 
 Elizabeth had ordered her ministers at the court of Edinburgh, 
 Throckmorton and Randolph, to foment the disaffections there, and 
 especially to encourage Murray and his party, in their opposition to the 
 marriage of Mary with Darnley; in consequence of which, they at 
 length took up arms against their sovereign. They were defeated, and 
 forced to retreat into England. Murray proceeded to London, and re¬ 
 quested an interview with the queen: considering, doubtless, that he 
 had a claim io her favour and protection, having acted in secret under¬ 
 standing with her ministers. 
 
 The queen, however, refused at first to see him, or any of the con¬ 
 federates. Murray complained to Cecil, and others, “ that he had been 
 moved to what he had done by the instigation of queen Elizabeth, 
 whereby he had lost all in Scotland.” Elizabeth caused it to be repre¬ 
 sented to him, that this was very displeasing to her, and that she would 
 only see him and his friends on condition of their exonerating her from 
 
 1 Collins, in Gainsborough. 
 
 5 Council Register, Reign of Elizabeth, No. 1, p. 196. At this black privy 
 council there is noted as present, June 22, 1565, queen Elizabeth, the lord keeper 
 Bacon, marquis Northampton, earl of Leicester, secretary Cecil, Mr. Cave, Petre, 
 and Sackville. It is edited by the late Mr. Howard of Corby, in his Supplement 
 to the Howard Memorials. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 1S1 
 
 any share in the plot against his own government. When they had 
 received their lesson, they were admitted to an audience, in the presence 
 of the French and Spanish ambassadors, and falling on their knees, they 
 declared that “ the queen was innocent of the conspiracy, and had never 
 advised them to disobey their sovereign lady.” 
 
 “Now,” replied Elizabeth, “ye have spoken truth. Get from my 
 presence ; traitors, as ye are.” 1 Thus did she outwit, and trample on 
 her own abased instruments. However, she gave Murray a pension, se¬ 
 cretly. Throckmorton was so indignant at her attempting to treat his 
 intrigues with the unsuccessful Scottish rebels, as if unauthorized by 
 herself, that he exposed the secret orders on which he had acted; 
 which was never forgiven by Elizabeth and Leicester, although he had 
 been, as the reader has seen, one of the oldest and most trusty of the 
 friends of her youth. To those she was, generally speaking, attached 
 and grateful. Sir James Crofts she promoted very highly in his mili¬ 
 tary capacity, and after the death of sir Thomas Parry, made him comp¬ 
 troller of her household. Saintlow, the captain of the yeomen of her 
 guard, who was confined in the Tower at the same time with herself, on 
 suspicion of being a confederate in the plots against queen Mary, con¬ 
 tinued in her household after her accession to the throne. She was not 
 always very gracious to him; but condescended, nevertheless, to obtain 
 from him a horse, for which she only paid him with fair words. This 
 is his account of the matter in a letter he wrote to his wife: 2 “ The 
 queen, yesterday, her own self riding, upon the way craved my horse, 
 unto whom I gave him, receiving openly many goodly words.” Eliza¬ 
 beth quarrelled with him the next time they met; all which he thus 
 relates to his better half: “The queen found great fault with my long 
 absence, saying, ‘ that she would talk with me further, and that she 
 meant to chide me.’ 1 answered, ‘ that when her highness understood 
 the truth and cause, she would not be offended.’ To which she said, 
 ‘Very well, very well.’ Howbeit, hand of hers 1 did not kiss.” 
 
 This year Elizabeth having appointed sir Henry Sidney to the govern¬ 
 ment of Ireland, addressed to him the following sapient, but pedantic 
 letter, on the occasion of the feud between the earls of Desmond and 
 Ormond, in which she prescribes the part, he is to take, in a series of 
 quaint punning aphorisms, not always apropos to the subject; and 
 'ather reminding us, of what lord Byron called “ hints and howls, by 
 ivay of an oration.” 
 
 “ Habuy, 
 
 If our partial, slender managing of the contentious quarrel between the two 
 Irish rebels, did not make the way to cause these lines to pass my hand, this 
 ;ibberish should hardly have cumbered your eyes; but warned by my former 
 ault, and dreading worser hap to come, I rede (advise) you take good heed, 
 t * * * Make some difference between tried, just, and false friends. Let 
 
 he good service of well deservers, be never rewarded with loss. Let their 
 hanks be such, as may encourage more strivers for the like. Suffer not that 
 
 ‘Keith; Chalmers; Lingard; Melville. 
 
 ’After Saintlow's death, his wife, commonly called Bess of Hardwick, married 
 he earl of Shrewsbury, and obtained infamous celebrity as the treacherous ea» 
 ellaine of Mary, queen of Scots. See Lodge’s Illustrations. 
 
 VOL. VI.- 16 
 
182 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Desmond’s daring deeds, far wide from promised works, make you trust to other 
 pledge than himself, or John, for gage. He hath so well performed his English 
 vows, that 1 warn you, trust him no farther than you see one of them. Pro¬ 
 metheus, let me be ; and Prometheus hath been mine, too long. I pray God your 
 old straying sheep, late as you say, returned into fold, wore not her woolly gar¬ 
 ment upon her wolfy back. You know a kingdom knows no kindred. St via- 
 landum jus regnan di causa. A strength to harm, is perilous in the hand of an 
 ■ambitious head. Where might is mixed with wit, there is too good an accord 
 in a government. Essays be oft dangerous, specially where the cup bearer hath 
 received such a preservative, as whatsoever betide the drinker’s draught, the 
 carrier takes no pain thereby. Believe not, though they swear that they can be 
 full sound, whose parents sought the rule that they full fain would have. I war¬ 
 rant you, they will never be accused of bastardy; they will trace the steps that j 
 others have trod before. If I had not espied, though very late, legerdemain used 
 in these cases, I had never played my part. No, if I did not see the balances 
 held awry, I had never myself come into the weigh-house. I hope I shall have 
 so good customer of you, that all under officers shall do their duty among you. 
 If aught have been amiss at home, I will patch, though I cannot whole it. Let 
 us not, nor do you consult so long, that advice come too late. Where, then, shall 
 we wish the deeds, while all was spent in words. A fool too late bewares 
 when all the peril is past. If we still advise, we shall never do, yea, and if our 
 web be framed with rotten handles, when our loom is well nigh done, our work 
 is new to begin. God send the weaver true prentices again, and let them be 
 denizens. I pray you, if they be not citizens, and such too as your ancients, 
 aldermen, that have, or now dwell in your official place, have had best cause to 
 commend their good behaviour. Let this memorial be only committed to Vul¬ 
 can's base keeping, without any longer abode than the leisure of the reading 
 thereof; yea, and no mention made thereof to any other wight, I charge you, as 
 I may command you, seem not to have had but secretaries’ letters from me. 
 
 “ Your loving maistres, 
 
 “ Elizabeth R.” 1 
 
 Early in the new year arrived Rambouillet, an envoy-extraordinarj 
 from Charles IX., to invest any two of her majesty’s great nobles, whoir 
 it might please her to point out, with the insignia of Saint Michael, th< 
 national order of France, which had never before been bestowed on anj 
 English subject, save Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk. Elizabetl 
 named her kinsman, the duke of Norfolk, who then held a distinguish^ 
 place in her favour, and the earl of Leicester. 2 It had occasioned grea 
 wonder, in the first year of her reign, when this nobleman was chosei 
 as one of the knights of the garter; but so many honours and privi 
 leges had since been conferred on him, that this was regarded as a matte 
 of course; and every one expected that his next preferment would b 
 to the crown-matrimonial of England. Elizabeth had promised to giv 
 him a decided answer at Candlemas; but when that time came, she stil 
 hesitated. Cecil had bided his time; and when he found her dubious 
 he suggested six important objections to the marriage. 3 1st. Leiceste 
 could bring neither riches, power, nor estimation. 2nd. He was deepl 
 involved in debt, notwithstanding all that had been lavished upon hin 
 3rd. He was surrounded by needy and rapacious dependents, who woul 
 engross all the favour, and all the patronage of the crown. 4th. H 
 was so violent and mutable in his passions; one day so jealous, an 
 another so indifferent, that the queen could not expect to live happil 
 1 Sidney Papers. * Stowe. a Von Raumer . Lingard. 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 1S3 
 
 with him. 5th. He was infamed, by the death of his wife ; and, 6th. 
 His marriage with his sovereign, would be taken as a confirmation of 
 all the scandalous reports that had been so long and confidently circu¬ 
 lated, both at home and abroad.' 
 
 The wedded misery of the queen of Scots, and the ingratitude, ambi¬ 
 tion, and misconduct of Darnley, probably operated as a warning to the 
 wary Elizabeth, of the danger she might encounter if she married a 
 subject; and, above all, she knew Leicester too well to trust him. 
 
 The state of excitement in the court and the scandalous reports that 
 were in circulation, may be gathered from the careful manner in which 
 the cautious premier guards his colleague at the court of France, sir 
 Thomas Smith, from giving credit to the gossip that may have been col¬ 
 lected by the servant, whom he had lately sent to England with his 
 letters. 
 
 “ Of my lord of Leicester’s absence,” writes he, “ and of his return 
 to favour, if your man tell you tales of the court or city, they be fond 
 (foolish), and many untrue. Briefly, I affirm, that the queen’s majesty 
 may be by malicious tongues not well reported ; but in truth she her¬ 
 self is blameless, and hath no spot of evil intent. Marry, there may 
 lack specially in so busy a world, circumspections to avoid all occa¬ 
 sions” 2 —of giving room for invidious observation—Cecil might have 
 added, had he closed the sentence ; but he evidently refers with some 
 annoyance to the levity of carriage in his royal mistress, which ren¬ 
 dered it necessary for him to render serious testimony to her ambassa¬ 
 dor in a foreign court, that however her reputation might have suffered, 
 she was herself innocent of actual misconduct. 
 
 Cecil’s letter is dated the 26th of March, 1566, and at that time he 
 appears seriously anxious to promote Elizabeth’s marriage with the 
 archduke, if only to put an end to the disreputable flirtation, which was 
 still going on, with the man whom she probably loved, but was too 
 proud, too cautious to marry. 
 
 “ The matter of JCharles,” pursues the premier, “ is of her surely 
 ' minded ; but the progress therein hath many lets. My lord of Norfolk 
 hath showed himself a very noble man, and wise.” 
 
 Norfolk was an earnest advocate of the Austrian marriage ; and his 
 disdain of Leicester was never forgiven by the favourite. The rest of 
 the nobility were also anxious for the alliance with Charles. 
 
 “ God direct the queen’s marriage in some place,” concludes Cecil, 
 “for otherwise her regiment will prove very troublesome and unquiet.” 
 By the expression, her regiment , the premier seems to imply her rule, 
 or guidance; but whether the trouble he anticipates would be to him¬ 
 self, in managing his sovereign, or to herself in ruling her aspiring lord, 
 is not quite so clear. 
 
 Where crowns and sovereigns are at stake, the game must needs be 
 delicately played, by those who hope to win; but Leicester’s egotism 
 led him to forget the respect due to his royal mistress, so far as to un¬ 
 bosom himself without reserve to the new French ambassador, La Fo- 
 
 * Haynes. 
 
 ! Wright, vol. i., 223. 
 
184 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 r£t, who, on the 6th of August, 1566, communicated the following par¬ 
 ticulars to his own court: 44 The earl has admitted to me, laughing and 
 sighing at the same time, ‘ that he knows not what to hope or fear, that 
 he is nmre uncertain than ever whether the queen wishes to marry him 
 or not; that she has so many, and great princes suitors, that he knows 
 not what to do, or what to think.’ Subsequently he has said, 4 1 believe 
 not in truth that the queen will ever marry. I have known her, from 
 her eighth year, better than any man upon earth. From that date she 
 has invariably declared that she would remain unmarried. Should she, 
 however, alter that determination, I am all but convinced she would 
 choose no other than myself. At least, the queen has done me the hon¬ 
 our to say as much to me, and 1 am as much in her favour as ever.’ ” 1 
 
 While these doubts and fears, hopes and misgivings, on the subject 
 of love and matrimony were agitating the mighty Elizabeth, her ambi¬ 
 tious favourite, her anxious premier, and jealous kinsmen,—Mary Stuart, 
 on the 19th of June, had given birth to a son, who was one day to 
 unite the Britannic Isles in one peaceful and glorious empire. Sir James 
 Melville was despatched in all haste to announce this joyful event to 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 The court was then at Greenwich ; and Cecil hastening to the royal 
 presence before Melville was admitted, approached her majesty, who was 
 dancing merrily in the hall after supper, and whispered the news in her 
 ear. The mirth and music ceased; for all present were startled at the 
 sudden change which came over the queen, who, unable to conceal her 
 vexation, sat down, leaning her head on her hand, and then burst out to 
 some of her ladies, who anxiously inquired what ailed her grace— 44 The 
 queen of Scots is lighter of a fair son; and I am but a barren stock !” 2 
 This extraordinary lamentation for a maiden queen was duly reported to 
 Melville; when he came next morning to his official audience, his spies 
 and friends told him, withal, that the queen had been earnestly coun¬ 
 selled to conceal her chagrin, and 44 show a glad countenance.” How¬ 
 ever, she rather overacted her part, if Melville bears true witness, 
 since, at his introduction, he says, 44 She welcomed me with a merry 
 volt,” which certainly must mean, that she cut a caper at the sight of 
 him. 44 She then thanked me for the despatch I had used, and told mt 
 4 the news I brought had recovered her from a heavy sickness, which 
 had held her fifteen days !’ All this she said and did, before I deliverer 
 my letter of credence. I told her, when she had read it, 4 that my 
 queen knew of all her friends, her majesty would be the gladdest of the 
 news, albeit, her son was dear bought with peril of her life;’ adding 
 4 that she was so sair handled in the meantime, that she wisset she hat 
 never married.’ This I said to give the English queen a little scare ol 
 marrying; she boasted sometimes that she was on the point of marry¬ 
 ing the archduke Charles, whenever she was pressed to name the secont 
 person, or heir to the English crown. Then I requested her majesty tt 
 be a gossip to our queen ; fer cummers, or godmothers, are called gos 
 sips in England. This she granted gladly. Then, I said, her majesty 
 
 1 Depeches de la Foret. ’Melville's Memoirs, pp. 15S-9. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 185 
 
 would have a fair occasion to see our queen, which she had so oft de¬ 
 sired. At this she smiled, and said, ‘she wished that her estate and 
 affairs might permit her,’ and promised to send honourable lords and 
 ladies to supply her place.” 1 She sent the earl of Bedford as her re¬ 
 presentative to congratulate the queen, and to present her splendid 
 christening gift, a font of gold worth 1000/., which she expressed some 
 fear that the little prince might have over-grown. “If you find it so,” 
 said she, “you may observe that our good sister has only to keep it for 
 the next, or some such merry talk.” Elizabeth appointed Mary’s ille¬ 
 gitimate sister, the beautiful countess of Argyle, to act as her proxy at 
 the baptism of the heir of Scotland, which was performed according to 
 the rites of the church of Rome. The royal infant received the names 
 of Charles James, though he reigned under that of James alone. 
 
 Elizabeth was the principal cause of the unfortunate husband of Mary 
 not being present at the baptism of his royal infant, because she had 
 positively enjoined her ambassador to refuse to acknowledge his con¬ 
 ventional title of king of Scotland. 
 
 This summer the feuds between Sussex and Leicester ran so high, 
 on the subject of her majesty’s marriage, that neither of them ventured 
 abroad without a retinue of armed followers. Sussex, whose mother 
 was a Howard, was the kinsman of the queen, and his high sense of 
 honour rendered him jealous of the construction that was placed on her 
 intimacy with her master of the horse, combined with her reluctance to 
 marry. He was urgent with her to espouse the archduke Charles, and 
 'with him were banded all of the Howard lineage and Lord Hunsdon, 
 her maternal relatives. Cecil, her premier, went with them as far as his 
 cautious nature would permit. In June there was an attempt to shake 
 his credit with the queen, and he has noted briefly, and without com¬ 
 ment, the following incidents in his diary :— 
 
 “June, 1566, Fulsharst, a fool, was suborned to speak slanderously 
 of me at Greenwich to the queen’s majesty, for which he was com¬ 
 mitted to Bridewell.” 
 
 “ 16th, a discord between the earls of Leicester and Sussex at Green¬ 
 wich, there appeased by her majesty.” 
 
 “21st, Accord between the Earls of Sussex and Leicester before her 
 'najesty at Greenwich.” 
 
 They were reconciled after the fashion of persons, who are reluc- 
 antly bound over to keep the peace, for their hatred was deadly and 
 mquenchable. The queen went soon after in progress into Northamp- 
 onshire and to Woodstock. On the 31st of August she paid a long- 
 rromised visit to the University of Oxford, of which Leicester had been 
 lected chancellor. She was received at Walvicote by the earl of Lei¬ 
 nster, and a deputation of doctors and heads of colleges in their scarlet 
 ;owns and hoods. The staffs of the superior beadles were delivered to 
 ter by the chancellor and restored again. Mr. Roger Marbeck, the 
 nator of the University, made an elegant speech to her majesty, who 
 vas graciously pleased to offer her hand to be kissed by the orator and 
 
 10* 
 
 1 Melville's Memoirs. 
 
186 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 doctors. When Dr. Humphreys, the leader of the puritan party, drew 
 near, in his turn, to perform that homage to his liege lady, she said to 
 him, with a smile, “ Mr. Doctor, that loose gown becomes you well, I 
 wonder your notions should be so narrow.” 1 
 
 About a mile from the town, her majesty was met and welcomed by 
 the mayor and corporation. The mayor surrendered his mace into her 
 hands, which she returned, and he presented to her, in the name of the 
 city, a cup of silver, double gilt, in which was forty pounds in old gold. 
 She entered at the north gate, called Brocardo, from which place to 
 Christ Church Hall, the University was ranged in order, according to 
 their degrees, and each order presented her majesty with Latin verses 
 and orations. The scholars, kneeling as she passed, cried “ Vivat 
 rcgina ,” and she, with joyful countenance, responded “Gralius ego.” 
 When she came to Carfax, an oration was made to her in Greek, by Mr. 
 Lawrence, to which she made a suitable reply, in the same language. 
 
 A canopy was borne over her, by four senior doctors, as she entered i 
 the church. On the second of September her majesty heard the first ! 
 half of an English play, called Palamon and Arcite, 2 which had such 
 tragical success,” observes old Stowe, “ as was lamentable, three per¬ 
 sons being killed by the fall of a wall and part of the staircase, on ac¬ 
 count of the over-pressure of the crowd, which the queen understand¬ 
 ing, was much concerned, and sent her own surgeon to help those, who 
 were now past remedy. On the fourth of September the queen heard 
 the remainder of Palamon and Arcite, 3 to her great content, in the com- 
 
 1 Hist, and Antiq. Oxon.. lib. i., 287. 
 
 * Neal's Visit of Queen Elizabeth to Oxford, MS. Harl. 7033, f. 139. 
 
 3 The author of this admired play was Richard Edwards, master of the cliildrer 
 of her majesty's chapel royal. He had previously written the tragedy of Damon 
 and Pythias. His verses were much esteemed in the court; and the following 
 complimentary description of eight of Elizabeth's maids of honour can scarcelj 
 be unacceptable to the reader:— 
 
 i. 
 
 “ Howard is not haughty, 
 
 But of such smiling cheer, 
 
 That would allure each gentle heart 
 Her love to hold full dear, 
 ii. 
 
 “Dacres is not dangerous, 
 
 Her talk is nothing coy, 
 
 Her noble stature may compare 
 With Hector's wife of Troy. 
 hi. 
 
 “Baynam is as beautiful 
 As nature can devise ; 
 
 Steadfastness possess her heart, 
 
 And chastity her eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 “ Arundel is ancient 
 
 In these her tender years; 
 
 It. heart, in voice, in talk, in deeds, 
 
 A matron wise appears, 
 v. 
 
 > Dormer is a darling, 
 
 Of such a lively hue, 
 
 That whoso feeds his eyes on her 
 May soon her beauty rue. 
 
 VI. 
 
 “Coke is comely, and thereto 
 In books sets all her care 
 In learning, with the Roman dames 
 Of right she may compare. 
 
 VII. 
 
 “Bridges is a blessed wight. 
 
 And prayeth with heart and 
 voice. 
 
 Which from her cradle hath been 
 taught 
 
 In virtue to rejoice. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 “These eight now serve one noble 
 queen; 
 
 But if power were in me, 
 
 For beauty's praise, and virtue’s 
 sake, 
 
 Each one a queen should be.” 
 Harrington's Nugtt Antique. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 187 
 
 NJn 
 
 mon hall of Christ’s College. When it was ended, she, who well knew 
 the art of pleasing, and rarely omitted those gracious courtesies which 
 cost a sovereign nothing, but are precious, beyond description, to those 
 to whom they are vouchsafed, sent for the author, and gave him thanks 
 for the pleasure she had received, with promises of reward, and before 
 her whole court condescended thus to prattle to him of the characters 
 which had afforded her two nights’ entertainment in the hall. “By 
 Palamon,” said her majesty, “ I warrant he dallied not in love, being in 
 love indeed. By Arcite, he was a right martial knight, having a swart 
 countenance and a manly face. By Trecotio, God’s pity, what a knave 
 it is! By Pirithous, his throwing St. Edward’s rich cloak into the fune¬ 
 ral fire, which a stander by would have stayed by the arm with an 
 oath.” 1 This circumstance appears to have amused Elizabeth exceed¬ 
 ingly, for it seems, that the youthful part of the audience, being new to 
 the excitement of dramatic entertainments, took some of the most lively 
 incidents in the play for reality, without pausing to reflect on the ab¬ 
 surdity of a pagan knight, of the court of Theseus, being in possession 
 of the cloak of the royal Anglo-Saxon saint. It is, however, certain, 
 that the fair Emilia, whose part was enacted by a handsome boy of 
 fourteen, appeared on that occasion, not only in the costume, but the 
 veritable array of the recently defunct majesty of England, queen Mary, 
 as we find from the following item in one of the wardrobe books of 
 queen Elizabeth : “ There was occupied and worn at Oxford, in a play 
 before her majesty, certain of the' apparel that was late queen Mary’s; 
 at what time there was lost one fore-quarter of a gown without sleeves, 
 of purple velvet, with satin ground,” &.c. 2 
 
 Notwithstanding the abstraction of so important a portion of the 
 royal gaberdine of her sister and predecessor, with which the roguish 
 representative of the Athenian princess, had doubtless guerdoned him¬ 
 self, for his trouble, queen Elizabeth, in token of her approbation of 
 his performance, gave him eight pounds in gold. In the same play was 
 introduced the cry of hounds on the train of a fox, in Theseus’ hunting 
 party, which being imitated with good effect, not on the stage, but the 
 quadrangle of the college, the young scholars standing in the windows 
 were so greatly excited, that they cried out, “ There, there ! he’s caught, 
 he’s caught!” 
 
 “ Oh, excellent!” cried the queen, merrily, from her box. “ These 
 boys in very troth are ready to leap out of the windows to follow the 
 hounds.” 3 4 
 
 On the fifth of September were disputations in physic and divinity in 
 St. Mary’s church, from two o’clock till seven, before the queen, at 
 which time Dr. Westphaling prolonged his oration to so unreasonable a 
 length, that her majesty, who intended herself to speak in the evening, 
 sent word to him, “ to make an end of his discourse without delay.” ‘ 
 
 1 Anthony A’Wood ; Warton; Nichols. 
 
 a The highly curious MS. from which this fact is derived is in the valuable 
 collection of tny learned friend, Sir Thomas Phillipps, bart., of Middlebill. 
 
 *Anth. A'Wood ; Ath. Ox., vol. i., p. 288; Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
 4 Harrington’s Nugas Antique. 
 
188 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The doctor, having possession of the public ear, paid no heed to thi 
 royal mandate, but held forth for half-an-hour more, to the infinite in 
 dignation of the queen, who was not only especially bored by his inter 
 minable prosing, but prevented from making the learned display she ha< 
 herself meditated, having been earnestly solicited to speak by the Span 
 ish ambassador, who was present, which she had promised to do whet 
 the disputations were over. It was so late before Dr. Westphaling con 
 eluded his harangue that her majesty was compelled to put off her owi 
 speech till the next morning. Site sent an angry message to West 
 phaling, inquiring “how he durst presume to go on with his discoursi 
 to so unreasonable a length, after she had sent her commands for hin 
 to bring it briefly to a close ?” The learned doctor replied, with grea 
 humility, that having committed it all to memory, he found it impossi 
 ble to omit any part in order to shorten it, lest he should put himself s< 
 entirely out of cue that he should forget all the rest, and so be brough 
 to shame before the university and court. Her majesty laughed heartily 
 when she understood the parrot-like manner in which the poor docto 
 had learned his theme, so that he feared to leave out one sentence, fo 
 fear of forgetting the rest. 
 
 On the following morning she made her own oration, in. Latin, befor 
 the whole university, “to the great comfort and delectation of then 
 allbut in the midst of it, observing her secretary of state, Cecil 
 standing on his lame feet, she broke off, by ordering one of her attend 
 ants to bring him a stool, and when she had seen him convenientl; 
 seated, she resumed her oration, and went on to the end as fluently a 
 if she had not interrupted herself. This, it is supposed, she intende 
 as a hint to Westphaling on her superior powers of eloquence an 
 memory. 1 
 
 Her majesty was feasted, eulogized, and entertained at Oxford fc 
 seven successive days. On the last, the commissary and proctors pre 
 sented her majesty, in the name of the whole university, with six pai 
 of very fine gloves, and to the nobles and officers of her househok 
 some two pair, and others one, which were thankfully accepted. Afte 
 dinner, a farewell oration was addressed to her majesty in Christ Churcl 
 and the very walls of Oxford were papered with verses in honour o 
 her visit. She was conducted, by the mayor, aldermen, and heads o 
 colleges, as far as Shotiver-hill, where the earl of Leicester informed he 
 their jurisdiction ended, and Mr. Roger Marbeck made a final oration t 
 her majesty, on the glories to which learning was likely to arrive unde 
 so erudite a sovereign. Elizabeth listened with pleasure, returned 
 gracious answer, and looking back on Oxford with all possible mark 
 of tenderness and affection, bade them farewell. 2 
 
 From Oxford she proceeded to Ricote, the seat of sir Henry Norri: 
 and then returned to London, to await the opening of the parliamen 
 which, after six lengthened prorogations, she had reluctantly summone 
 to meet for the purpose of replenishing her empty exchequer. 
 
 * Sir John Harrington's Nugse Antiquae. 
 
 3 Hist, and Antiquities Acad. Oxon.; Anthony A’Wood ; Holinslied ; Nichols 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 189 
 
 The birth of a son to the queen of Scots had strengthened the party 
 af those who were desirous of seeing the succession settled on the 
 aereditary claimants who would ultimately unite the crowns of England 
 ind Scotland in peace and prosperity. On the other hand, the protestant 
 community, dreading a renewal of persecution if the sceptre passed into 
 the hands of a catholic sovereign, desired the marriage of Elizabeth, in 
 he hope of continuing under monarchs of her own immediate lineage. 
 
 When the parliament met, both parties united in addressing her ma¬ 
 jesty on the two subjects most distasteful to her—her marriage and the 
 settlement of the royal succession. She heard them with fierce impa- 
 ience, and, like a true daughter of Ilenry VIII., bade them “attend to 
 heir own duties, and she would perform hers.” They were of a dif¬ 
 ferent spirit from the men who had crouched to her father’s bad pas- 
 ions and ill manners, for they exerted the independence of the national 
 enate by refusing to grant the supplies, on the grounds that her majesty 
 iad not performed the conditions on whicli the last were given, and 
 >assed a vote that nothing of the kind should be done, till she thought 
 ■roper to accede to the wishes of the nation by settling the succes- 
 ion,' 
 
 A deputation of twenty peers addressed the queen on the evils result- 
 ig from her silence. She answered, haughtily, “ that she did not 
 hoose that her grave should be dug while she was yet alive; that the 
 bmmons had acted like rebels, and had treated her as they durst not 
 ave treated her father.” She added, with infinite scorn, “ that the lords 
 light pass a similar vote if they pleased, but their votes were but empty 
 reath without her royal assent.” She called them “ hair-brained poli- 
 cians, unfit to decide on such matters,” and referred herself to a com¬ 
 mittee of six grave and discreet councillors of her own choosing, “ by 
 hose advice,” she said, “she intended to be guided.” 2 
 This intemperate and despotic language did not suit the temper of the 
 mes, and was followed by the first serious opposition and censure of 
 ie conduct of the sovereign that had been heard for centuries in the 
 itional senate. Leicester, provoked probably at the determination of 
 le queen not to risk bestowing a share in her power and privileges on 
 consort, took a leading part in this debate, which so offended her that 
 ic forbade him and the earl of Pembroke her presence. 3 Party recrimi- 
 ations ran high on this subject; Leicester had avenged the opposition 
 ’ Cecil to his marriage with their sovereign, by causing it to be gene- 
 lly circulated that the jealousy of the premier was the real obstacle 
 hich deterred her majesty from fulfilling the wishes of her people, and 
 •eat ill-will was expressed to the minister on this account, and public 
 irses were bestowed on Huick, the queen’s physician, for having said 
 ■mething, in his professional character, which had deterred her majesty 
 pm matrimony. On the ‘27th of October, a general petition was ad- 
 essed to her majesty by both houses of parliament, entreating her 
 her to choose a consort or name a successor. Elizabeth assured them 
 :hat she had not bound herself by any vow of celibacy never to trade 
 
 D'Ewes’ Journals, 12. 
 
 3 Ibid., 124. 
 
 ’ Burieivh Papers. 
 
190 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 (as she termed it) in that kind of life called marriage.” She acknow 
 ledgtd “ that she thought it best for private women, but, as a prince, shi 
 endeavoured to bend her mind to it, and as for the matter of the succes 
 sion, she promised that they should have the benefit of her prayers.’ 
 The commons were not content with this oracular declaration, am 
 passed a vote, that the bill for the supplies should be incorporated, will 
 ■•a bill for the settlement of the succession. The queen was exasperate* * 
 at this novel step in the provision of ways and means, and when it was 
 communicated to her, by a deputation from the lower house, she hastih 
 scribbled at the foot of the address her sentiments on the occasion 
 which, according to a notation in cipher, added by sir William Cecil 
 she repeated, by way of answer, 1 to Mr. Speaker and thirty member 
 of the house of commons, who brought up the unlucky address, Not 
 14, 1566. It is to be hoped her speech was more perspicuous than he 
 notes of it, or little could the commons learn, further than that thei 
 liege lady was in a rage :— 
 
 “ I know no reason why any my private answers to the realm should serv 
 for prologue to a subsidy vote; neither yet do I understand why such audacit 
 should be used to make, without my license, an Act of my words. Are m 
 words like lawyer's books, which now-a-days go to the wire-drawers, to mak 
 subtle doings more plain ? Is there no hold of my speech without an act f 
 compel me to confirm? Shall my princely consent be turned to strengthen m 
 words, that be not of themselves substantives ? Say no more at this time, bi 
 if these fellows—(we fear she meant the members of the House of Commons l 
 this irreverent word fellows )—were well answered, and paid with lawful coil 
 there would be no fewer counterfeits among them !” 
 
 The commons regarded this intimation as a breach of their privilege 
 and allowed the bill for the supplies—that business to which alone h< 
 majesty was desirous they should direct their attention, to remain ui 
 noticed. They maintained with unwonted independence, “ that sine 
 the queen would not marry, she ought to be compelled to name her su< 
 cessor, and that her refusing to do so, proceeded from feelings whic 
 could only be entertained by weak princes and faint-hearted women.’ 
 Elizabeth was mortified at this language, but felt that she reigned solel 
 by the will and affections of her own people, whose representatives si 
 had insulted. France, Spain, Scotland, Rome, were ready to unite again 
 her if she took one false step; and she was without money. It was n> 
 in her temper to retract, but she well knew how to cajole, and sendir 
 for thirty members from each house, she assured them of her lovir 
 affection and desire to do all that her subjects’ weal required, and lha 
 understanding that the house was willing to grant her an extra subsic 
 if she would declare her successor; she could only say, “that ha 
 would content her, as she considered that money in her subjects’ purs 
 was as good as in her own exchequer.” 3 This popular sentiment o 
 
 ’The paper written on, in her hurried running hand, is still to be seen amo 
 the Lansdowne MSS., Brit. Museum, No. 1236, fol. 42. A sentence or two, i: 
 connected in sense, precedes those we have, quoted. A specimen of this au 
 graph is engraved in Netherclift's autographs of illustrious women of Gre 
 Britain,—a work of great merit. 
 
 * D Ewes’ Journals of Parliament. * D'Ewes; Rapin ; Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 191 
 
 tained from the parliament the really ample grant of oue-fifteenth and 
 one-tenth from the people, and four shillings in the pound from the 
 clergy, unfettered by any conditions whatsoever. When Elizabetli had 
 gained this point, she dismissed her parliament without delay, in a half- 
 pathetic, half-vituperative speech from the throne; observing in the com¬ 
 mencement of her harangue, “ that although her lord keeper (Bacon) 
 had addressed them, she remembered that a prince’s own words bore 
 more weight with them than those that were spoken by her command.” 
 She complained bitterly of u the dissimulation that she had found among 
 them when she was herself all plainness. As for her successor,” she 
 said, “they might, perhaps, have a wiser or more learned to reign over 
 them, but one more careful for their weal they could not have, but 
 whether she ever lived to meet them again, or whoever it might be, she 
 bade them beware how they again tried their prince’s patience, as they 
 had done hers. And now, to conclude,” said her majesty, “not mean¬ 
 ing to make a Lent of Christmas, the most part of you may assure 
 yourselves that you depart in your prince’s grace.” 1 
 
 At the very period of this stormy excitement, Elizabeth was secretly 
 amusing herself with the almost exploded chimeras of alchemy, for 
 Cecil, in his diary, has noted that in January, 1567, “Cornelius Lanoy, 
 a Dutchman, was committed to the Tower for abusing 2 the queen’s 
 majesty, in promising to make the elixir.” This impostor had been per¬ 
 mitted to have his laboratory at Somerset house, where he had deceived 
 hnany by promising to convert any metal into gold. To the queen a 
 more flattering delusion had been held forth, even the draught of per¬ 
 petual life and youth, and her strong intellect had been duped into a 
 bersuasion that it was in the power of a foreign empiric to confer the 
 boon of immortality upon her. The particulars of this transaction 
 Would doubtless afford a curious page in the personal history of the 
 nighty Elizabeth. That she was a believer in the occult sciences, and 
 *m encourager of those who practised the forbidden arts of divination 
 md transmutation, no one who has read the diary of her pet conjuror, 
 Dr. Dee, can doubt. It is probable that he was an instrument used by 
 ler to practise on the credulity of other princes, and that, through his 
 tgency, she was enabled to penetrate into many secret plots and asso¬ 
 ciations in her own realm, but she placed apparently an absurd reliance 
 bn his predictions herself. She even condescended with her whole 
 Court and privy council to visit'him one day at Mortlake, when it was 
 ler gracious intention to have examined his library, and entered into 
 urther conference, but understanding that his wife had only been buried 
 our hours, she contented herself with a peep into his magic mirror, 
 vhich he brought to her. 3 “ Her majesty,” says Dee, “ being taken 
 down from her horse by the earl of Leicester, master of the horse, at 
 he church wall, at Mortlake, did see some of the properties of that 
 [lass, to her majesty’s great contentment and delight.” 1 
 
 1 D’Ewes; Rapin. ' a i. e., abusing, in old English, meant deceiving. 
 
 s Diary of Dr. Dee, edited by James O. Halliwell, Esq, published by .he Camden 
 iociety. Dee’s Compendious Memorial. 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
192 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 A strange sight, in sooth, it must have been for the good people of 
 Mortlake, who had witnessed in the morning the interment of the 
 wizard’s wife in the churchyard, to behold in the afternoon the maiden 
 majesty of England, holding conference with the occult widower under 
 the same church wall, on the flowery margin of the Thames. Nay, 
 more, alighting from her stately palfrey, to read a forbidden page of 
 futurity in the dim depths of his wondrous mirror'—ebon framed, and 
 in shape and size resembling some antique hand-screen—while her gav , 
 and ambitious master of the horse, scarcely refrained, perchance, from 
 compelling the oracle to reflect his own handsome face to the royal eye, 
 as that of the man whom the fates had decided it was her destiny to 
 wed. Many, however, were the secret consultations Dee held with 
 queen Elizabeth at Windsor, and Richmond, and even at Whitehall; 
 and when she passed that way she honoured him with especial greet¬ 
 ings. _ ' 
 
 “September 17th,” says he, “ the queen’s majesty came from Rich¬ 
 mond, in her coach, the higher way of Mortlake field, and when she 
 came right against the church, she turned down towards my house; and 
 when she was against my garden in the field, she stood there a good 
 while, and then came into the street at the great gate of the field, where, 
 espying me at my door making obeisances to her majesty, she beckoned 
 me to come to her coach side; she very speedily pulled off her glove 
 and gave me her hand to kiss, and to be short, asked me to resort to 
 her court, and to give her to wete (know) when 1 came there.” 2 He 
 also had flattered Elizabeth with promises of perennial youth and beauty, 
 from his anticipated discovery of the elixir of life, and the prospect of 
 unbounded wealth, as soon as he should have arrived at the power of 
 bringing to practical purpose his secret of transmuting the baser metals 
 into gold. 
 
 After years of false but not fruitless trickery, he professed to have 
 arrived at the point of projection, having cut a piece of metal out of a 
 brass warming-pan, and merely heating it by the fire and pouring on it 
 a portion of his elixir, converted it into pure silver. He is said to have I 
 sent the warming-pan with the piece of silver to the queen, that she J 
 might see with her own eyes the miracle, and be convinced that they i 
 were the veritable parts that had been severed from each other, by the 
 exact manner in which they corresponded after the transmutation had 
 been effected. 3 His frequent impositions on the judgment of the q-ueen, 
 did not cure her of the partiality with which she regarded him, and after 
 ’ a long residence on the continent, she wooed him to return to England, 1 
 which he did, travelling with three coaches, each with four horses, in 
 state, little inferior to that of an ambassador. A guard of soldiers was 
 sent to defend him from molestation or plunder on the road. Imme¬ 
 diately on his arrival, he had an audience of the queen, at Richmond, 
 by whom he was most graciously received. She issued her especial 
 
 1 Last summer, this identical mirror attracted much attention at the private 
 view of Horace Walpole’s collection, at Strawberry-hill, and was sold, after great 
 .■ompetition, for fifteen guineas. 
 
 a Dee's Diary. 8 Godwin’s Lives of the Necromancers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 193 
 
 orders that lie should do what he liked in chemistry and philosophy, 
 and that no one should on any account interrupt him. He held two 
 livings in the church, through the patronage of his royal mistress, 
 though he was suspected by her loyal lieges of being in direct corre¬ 
 spondence and friendship with the powers of evil. Elizabeth finally be¬ 
 stowed upon him the chancellorship of St. Paul’s Cathedral.' 
 
 The very accurate accounts that were kept, by the officers of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s wardrobe, of every article of the royal dress and decorations, are 
 evidenced by the following amusing entry, from the highly curious MS. 
 pertaining to that department, to which we have referred before:— 
 
 “ Lost from her majesty's back, the 17th of January, anno 10 R. Eliz., at West¬ 
 minster, one aglet of gold enamelled blue, set upon a gown of purple velvet, the 
 ground satin ; the gown set all over with aglets of two sorts, the aglet which is 
 lost being of the bigger sort. Mem., That the 18th of April, anno 8, R. Eliz., 
 her majesty wore a hat having a band of gold enamelled with knots, and set 
 with twelve small rubies or garnets, at which time one of the said rubies was 
 lost. Item, Lost from her majesty’s back at Willington, the 16th of July, one 
 aglet of gold enamelled white. Item, One pearl and a tassel of gold being lost 
 from her majesty’s back, off the French gown of black satin, the 15th day of 
 July, at Greenwich.” 1 
 
 These aglets were ornamental loops, or eyelets, of goldsmiths’ work, 
 with which Elizabeth’s robes appear to have been thickly besprinkled; 
 they were movable, and changed from one dress to another, according 
 to pleasure, and she had various sets of them of different colours and 
 patterns; some gold enamelled white, some blue, others purple, and 
 some enriched with pearls and gems. Manifold are the entries in the 
 said wardrobe book, of the losses her majesty sustained in these deco¬ 
 rations ; in one instance the record is entered in regal style. “ Item— 
 lost from the face of a gown, in our wearing the same at Cheynes, July 
 anno 12., one pair of small aglets, enamelled blue, parcel of 183 pair.” 
 The inference of the reader would naturally be, that her majesty’s yeo¬ 
 men ol the robes must have performed their duties very negligently to 
 allow such insecure stitching to be used in her service; but we remem¬ 
 ber to have seen in a contemporary MS., that when the queen dined in 
 public on one of her progresses, some of those that stood about her cut 
 aglets from her majesty’s dress, and that not out of a pilfering disposi¬ 
 tion, but from feelings of loyal enthusiasm for the sake of possessing 
 something that had been worn by their adored liege lady. Her losses 
 of jewelry were not confined to aglets. At Oatlands, in the month of 
 June, she was minus four buttons of gold, enamelled white and blue; 
 and at Hampton court, in the month of January, in the following year, 
 four pair of pomander buttons. 
 
 “ Item, Lost from her majesty's back, the 25th of December anno 15, one tassel 
 and one middle piece of gold from a knotted button, containing three pearls in 
 de pecc. Lost from her majesty's back, 17th of November, one eft of gold.” 
 
 Pope’s sarcastic lines on the habit of mind of some females, who 
 seem to employ equal depth of stratagem on matters of trifling import 
 as on the government of a state, never sure received completer histori- 
 
 1 Godwin’s Life of Dee. a Ex. MSS., Phillipps* Middle Hill Collection. 
 
 VOL. VI. - 17 N 
 
194 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 cal illustration, than when the acute heads of Elizabeth ajid Cecil plot¬ 
 ted together to obtain surreptitiously the services of a tailor, employed 
 by the queen-regent of France, Catharine de Medicis. The gout with 
 which the prime minister of England enters into this intrigue, rather 
 authenticates the statement of Parsons, the Jesuit, that he was the son 
 of an operative tailor, 1 being in the same predicament with Pepys, 
 whose affectionate instincts towards his paternal craft have more re¬ 
 cently diverted all the world. 
 
 “The queen’s majesty,” wrote Cecil to Sir Henry Norris, the ambas¬ 
 sador at Paris, “ would fain have a tailor that had skill, to make her ap¬ 
 parel both after the Italian and French manner, and she thinketh that 
 you might use some means to obtain some one that serveth the French 
 queen, without mentioning any manner of request in our queen’s ma¬ 
 jesty’s name. First cause your lady to get such a one.” The gist of 
 the intrigue was, that the tailor was to be enticed into England by the 
 agency of Lady Norris, without Catherine de Medicis knowing the 
 matter, lest that queen should formally offer the services of the man of 
 6titch, and thus entail a political obligation on the majesty of England. 
 
 The time and talents of this profound statesman were also employed 
 by Elizabeth in devising a truly ludicrous proclamation to prevent un¬ 
 skilful painters, gravers, and printers from doing injustice to the goodly 
 lineaments of her gracious countenance, by presuming to attempt por¬ 
 traitures of her till some cunning person should have made such a per¬ 
 fect representation as might serve for a pattern meet to be followed. 
 But even when this state pattern was provided, none were to be allowed 
 to copy it but persons of understanding, nor even such as were, unless 
 duly authorized by a license. As for the ill-favoured portraits of her 
 majesty that had already been rashly perpetrated, they were absolutely; 
 prohibited, as contraband articles, and were not permitted to be exposed 
 for sale, “ till such should be reformed as were reformable.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth, though drawing is said to have been one of her accomplish¬ 
 ments, was so little acquainted with the principles of art, that she ob¬ 
 jected to allow any shades to be used by her court painter, as she con¬ 
 sidered all dark tints injurious to the fairness and smoothness of com¬ 
 plexion and contour; hence, the Chinese flatness and insipidity which 
 is generally the prevailing characteristic of her portraits. 
 
 In February, 1567, the horrible and mysterious murder of the unfor- „ 
 tunate husband of Mary, queen of Scots, took place, under circumstance 
 artfully contrived by the perpetrators of this atrocious deed, to fling; 
 strong suspicion of the crime on their hapless sovereign. Elizabeth’: 
 first impulse, on learning this tragic event, was to send lady Ilowart 
 and lady Cecil to her ill-treated cousin, lady Lenox, whom she had do 
 tained now two years a close prisoner in the Tower, to break to her th 
 agonizing news of the calamity that had befallen her. In the evening 
 
 1 The highest preferment his father, Richard Cecil, ever obtained, was yeoma 
 of the sobes; he bad previously served Henry VIII. and Edward VI., in som 
 wardrobe vocation, but whether he had ever handled shears and needle, accori 
 ing to the statement of Parsons, must remain matter of speculation. 
 
 ’ Aikin's Elizabeth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 195 
 
 she sent her own physician, Dr. Huick, to visit her, and the dean of 
 Westminster to offer her consolation . 1 It is possible that if this expe¬ 
 rienced lady had been allowed to join her husband and son in Scotland, 
 on the marriage of Mary with the latter, her councils and mediation 
 might have operated to prevent most of those unhappy differences be¬ 
 tween the royal pair, which were fomented by their mutual foes. Now 
 that the worst that could befal had happened, Elizabeth restored lady 
 Lenox and her youngest son, Charles, to liberty, and treated her with 
 tenderness and consideration. Both the countess and her husband 
 having been led to believe that the Scottish queen was deeply implicated 
 in the murder of their son, appealed to Elizabeth for vengeance, and es¬ 
 pecially to bring Bothwell to an open trial for his share in the transac¬ 
 tion. 
 
 Elizabeth wrote, in the energetic spirit of a daughter of the Planta- 
 genets, to her unhappy cousin Mary Stuart, conjuring her to act as 
 became her in this frightful crisis. She says:—“For the love of God, 
 madame, use such sincerity and prudence in this case, which touches 
 you so nearly, that all the world may have reason to judge you inno¬ 
 cent of so enormous a crime—a thing, which unless you do, you will 
 be worthily blotted out from the rank of princesses, and rendered, not 
 undeservedly, the opprobrium of the vulgar; rather than which fate 
 should befal you, I should wish you an honourable sepulchre, instead of 
 a stained life .” 2 This letter was written at the instance of Darnley’s 
 father, the earl of Lenox, who was desirous of having Bothwell’s trial 
 postponed till he could obtain further proofs of his guilt, but Mary was 
 in the hands of Bothwell and his faction. Elizabeth’s letter fell into 
 the possession of Maitland, whose interest it was to suppress it, and 
 there is reason to believe that it never reached her at all. Maitland at¬ 
 tended Bothwell on his trial, and he was acquitted . 3 Elizabeth, of 
 course, received no answer to her letter, which might have led so acute 
 a princess to suspect that it had been intercepted or detained, especially 
 when she understood that it had passed into hands so suspicious as 
 those of Maitland, whose falsehood she had good reason to know. 
 However, it suited her policy to consider Mary as a state criminal, and 
 she eagerly received the strong tide of circumstantial evidence as con¬ 
 firmation of her guilt. On the subject of Mary’s marriage with Bolh- 
 well, Elizabeth expressed herself with great severity, not only on account 
 of its appearing an outrage against every proper feeling, but because she 
 anticipated that an immediate league between the new consort of the 
 Scottish queen and France would be the result . 4 There can be little 
 ioubt but this would have been the case if Mary’s marriage with that 
 ruffian had been her own choice, or anything but the offspring of dire 
 necessity. Mary’s kindred and the court of France treated him, by the 
 idvice of the ambassador, Du Croc, who was the friend and confidant 
 if the hapless queen, with the scorn he merited/ They would not ac- 
 
 1 Cecil to Norris, in Aikin’s Elizabeth. “Robertson's Appendix. 
 
 * Tytler; Lingard. 4 Tytler. 
 
 * Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, edited by Agnes Strickland, vol. i., new edi- 
 
 ion, pp. 50, 51, published by Colburn. See likewise the document in the old 
 •’rench, in Mr. Tytler's Appendix to History of Scotland. 
 
196 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 knowledge him in any way, therefore Elizabeth was very soon relieved 
 from her apprehension of a dangerous coalition between Bothwell and 
 France. 
 
 Relentlessly as Elizabeth had laboured to undermine the throne of 
 Mary Stuart, she no sooner beheld it in dust, and the queen a degraded 
 and heart-broken captive in the hands of the fierce oligarchy whom her 
 machinations and her gold had spirited up against their sovereign, than 
 her mind misgave her. The blow that had been successfully struck at 
 her hated rival might rebound upon herself, by demonstrating to her 
 own subjects the fact that crowned heads were amenable to the dele¬ 
 gates of the people, not only for misgovernment, but for personal crimes 
 —a principle which no Tudor sovereign could desire to see established 
 in England. Yet she, Elizabeth, the most despotic monarch, save and 
 except her father, that ever swayed the sceptre of this realm, had 
 nourished the spirit of revolt against regal authority in the dominions 
 of her neighbour, and for the sake of personal vengeance on a fairer 
 woman than herself, had committed a political sin against her own pri¬ 
 vileged and peculiar class, by teaching others to set at nought 
 
 “ The divinity 
 That hedges in a king.” 
 
 The recent proceedings in Scotland, the movements of the Huguenots 
 in France and in Flanders, were signs of the tendency of the times 
 towards a general emancipation from the restraints which governments 
 and state creeds had imposed on the minds of men. The spiritual yoke 
 of Rome had been broken in England and Scotland, and the elements of 
 political revolution were agitating the western nations. Elizabeth had 
 fed the flame for the sake of embarrassing the hostile sovereigns, who 
 were ready to impugn her title to the crown she wore, but she was the 
 most arbitrary of all in her determination to crush the same spirit in her 
 own realm. A party was, however, struggling into existence, whose 
 object was to establish the right of senates to hold the sovereign in 
 check, and Elizabeth already began to feel its influence. 
 
 Her own parliament had recently opposed her will, and attempted to 
 dictate to her the line of conduct they considered it was her duty to 
 adopt, and if encouraged by the example of the successful revolt of 
 Mary Stuart’s subjects, they might ere long treat herself with as little 
 ceremony. In the first revulsion caused by these reflections, Elizabeth 
 despatched Throckmorton to Scotland, on a mission of comfort to the 
 captive queen, and of stern remonstrance to her former tools and pen¬ 
 sioners—Murray and his triumphant faction. While Mary was exposee 
 to every bitter insult and indignity, during her woful incarceration a 
 Lochleven, Elizabeth wrote to the queen-regent of France, Catherine dt 
 Medicis, the following letter, which casts a peculiar light on the appa 
 rent inconsistency of her political conduct at this period with regard t< 
 her royal kinswoman :— 
 
 “Oct. 16, 1567. 
 
 “ Having learned by your letter, madame, of which Monsieur Pasquier is th 
 bearer, your honourable intention, and that of the king, my brother, on the par 
 of my desolate cousin, the queen of Scots, I rejoice me very much to see tha 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 19 ' 
 
 one prince takes to heart the wrongs done to another, having a hatred to that 
 metamorphosis, where the head is removed to the foot, and the heels hold the 
 highest place. I promise you, madame, that even if my consanguinity did not 
 constrain me to wish her all honour, her example would seem too terrible for 
 neighbours to behold, and for all prinees to hear. These evil3 often resemble 
 trie noxious influence of some baleful planet, which, commencing in one place, 
 without the good power, might well fall in another, not that (God be thanked) 
 I have any doubts on my part, wishing that neither the king, my good brother, 
 nor any other prince had more cause to chastise their bad subjects, than I have 
 to avenge myself on mine, which are always as faithful to me as I could desire; 
 notwithstanding which I never fail to condole with those prinees who have 
 cause to be angry. Even those troubles that formerly began with the king have 
 vexed me before now. 
 
 “Monsieur Pasquier (as I believe) thinks I have no French, by the passions 
 Df laughter into which he throws me, by the formal precision with which ho 
 speaks, and expresses himself. 
 
 “ Beseeching you, madame, if I can at this time do you any pleasure, you will 
 let me know, that I may acquit myself as a good friend on your part. In the 
 meantime, I cannot cease to pray the Creator to guard the king and yourself from 
 /our bad subjects, and to have you always in his holy care. 
 
 “In haste, at Hampton Court, this 16th of October (1567). 
 
 “Your good sister and cousin, 
 
 “ Elizabeth.” * 1 
 
 The commiseration affected by Elizabeth in this letter for the troubles 
 the had industriously fomented in the dominions, both of Mary Stuart 
 and Charles IX., was, doubtless, galling in the extreme to the proud 
 •Catherine de Medicis. In her answer, some months afterwards, that 
 trincess retorts, in the keenness of Italian sarcasms, her own words 
 iipon the English queen . 2 
 
 Elizabeth was at this time amusing herself with the matrimonial ne¬ 
 gotiations which were actively renewed for her marriage with the ac¬ 
 complished archduke Charles, youngest son of the emperor Ferdinand 
 ., and brother to Maximilian II., the reigning emperor of Germany. 
 The religion of the archduke was the only impediment to an alliance, 
 (vhich Elizabeth is supposed to have considered with more complacency 
 han any other of her numerous offers. The earl of Sussex, her grand 
 hamberlain, the well-known opponent of Leicester, was the ambassador 
 n the treaty, and prosecuted his mission with great zeal, in hopes of 
 riving a check to the absorbing favouritism of his adversary. The let- 
 ers of this magnificent noble are worthy of his high character; he 
 iraws, for his mistress’s information, a very graphic picture of her 
 uitor :— 3 
 
 ’This remarkable letter is translated from the original French, and has never 
 efore been introduced into Elizabeth's biography, being one of the precious 
 anscripts from the royal autographs in the Imperial Library at St. Petersburg, 
 /hich, by gracious permission, were transmitted to me last November, by Mi 
 Atkinson, librarian to the emperor. See also Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, 
 ol. i., new edition, pp. 55, 56. 
 
 1 Catherine’s bitterly sarcastic reply to this letter, in the succeeding May, when 
 
 er daughter-in-law, the fugitive queen of Scots, was a prisoner in Elizabeth's 
 ominions, may be seen at full length in the chain of historical correspondence 
 mbodied in the Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. i., new edition, pp. 71—73. 
 
 3 Lodge's Illustrations, vol. i., 448. 
 
 17 * 
 
198 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 “His highness,” writes Sussex to the queen, “is of person higher, surely, a 
 good deal than my lord marquis (of Baden) ; his hair of head and beard, a 
 light auburn; his face well-proportioned, amiable, and of a very good com¬ 
 plexion, without show of redness or over paleness; his countenance and speech 
 cheerful, very courteous, but stately. His body very well-shaped, without de¬ 
 formity or blemish; his hands very good and fair; his legs clean, well-propor¬ 
 tioned, and of sufficient bigness for his stature ; his foot as good as may be. So 
 as, upon my duty to your majesty, I find not one deformity, misshape, or any¬ 
 thing to be noted worthy of misliking in his whole person; but contrariwise, I 
 find his whole shape to be good in all respects, and such as is rarely found in a 
 prince. His highness, besides his natural language of Dutch (German), speaketh, 
 very well, Spanish and Italian, and, as I hear, Latin. His dealings with me are 
 very wise; his conversation such as much contents me, and, as I hear, not one 
 returns discontented from his company. He is greatly beloved here of all men. 
 The chiefest gallants of these parts are his men, and follow his court, and truly 
 we cannot be so glad to have him come to us as they will be sad here to have 
 him go from them. He is reported to be valiant and of great courage in de¬ 
 fending all his countries from the Turks, and in making them keep his rules. 
 And he is universally (which I most weigh) noted to be of such virtue that he 
 was never spotted or touched with any notable vice or crime, which is much in 
 a prince of his years, endowed with such qualities. He delights much in hunt¬ 
 ing, riding, hawking, and exercise of feats of arms, and hearing of music, 
 whereof he hath very good. He hath, as I hear, some understanding in astronomy 
 and cosmography, and takes pleasure in clocks that set forth the course of the 
 planets. He hath for his portion the countries of Styria, Carniola, Trieste, and 
 Istria, and the government of what remains in Croatin, where he may ride, with¬ 
 out entering any other man’s territories, 300 miles. 
 
 “ Since the writing of my other letters,” continues Sussex, “ I took occasion to 
 go to the archduke in order to sound him in all causes, and to feel whether what 
 he had uttered to me proceeded from him bona fide, or were but words of form. 
 At my coming, his highness willed me to go into his bed-chamber, where, the 
 doors being shut-and no person present, we had long talk, the effect whereof 
 I will recite to your majesty as near as I can. You, I said, were free to marry 
 where it should please God to put you in the heart to like, and you had given 
 no grateful ear to any motion of marriage before this, although you had received 
 sundry great offers from others : I would therefore be as bold with his highness as 
 I was widt your majesty, and therefore beseeched him to let me, on his honour, 
 understand whether he earnestly desired for love of your person, and had deter¬ 
 mined in his heart for this marriage, or else to satisfy others that procured him 
 thereto, and cared not what became thereof, for in the one I would serve your 
 majesty and him truly, and in the other I was not a person of that quality to be 
 made a convenient minister. 
 
 “ His highness answered, ‘ Count, I have heard by the emperor of your dealing 
 with him, and I liave had dealings with you myself, wherewith he and I rest 
 very well contented, but, truly, I never rested more contented than I do of this 
 dealing, wherein, besides your duty to her who trusted you, you show what you 
 are yourself, for which I honour you as you are worthy,' (pardon me, interpo¬ 
 lates Sussex, I beseech your majesty for writing the words be spake of myself, 
 for they serve to set forth his natural disposition.) ‘Although,’ continues the 
 archduke, ‘I have always had good hope of the queen’s honourable dealing in 
 this matter, yet I have heard so much of her disposition not to marry as might 
 give me cause to suspect the worst; but, by your manner of dealing with me, I 
 do think myself bound (wherewith he put off his cap) to honour, love, and 
 serve her majesty while I live, and will firmly credit what you, on her majesty’s 
 behalf, have said. Therefore, if I might have hope that her majesty would bear 
 vvith me for my conscience (on account of his being a Catholic) I know not that 
 thir,) in the world I would refuse to do at her commandment. And surely I 
 
ELIZABETH. 199 
 
 have from the beginning of the matter settled my heart upon her, and never 
 thought of other wife, if she would think me worthy to be her husband.’ 
 
 “ I thanked his highness for his frank dealing, wherein I would believe him, 
 and deal likewise. And now I am satisfied in this, I beseech your highness to 
 satisfy also me in another matter, and bear with me, though I seem somewhat 
 busy, for I mean it for the best.” 
 
 Sussex, with more diplomacy than seems consistent with his manly 
 character, proceeded to give the archduke a hint that some indecision 
 had been attributed to him on the point of religion. In plain language, 
 that he meant to act according to the fashion of the times, and adopt 
 the creed that best suited his interest and aggrandizement. 
 
 “ If this be true,” continued Sussex, “ trust me, sir, I beseech you, I will not 
 betray you, and let me know the secret of your heart, whereby you may grow 
 to a shorter end of your desire. On my oath I assure you I will never utter 
 your counsel to any person living, but to the queen my mistress, and I deliver 
 you her promise, upon her honour, not to utter it to any person without your 
 consent; and if you will not trust me therein, commit it to her majesty by letter, 
 and she will not deceive you.” 
 
 The answer of the archduke is noble and sincere:— 
 
 “‘Surely,’ said his highness, ‘whoever has said this of me to the queen’s ma¬ 
 jesty, or to you, or to any other, hath said more than he knoweth. God grant he 
 meant well therein. My ancestors have always holden the religion that I hold, 
 and I never ‘knew other, therefore I never could have purpose to change. I 
 trust ■fohen her majes,yy shall consider my case well, my determination herein 
 shall not hurt my cause. For, count,’ continued he (to the earl of Sussex),‘how 
 could the queen like me in anything if I should prove so light in changing my 
 conscience ? Therefore I will, myself, crave of her majesty, by my letters, her 
 grant of my only request, and I pray you, with all my heart, to further it all you 
 may.’ 
 
 “ In such like talk his highness spent almost two hours with me, which I 
 thought my duty to advertise your majesty. Hereupon I gather that reputation 
 rules him much in the case of religion, and that if God couple you together in 
 liking, you shall find in him a true husband, a loving companion, a wise coun¬ 
 cillor, and a faithful servant, and we shall have as virtuous a prince as ever 
 ruled. God grant (though you are worthy a great deal better than he, if he 
 were to be found) that our wickedness be not such as we be unworthy of him, 
 or of such as he is.—From Vienna, this 20th of October, 1567. Your majesty’* 
 most humble and faithful subject and servant, T. Sussex.” 
 
 In succeeding conferences, the archduke agreed to conform so far as 
 to be present with Elizabeth at the service of the church of England, 
 and that neither he nor his would speak or do the least thing to the dis¬ 
 paragement of the established religion; and that if he were allowed the 
 use of a chapel for the rites of his own, no Englishman should ever be 
 present at mass. But Elizabeth showed her usual sagacity in the rejec¬ 
 tion of his hand. She knew if she married a catholic, however wise 
 and moderate he might be, she should instantly lose the confidence of 
 the great mass of her protestant subjects who kept her on the throne, 
 and that she should be forced, with her husband, to join entirely with 
 the catholic party, very few of whom could consider her birth as legiti¬ 
 mate. Sussex continued to describe the personal gallantry of the arch¬ 
 duke when riding at the ring, and other chivalric exercises, in the con¬ 
 templation of which his royal mistress delighted. “ In the afternoon,” 
 
200 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 he said, “ the emperor rode in his coach to see the archduke run at the 
 ring, who commanded me to run at his side, and my lord North, Mr. 
 Cobham, and Mr. Powell to run on the other side; and after our run¬ 
 ning was done, the archduke mounted a courser of Naples, and surely 
 his highness, in the order of his running, the managing of his horse, 
 and the manner of his seat, governed himself exceedingly well, and so 
 as, in my judgment, not to be amended.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth, notwithstanding, knew her duty too well, as queen of 
 England, to introduce more jealousies among her people, than those 
 which were already fermenting around her. She ultimately refused the 
 accomplished German, on account of diversity of religion. Sussex at¬ 
 tributed the ill success of his mission to the paramount influence of 
 Leicester, saying, “ he knew who was at work in the vineyard at home, 
 but if God should ever put it into his dear mistress’s heart to divide the 
 weeds from the grain, she would reap the better harvest here.” Lei¬ 
 cester’s party had already whispered that the archduke was devotedly 
 attached to a German lady, and had a family of young children, for 
 whose sake he would never marry. 
 
 While this negotiation was yet proceeding, events occurred in the 
 sister realm of Scotland, which gave a new and strange colouring to 
 the next twenty years of Elizabeth’s life and reign. The unfortunate 
 queen of Scots having effected her escape from Lochleven castle, her 
 faithful friends rallied round her standard, but being intercepted and cut 
 off by the rebel lords in her retreat to Dumbarton, she suffered a deci¬ 
 sive defeat, May 13th, 1568, at the battle of Langside. She took the 
 fatal resolution of throwing herself on the protection of queen Elizabeth, 
 to whom she wrote a touching letter from the abbey of Dundrenan, as¬ 
 suring her that her sole dependence was on her friendship. “To re¬ 
 mind you,” concludes the royal fugitive, “ of the reasons I have to 
 depend on England, I send back to you, its queen, this token of her 
 promised friendship and assistance.” 2 This was a diamond, in the form 
 of a heart, which had been sent to her by Elizabeth as a pledge of her 
 amity and good will. 
 
 Contrary to the advice of her friends, Mary, with the rash confidence 
 of a queen of tragedy or romance, crossed the Frith of Solway in a 
 fishing boat, with lord Herries and her little train, and, on the 16th of 
 May, landed at Workington, in Cumberland. The next day she ad¬ 
 dressed an eloquent letter to Elizabeth, detailing briefly and rapidly the 
 wrongs to which she had been subjected, her present sore distress, even 
 for a change of apparel, and entreated to be conducted to her presence. 3 
 Mary was recognised by the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, and re¬ 
 ceived an honourable welcome; and she was conducted to Carlisle 
 
 ■The archduke bore the reputation of one of the greatest generals in Europe, 
 and is mentioned with the utmost respect as such by Henry the Great (Mem. de 
 Due de Sully). In his tastes for clocks and astronomy he resembles his great 
 uncle, the emperor Charles V. He died July 1. 1590, aged 50. 
 
 * See the Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, edited by Agnes Strickland, new 
 edition, vol. i.. pp 66, 67. 
 
 •Ibid., p. 71. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 201 
 
 with sufficient marks of affection anil respect, to excite tne jealous ill- 
 will of Elizabeth, who sent her own trusty kinsman, sir Francis Knollys, 
 and lord Scroop, ostensibly to congratulate the royal fugitive in her 
 name on her escape, but in effect to constitute her a prisoner. The 
 hard, uncourteous manner in which, after a few deceitful compliments, 
 this pair of statesmen behaved, is sufficiently proved by the testimony 
 of their own letters. Yet it is impossible to read those of Knollys 
 without being struck with his sagacious foresight of the evil results 
 arising from Mary’s detention. Although his comments are personally 
 malicious to the queen of Scots, and he omitted nothing that was calcu¬ 
 lated to excite Elizabeth’s jealousy and suspicion against her, still he 
 wisely deprecated her imprisonment in England, as alike impolitic and 
 dishonourable. 1 
 
 Elizabeth, not contented with the detention of her unfortunate guest, 
 endeavoured, by all the means she could devise, to obtain possession of 
 Mary’s infant son, the heir, as he subsequently proved, of both their 
 realms. Could she have succeeded in getting this babe into her hands, 
 she would then have had every living creature who stood in the line of 
 the regal succession in her power. The broken-hearted lady Katharine 
 Gray was dead, but her orphan infants, though stigmatized as illegiti¬ 
 mate, were still regarded by a strong party, whom the queen could 
 neither silence nor awe, as the representatives of the line to which the 
 crown had been entailed by Henry VIII. There had been an attempt 
 by Hailes, the clerk of the hanaper, to advocate the claims of these 
 children to the succession. Elizabeth’s acute minister, Nicholas Bacon, 
 was implicated 2 in this project, and had been for a time under the cloud 
 of the royal displeasure. The presence of the heir-male of the elder 
 line, under the immediate tutelage of Elizabeth, would effectually 
 silence the partizans of the persecuted descendants of the house of Suf¬ 
 folk, besides guarding the sovereign from any attempts on the part of 
 the royal line of Lenox-Stuart. Murray would not, however, resign 
 the infant prince, in whose name alone he could exercise the regal 
 power of Scotland; for well he knew that Elizabeth’s next step would 
 be to make herself mistress of Scotland, under the pretence of asserting 
 the rights of the lawful heir. Independently of this, her favourite pro¬ 
 ject, Elizabeth, as the umpire chosen to decide the controversy between 
 Mary Stuart and the faction by whom that queen had been dethroned, 
 and branded with the crimes of adultery and murder, hail a mighty po¬ 
 litical advantage in her power, if she could have resolved to fulfil her 
 promises of friendship and protection to her hapless kinswoman. She 
 was exactly in that position which would have enabled her to name her 
 own terms with Mary, as the price of re-establishing her on the throne 
 of Scotland. The predominant faction, for it was no more, (since Mary 
 had a strong party in her favour, ready to peril all in her behalf, and 
 others willing to befriend her, yet fearing to expose themselves to the 
 malice of her enemies, unless some visible protection encouraged them,) 
 
 ‘See the Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, edited by Agnes Strickland, new 
 edition, vol ii., Sir F. Knolly s Letter in Appendix. 
 
 3 Camden. 
 
202 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 dared not have acted in opposition to the fiat of the armed umpire they 
 had chosen, whose troops were ready to pour over the border, and even 
 then occupied some of the fortresses of the frontiers. Elizabeth could 
 have negotiated a pardon for her old confederates and pensioners—could 
 have replaced Mary in a moderate exercise of the regal power of Scot¬ 
 land, and established herself in the dignity maintained by the monarchs 
 of England in the olden times, even that of Bretwalda, or paramount- 
 suzerain, of the Britannic empire. She preferred gratifying personal re¬ 
 venge to the aggrandizement of her realm, and the exaltation of her 
 glory both as a sovereign and a woman, and committed an enormous 
 political blunder, as well as a crime, by the useless turpitude of her 
 conduct to Mary Stuart. 
 
 From the moment, too, that she resolved on the unjustifiable deten¬ 
 tion of the royal fugitive, her own peace of mind was forfeited ; she had 
 sown the hydra’s teeth in the hitherto peaceful soil of her own realm, 
 and they sprang up to vex her with plots, foreign and domestic, open 
 revolts, and secret confederacies, in which her ancient nobility were 
 deeply involved. The loving welcome that merry Carlisle and its 
 neighbouring magnates, the chivalric aristocracy of the border, had 
 given to the beautiful and fascinating heiress-presumptive to the crown, 
 early filled Elizabeth and her council with jealous uneasiness, and Mary 
 was removed, sorely against her will, to Bolton Castle, in Yorkshire, 
 the seat of lord Scroop, to whose charge she was consigned. 1 
 
 In August, contrary to her first decision, and to the advice of her 
 faithful councillors, Mary agreed to submit her cause to the decision of 
 the English commissioners appointed by Elizabeth. The conferences 
 were opened at York, where Murray and his confederates urged not 
 only their old accusations against their sovereign, but produced the far- 
 famed silver-gilt casket and its contents, the sonnets and letters which 
 they asserted Mary had written to Bothwell* They refused to allow 
 Mary herself to see these, neither was she permitted to appear, accord¬ 
 ing to her own earnest desire, to confront and cross-question her accu¬ 
 sers. So impressed, however, was the president of the commission, the 
 premier peer of England, Elizabeth’s maternal kinsman, the duke of 
 Norfolk, of the innocence of the Scottish queen, that he was willing to 
 trust his own honour in her hands, and actually pronounced the fullest 
 sentence of acquittal that mortal judge could do, by seeking her for his 
 wife. It is true, that he had seen her at Carlisle, and was captivated by 
 her beauty ; but if any portion of the horrible and vulgar letters purport- 1 
 ing to have been written by Mary to Bothwell, could have been proved, 
 a revulsion of feeling in the breast of Norfolk must have been the result 
 which would have taught him to regard her with sentiments of horror 
 instead of the love and reverence for her virtues, which attended him to 
 the block, and was transmitted by him as a legacy to his equally unfor¬ 
 tunate son, Philip, earl of Arundel. Elizabeth herself, after she had con- 
 
 1 Labanoff's Chronology. Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 a For particulars of these, see Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. i., new edi 
 tion, pp. 129 to 142, and Tytler the Elder's Dissertation. 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 203 
 
 sidered the evidences, pronounced that she had seen nothing proved on 
 either side, and broke up the conferences. 
 
 As early as November, 1568, Norfolk disclosed to Maitland his desire 
 of a union with the captive queen, and suffered himself to be deluded by 
 his pretended friendship, and the wiles of the treacherous Leicester and 
 Murray, who induced him to believe that they were desirous of bringing 
 this matter to pass. The project was revealed by them to Elizabeth, 
 who caused Mary to be immediately transferred from the keeping of lord 
 Scroop, whose lady was the sister of the enamoured duke, to the gloomy 
 and noxious fortress of Tutbury, where she was subjected to many 
 harsh restraints, her train diminished, and herself placed under the un¬ 
 gentle gaolership of the earl and countess of Shrewsbury. 1 
 
 The letters of the earl of Shrewsbury unrol a long diary of concealed 
 history. 2 The injustice with which Elizabeth treated her hapless heiress 
 seems to have produced most baleful fruits to whoever partook of it. 
 The earl of Shrewsbury himself was greatly to be pitied; he was more 
 honourable and humane than many of his contemporaries, and most la¬ 
 mentably he entreated his royal mistress to relieve him of his charge. 
 Elizabeth, who cantoned Mary and her attendants on him, because she 
 was jealous of the report of his enormous wealth, at first either refused 
 to pay him anything for the board of the royal captive and her followers, 
 or paid him very meanly, and the magnificent earl was forced to raise 
 piteous plaints of poverty, and of being utterly devoured, whenever he 
 dunned for remittances to Leicester or Cecil. The earl was, in truth, 
 converted into a wretched gaoler, who inflicted and received a life of 
 domestic misery. His intriguing, proud, and cruel wife, whose temper 
 could not be restrained by any power either on earth or in heaven, soon 
 became jealous of the lovely and fascinating prisoner, and led her hus¬ 
 band, a noble of exemplary gravity and a grandsire, a terrible life. The 
 reports that originated from his own fireside caused Elizabeth to be ex¬ 
 ceedingly suspicious, in her turn, of the stout earl, on whom she set 
 spies, who reported his minutest actions. 
 
 Writers have been found to justify the injurious treatment to which 
 Mary Stuart was subjected in England, on the plea that she, as a foreign 
 sovereign, might, by the laws of nations, be constituted a prisoner, be¬ 
 cause she entered Elizabeth’s realm without having obtained permission 
 to do so. Cecil, her great enemy, far from using so paltry an excuse, 
 has written in his barristerial argument on her side,“ She is to be helped 
 because she came willingly into the realm, upon trust of the queen’s 
 majesty.” Secondly, he says, and this convicts Elizabeth of perfidy, 
 which requires no comment, “She trusted in the queen’s majesty’s 
 help, because she had, in her trouble, received many messages to that 
 effect.” 3 
 
 If all the pens in the world were employed in the defence of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s conduct, they could not obliterate the stain which that incontro • 
 vertible record of her treachery has left upon her memory. 
 
 1 See Labanoff’s Chronology. Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 
 a They form the most important feature of Lodge’s Illustrations of Brit. Hist. 
 
 * Cecil's Notes pro Regina Scotorutn et contra Reginam Scotorum, in Andersou 
 
204 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Injustice to Elizabeth, however, be it recorded, that when the coun¬ 
 tess of Lenox, with passionate tears, presented a petition to her, entreat¬ 
 ing, in the name of herself and husband, that the queen of Scots might 
 be proceeded against for the death of their son, lord Darnley, the natu¬ 
 ral subject of the English sovereign, her majesty, after graciously sooth¬ 
 ing the afflicted mother, told her, “ that she could not, without evident 
 proof, accuse a princess, and her near kinswoman, of so great a crime, 
 significantly reminding her that the times were evil, and hatred blind, 
 imputing often ofl'ences to persons of exalted rank of which they were 
 innocent.” 1 The countess of Lenox was ultimately convinced that her 
 daughter-in-law, the queen of Scots, was wholly guiltless of Darnley’s 
 death, and continued till she died, in friendly correspondence with 
 her. 2 
 
 \ ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Elizabeth’s deportment to foreign ambassadors—Her first interview with La 
 Mothe Fenelon — Her coquettish remarks on Philip of Spain — She puts the 
 Spanish ambassador under arrest—Compares Alva's letter to a Valentine — 
 Speaks angrily of the queen of Scots—Writes to that"princess—Warns the 
 duke of Norfolk—Negotiations for Elizabeth’s marriage with the king of France 
 —Flattery of the ambassador—Indecorum of Leicester at Elizabeth’s toilet— 
 Remonstrances of the nobles on the same—Arrest of Norfolk—Northern rebel¬ 
 lion—Elizabeth's poem—Her sanguinary orders—Elizabeth excommunicated 
 by Pius V.—Conspiracies against her—Attempts to renew matrimonial treaty 
 with the archduke—Anger at his marriage—»Henri of Anjou proposed to her— 
 Her wish of accepting him—Demurs of her council—Her anger—Confidential 
 remarks to her ladies—Her visit to Sir Thomas Gresham—Names the Royal 
 Exchange—Her conversation with the French ambassador on marriage—Her 
 new favourite, Sir Christopher Hatton—Her angry letter to the bishop of Ely 
 — Intrigues against her marriage—Reluctance of her suitor—His uncourteous 
 observations — Elizabeth's remarks on the portrait of the queen of France — 
 Forbids George Strickland to appear in his place in parliament — Conturaa- 
 ciousness of the duke of Anjou—Vexation of his mother—Archduke Rodolph 
 offers to Elizabeth—Flatteries of the French ambassador — Elizabeth sends 
 her portrait to Anjou—Her remarks on his portVait — Fills her work-basket 
 with apricots for the French ambassador—Her message to him—Sends him a 
 stag slain by herself—Manner of Elizabeth's visit to Hunsdon House. 
 
 Elizabeth, generally speaking, appears, like Talleyrand, to have 
 considered that the chief use of language was to conceal her real mean- 
 
 1 Camden’s Elizabeth. 
 
 3 See Queen of Scots’ Letters on this subject, edited by Agnes Strickland, vol. 
 
 ii., new edition, p. 7. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 205 
 
 mg. The involved and mystified style of her letters proves that such 
 was the case; and in consequence, she frequently deceived those whom 
 it was her interest to enlighten—namely, her own ambassadors and 
 deputies. On the other hand, her artifices amounted to mannerism, and 
 were quickly penetrated by the representatives of other sovereigns whom 
 she admitted to personal conferences. 
 
 With all her pride and caution, she was a great talker, and very ex¬ 
 citable. It was no difficult matter to put her in a passion, and then she 
 spoke her mind freely enough, if we may rely on the reports of the 
 various ambassadors resident at her court. Her vanity and coquetry, if 
 skilfully played upon, often carried her beyond the bounds of prudence, 
 and rendered her communicative on some points on which private gen¬ 
 tlewomen generally maintained some degree of reserve. The reader 
 has seen the free and easy terms on which sir James Melville contrived 
 to establish himself with this haughty princess, and the singular confi¬ 
 dences with which, both she and Leicester, favoured two successive 
 French ambassadors, de Foys and La Foret; the recent publication of 
 the despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, enables us to unfold many a rich 
 scene between that statesman and our royal heroine, which are now, for 
 the first time, translated from the original French, and interwoven in her 
 biography. * 1 
 
 Elizabeth honoured this ambassador, who was one of the deepest in¬ 
 triguers of the age, and of course one of the most agreeable flatterers, 
 with an audience at Hampton Court, November 14th, 1568. She gave 
 him a very gracious reception, but expressed some regret for the de¬ 
 parture of La Foret, of whom she made honourable mention. She made 
 particular inquiries after the health of the king of France, and the queen 
 mother, and asked, “If it were true that they had been visited with the 
 heavy affliction of the death of the queen of Spain, Elizabeth of France ?” 
 La Mothe replied, “ that it was only too true that their majesties were 
 overwhelmed with grief, and that they and their whole court were in 
 mourning on that sorrowful occasion, which was the reason why he 
 presented himself before her majesty in that dress.” Elizabeth, like her 
 father and her brother Edward, entertained the greatest aversion to the 
 sight of “ doole,” or anything that could remind her of the uncertainty 
 of human life. 2 She was pleased, however, to make a very courteous 
 response, and said, “ that she regretted the death of the queen of Spain 
 with all her heart, and that she should wear mourning for her, as if she 
 toad been her sister, and that she felt very much for their majesties, 
 .'knowing for a certainty how great their sorrow must be for this sad 
 event; and she prayed God to give them some other good consolation 
 in compensation for their loss.” She observed, “ that she had not yet 
 been informed of this misfortune, either by the king of Spain or his 
 ambassador: for if she had had the proper intimation of it, she would 
 
 'The literary world is indebted to the learning, research, and industry of J. 
 Purton Cooper, Esq., for the publication in modern French of this valuable con¬ 
 tribution to the history of queen Elizabeth, and her royal contemporaries of 
 France and Scotland. 
 
 1 See Life of Jane Seymour, vol. iv. 
 
 VOL. VI.-18 
 
206 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 have had the obsequies of the queen of Spain celebrated in England, as 
 well as elsewhere.” These complimentary solemnities in honour of the 
 departed catholic queen, were performed according to the rites of the 
 protestant church of England, in St. Paul’s Cathedral, in the same man¬ 
 ner that the obsequies of Henry II. of France and those of the emperor 
 had formerly been celebrated there by her command. 
 
 Elizabeth told the French ambassador that she had “paid this respect 
 to the memory of the queen of Spain, out of regard to her mother, the 
 queen-regent of France, and her brother, Charles IX.,” and added, “ that 
 all Christendom had cause to weep for this princess, and that she her¬ 
 self had listened with tears to the account which had been given of her 
 virtues by the countess of Feria, an English lady, formerly in her own 
 service, who had recently come from Spain, and she doubted not but her 
 late majesty was now one of the brightest angels in heaven, having been 
 a very holy queen on earth;” and she prayed monsieur de la Mothe to 
 write to the queen of France, “that she had given orders for the said 
 obsequies more than a month ago, although the Spanish ambassador had 
 not thought proper to communicate the death of the queen to her, and 
 that she had even sent to remind him that it was the custom on such an 
 occasion to notify it officially, either by a letter or a gentleman sent ex¬ 
 press for the purpose.” Fenelon said, “he imagined the duke of Alva 
 had the letter already in his hands for that purpose.” Elizabeth 
 coquettishlv rejoined with a smile, “ that she supposed the king of Spain 
 did not wish to write to her, or rather that the duke of Alva had de¬ 
 tained the letter, under the notion that it was not quite decent, that so 
 soon after the death of the queen, his wife, he should be sending letters 
 to an unmarried girl, like her, but that she had wailed still some days, 
 and then ordered the obsequies for the deceased queen to be made.” 
 
 “I thanked her,” says monsieur de la Mothe Fenelon, “and only 
 added, that the king of Spain was still young enough to take a fourth 
 wife.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth was at that time on terms approaching to open hostility 
 with Spain. She had opened her arms as a protectress to the fugitives 
 of the reformed faith, whom the cruellies of the terrible Alva, in the 
 Low Countries, had compelled to abandon their homes. The persecuted 
 Hollanders fondly regarded her as the representative of her royal an¬ 
 cestress, queen Philippa, one of the co-heiresses of William, count of 
 Holland and Hainault. The first movements of the furious war which 
 separated “ those whom the rod of Alva bruised,” from the crown of 
 Spain, commenced in this year. 2 
 
 Meantime, Elizabeth’s ambassador at the court of Philip II., Dr. Man. 
 whom she had not inaptly termed a man goose , instead of attending tc 
 the business of his legation, had, in a fit of spiritual Quixotism, defied 
 the Pope, in such undiplomatic terms of vituperation, that he was pro¬ 
 hibited from appearing at the court of his catholic majesty, and banishec 
 to a very uncivilized village, where he was compelled to hear mass; 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. i. 
 
 * Lodge's Illustrations, vol. i., p. 465. s Camden. 
 
ELIZ 4.BETII. 
 
 207 
 
 Tht English flag had also been insulted in the gulf of Mexico, by the 
 attack and capture of three ships in the fleet of the mercantile adven¬ 
 turers, commanded by the famous — or, rather, we should say, the in¬ 
 famous sir John Hawkins, since he was the first man who brought the 
 odious stain of the slave-trade on this nation—a traffic that to her eternal 
 disgrace was sanctioned — nay, even encouraged, by queen Elizabeth. 
 The high spirit of this princess was greatly chafed at the twofold affront 
 she and her subjects had received from Spain, nor was it long before she 
 had an opportunity of making reprisals. 
 
 Four Spanish vessels bound to Flanders, laden with specie, were 
 chased by French pirates into the ports of Plymouth, Falmouth, and 
 Southampton. Don Guerran d’Espes, the new Spanish ambassador, ap¬ 
 plied to the English government for further protection for these vessels, 
 which was granted; but the French adventurers having made a fresh 
 ittempt to seize the ships, the queen ordered the treasure to be brought 
 to London, for she had ascertained that it was the property of a com¬ 
 pany of Genoese merchants, who were about to establish a bank at Ant¬ 
 werp, and to assist Alva with a loan. No sooner did she understand 
 his arrangement, than she determined to frustrate it, by appropriating 
 he loan to her own use. D’Espes, in great anger, informed Alva, of 
 lie seizure of the money; and Alva, exasperated at the disappointment, 
 wrote a brief and peremptory letter to Elizabeth, demanding restitution. 
 She replied, very coolly, “ that she understood the treasure was private 
 jroperty, and had borrowed it; but if the king of Spain could prove 
 hat it belonged to him, she would restore it.” 
 
 Alva retorted, by laying an embargo on all English subjects and Eng- 
 ish property in Antwerp; and Elizabeth, not to be outdone, put all the 
 Spaniards in her dominions under arrest, not even excepting the person 
 of. the ambassador, whom she constituted a prisoner in his own house, 
 ind appointed three gentlemen of her court to keep guard over him. 1 
 
 The French ambassador, monsieur de la Mothe, who visited Eliza¬ 
 beth a few days after these events, gives the following amusing par¬ 
 ticulars of his conversations with her at that period : “ Her majesty,” 
 says he, “ was then at Hampton Court, and apparently full of sorrow 
 or the death of lady Knollys, her cousin, whom she loved better than 
 ill the women in the world; notwithstanding which, she favoured me 
 with a gracious reception, and after saying a few words expressive of 
 he regret she felt for the loss of so good a relative, observing that the 
 mourning habit which she had assumed could manifest but a small part 
 >f the greatness of her grief, she demanded incontinently of me the 
 lews.” 
 
 The ambassador proceeded to detail to her, matters of which she was 
 loubtless as well, if not better informed than himself—namely, the re¬ 
 cent movements of the warring parties in France. On which she pro- 
 ested her great affection for the king, his master, and said, “ she prayed 
 rod that she might hear better news of his affairs, than that which had 
 >een told her within the last two days, which made her regret that his 
 
 ‘Camden; Depletes de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
208 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 majesty had despised her counsel, although it was but that of a woman 
 which she had given him, for the peace of his realm.” 1 
 
 She expressed herself sharply against the authors and fomenters of 
 wars, saying, “ that princes ought to pursue to the death all such, as ene¬ 
 mies to themselves, and pernicious to their states.” Then she spoke oi 
 the Spanish ambassador, “ who had,” she said, “ already kindled a wai 
 between his master’s country, and hers;” adding, that “ she had been de¬ 
 ceived in that personage, having always considered him as very hones' 
 and moderate, and could never have thought that, while she was treat¬ 
 ing so courteously with him on the affair of the Spanish rialls, he had 
 by his letters (of which she had a copy) caused the seizure of the goods 
 and persons of the English, at Antwerp.” 
 
 She complained also, “ that he had written of her in a different man¬ 
 ner from what he ought, he having named her Oriana, 2 in some of his 
 letters; at which she was so indignant, that, if he had been her subject 
 she would have pursued him with the utmost rigour of the law. Thi 
 duke of Alva had been too hasty in believing him; and of him, thi 
 duke, she must say, that he had behaved both arrogantly and lightly 
 arrogantly, in having only deigned to write her one little letter, which,’ 
 pursues monsieur de la Mothe, “the said lady compared to a Valen 
 tine.” An expression which one would scarcely have expected fron 
 the lips of this great female sovereign, during a grave political discussioi 
 with a foreign minister. 
 
 His excellency, in his official report of the conversation, considers i 
 necessary for the information of his royal master, to subjoin the follow 
 ing explanation, in the form of a marginal note, after mentioning th 
 word “Valentine.” “This term which the English employ, in th 
 style familiar, answers exactly to our word ‘ poulet , billet de gallon 
 terieS ” He then proceeds with Elizabeth’s indignant description o 
 the duke of Alva’s letter, which only contained four or five words o 
 credence for the ambassador, and she said, “ he had acted lightly, b 
 executing on such trivial* grounds, an act of open hostility against he 
 subjectsadding, with some degree of scorn, “ that the duke wa 
 neither so great, herself so little, or the affair so unimportant, but the 
 he might have troubled himself to write more at length to her, and t 
 have made proper inquiries before he attempted such an outrage again.* 
 her and her subjects. She concluded by expressing a hope that tli 
 king of Spain would neither sanction what the duke of Alva had dom 
 nor that which his ambassador had written to him.” 
 
 La Mothe observed, as soon as he could get a word in, “ that sh 
 ought to consider that the duke of Alva was naturally irritated at tli 
 loss of the money, which was intended to pay his troops, who wei 
 likely to mutiny, if he did not make his disbursements with pum 
 tuality;” and facetiously reminded her, “that the king of Spain, bein 
 once more a widower, and in search of a suitable consort, would n< 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 8 Camden states that D'Espes had written some shameful libels of Elizabet 
 under the title of Amadis Oriana. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 209 
 
 for the world offend an unmarried princess like her; neither, for the 
 same cause, should she quarrel with him who was on that pursuit.” 
 
 She replied, with a smile, “that she could be very well assured of 
 the friendship of the king of Spain, as she might have married him at 
 the beginning of the war, if she had chosen.” 1 
 
 La Mothe seriously remonstrated with her, on the rash step she had 
 taken in arresting the Spanish ambassador, telling her, “ that since God 
 had established the kingdoms, and powers of the world, ambassadors 
 had always been respected, and their persons held inviolate; even in 
 the midst of the fiercest wars, care had been taken not to touch them, 
 or to treat their persons otherwise than honourably, that she had ac¬ 
 cepted this gentleman as the representative of a great king, and ought to 
 be cautious in what she did with regard to him. Not,” continued La 
 Mothe, “ that he has requested me to plead for him, but because we 
 poth hold the like office towards your majesty; and therefore I entreat 
 hat you will allow me to visit him, at least once a week, in the pres- 
 ;nce of gentlemen who have him in ward.” 
 
 She replied, “ that seeing the terms on which D’Espes had been the 
 neans of placing her with the king, his master, she had taken measures 
 ,’or his protection, lest he should be attacked ; but she had merely con- 
 ined him to his lodgings, under the guard of three gentlemen, whom 
 he had commanded to bear themselves courteously towards him. That 
 ormerly, on a less occasion, her ambassador, Throckmorton, had been 
 nuch worse treated in France.” She then prayed La Mothe not to 
 ,'isit him for some days, because she would not be seen to approve or 
 ustify any of the evil he had done, by permitting him to be visited by 
 person who represented the king of France. 
 
 This conversation took place on the ‘20th of January, 1568; on the 
 4th arrived an envoy from the duke of Alva, named Assolveville, to 
 titer into explanations with the queen, on the subject of the recent 
 nisunderstanding. Elizabeth was encouraged by this indication of pla- 
 ability, to assume a more offensive attitude, and to show that she was 
 'repared for war, and that she considered it was already commenced, 
 lefore Assolveville could present his credentials, she caused him to be 
 rrested at Rochester, where he waS detained two days, that he might 
 ee her grand arsenal, the activity of her military preparations, and the 
 ,reat number of workmen, who were employed in building her mighty 
 hips of war at Chatham. She then had him conducted to London, 
 pparated him from all his people, and placed him in a lodging of her 
 wn providing, under a strict guard, without allowing him to see or 
 peak to any one, much less the Spanish ambassador, with whom he 
 as of course desirous of conferring, before he proceeded to open a ne- 
 atiation with the queen. 2 
 
 Assolveville, guessing what the event would be, had previously writ- 
 n a letter to D’Espes, which he smuggled to him under cover to the 
 rench ambassador, and another addressed to queen Elizabeth, request- 
 ig to be informed of the time and place, where he might present his 
 
 1 Dep6ches de la Mothe Fenelon. 9 Ibid. 
 
 18* 
 
 o 
 
‘210 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 credentials. This, however, was forcibly torn by Cecil, from the hand 
 of the Spanish gentleman, who was waiting in the queen’s presence- 
 chamber for an opportunity of presenting it, warning him, rudely 
 enough, not to be found there any more. The object of all this was, to 
 compel the poor envoy to unfold his business to some of the council, 
 before he had received his cue from his own ambassador, who was still 
 a prisoner in his own house; but Assolveville, with laudable obstinacy, 
 refused to open his lips to any one, till he had communicated with 
 D’Espes. 
 
 Elizabeth, meantime, indited an elaborate letter to Philip II., in Latin, 
 in which, after commending herself for the care she had taken “ to 
 save his money from the pirates, and put it out of danger,” she imputed 
 all that the duke of Alva and his ambassador had done, to the evil 
 counsel of those who would wish to see a breach in the amity and good 
 faith which had hitherto united them.” 1 
 
 Philip, however, assumed a high tone, and approved of all that had 
 been done by Alva and D'Espes, and demanded the restitution of his 
 money, under the threat of a war. Elizabeth was at that moment in an 
 awkward predicament; she had, by her intrigues with the insurgents in 
 France, so embroiled herself with that government, that hostilities ap¬ 
 peared inevitable, and, at the same time, a formidable rebellion was or¬ 
 ganizing among the old catholic nobility in her own realm, while bet 
 merchants loudly complained of the injury done to commerce by the 
 seizures of English property, which had been heedlessly provoked in 
 the ports of France and Spain. 
 
 In fact, it appeared scarcely possible to avoid a war with both. Each 
 sovereign complained of mutual grievances. Elizabeth aided the queer 
 of Navarre incipiently, her subjects helped her openly, and this princes; 
 was virtually queen of the south, and of all the Protestants in France 
 The goldsmiths in England, it was supposed, had lent the queen of Na 
 varre money on her jewels; and, after the disastrous battle of Moncon 
 tour, Elizabeth had offered, in case the king of France proved too stronj 
 for the protestant cause, to give refuge to her and her daughter Cathe 
 rine, the princess of Conde, and her little ones in England. 
 
 On the other hand, the king of France, by way of reprisal, supportei 
 the partizans of Mary queen of Scots, who was regarded as the righlfu 
 queen by most of the Roman Catholics in the British islands. 
 
 On the 10th of February, La Mothe Fenelon, in an audience will 
 Elizabeth, informed her that a gentleman, in the service of the queen o 
 Scots, had complained to him of the rigour with which his royal mis 
 tress had been treated, on her compulsory removal from Bolton to Tut 
 bury. His excellency, with manly plainness, represented, “ that thos 
 who advised her majesty to put constraint, not only on the will, but th I 
 royal person of a sovereign and her kinswoman, made her do a wron 
 to her own reputation.” He then besought her “ to cause the Scottis 
 queen to be treated in such a manner, in the place where she had con 
 pel led her to go, that she might have occasion to speak of her wit 
 praise in her letters to the king and queen of France.” 2 
 
 1 Depeches do la Motlie Fenelon, vol. i. ’Ibid., p. 188. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 211 
 
 Elizabeth replied, with some choler, “ that she had neither used force 
 nor violence to the queen of Scotland, having merely removed her to a 
 place where she would be better treated than at Bolton, where all the 
 necessaries of life were scarce.” She also gave, as a reason for what 
 she had done, that Mary had written into Scotland a letter which had 
 fallen into her hands, requiring some of the lords of her country to take 
 up arms and make an inroad to where she was at Bolton—that she had, 
 in the same letter, accused her of having treated with the earl of Murray 
 to have him declared legitimate, with several other things equally false. 
 
 Elizabeth told La Mothe, that he might assure their majesties of 
 Fiance that the queen of Scots received nothing else but good treatment 
 at her hands; and although it was not for her to render account to any 
 person in the world for her actions, it was her wish to justify herself to 
 all the world in respect to her usage of the queen of Scots, that all other 
 princes might know that she proceeded with such rectitude that she had 
 no cause to change her pale hue for anything that could be brought 
 against her on that account. “ Would to God,” added she, “that the 
 queen of Scots had no more occasion to blush at that which could be 
 seen of her.” 
 
 La Mothe replied, “ that her majesty had it in her power to convince 
 the world of the unprincipled ambition of the adversaries of the said 
 lady, and to explain all that they could urge against her; and if she 
 acted as the duty of queen to queen, and relation to relation prescribed, 
 it would prove that she was innocent of all the unkindness that had 
 been imputed to her.” 
 
 Elizabeth, instead of making any direct reply to this home stroke, 
 merely observed, “ that she had never had any praise from the queen of 
 Scots for any of the good offices she had rendered her,” and then turned 
 the conversation to the subject of Rouen, and the seizure that had been 
 made of English property by the French government. 
 
 “ On another occasion,” says La Mothe, “ she told me that she had 
 taken pains to be more than a good mother to the queen of Scots, yet 
 she, on the contrary, had continually practised intrigues in her kingdom 
 against her, and that those who did not know how to behave to a good 
 mother, merited no other than the cruellest step-dame. She then sum¬ 
 moned her council and the bishop of Ross, to whom she recited in 
 French most of what I had told her, and the reply she made me. Then 
 she uttered in English many complaints of the queen of Scots; and, in 
 conclusion, menaced the most active and greatest among them with 
 being made shorter by the head.” 1 
 
 The fierce jealousy which had been excited in Elizabeth against Mary 
 Stuart by the assumption of the royal arms and style of England in her 
 name, by her ambitious father-in-law, Ilenry II. of France, was not the 
 only cause of the enmity of that queen. There was a still deeper root 
 of bitterness in this matter, for Henry II. had obliged his young daughter- 
 in-law, during a dangerous fit of sickness, to sign a testamentary paper, 
 bequeathing her rights to the kingdom of Scotland, and her claims on 
 
 1 La Motlie Feuelon, vol. ii., p. 109. 
 
212 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the succession of England—if she died without childten—to his heirs. 
 Queen Elizabeth became fully aware that such instruments existed in 
 the year 1568-9, and discussed the point with the French ambassador, 
 La Mothe Fenelon; 1 * she likewise wrote to Mary the following letter, 
 which she commences with insincere professions of her grief for Mary’s 
 dangerous illness just before :— 
 
 “ Elizabeth, Queen of England, to the Queen of Scots . 3 
 
 “May 25, 1569. 
 
 “ Madame,—To my infinite regret I have learned the great danger in which 
 you have lately been, and I praise God that I heard nothing of it until the worst j 
 was past: for, in whatever time or place it might have been, such news could 
 have given me little content; but if any such bad accident had befallen you in 
 this country, I believe, really, I should have deemed my days prolonged too i 
 long, if, previous to death, 1 had received such a wound. 
 
 “ I rely much on His goodness who has always guarded me against mal- 
 accidents, that he will not permit me to fall into such a snare, and that He will 
 preserve me in the good report of the world till the end of my career. He has 
 made me know, by your means, the grief I might have felt if anything ill had 
 happened to you; and I assure you, that I will offer up to Him infinite thanks¬ 
 givings. 
 
 “As to the reply that you wish to receive by my lord Boyd, regarding my 
 satisfaction in the case touching the duke of Anjou, 3 I neither doubt your honour 
 nor your faith, in writing to me that you never thought of such a thing, but that 
 perhaps some relative, 4 or rather some ambassador of yours having the general 
 authority of your signature, to order all things for the furtherance of your 
 affairs, had adjusted this promise as if it came from you, and deemed it within 
 the range of his commission. 
 
 “ Such a matter would serve as a spur to a courser of high mettle: for as we 
 often see a little bough serve to save the life of a swimmer, so a slight shadow 
 of claim animates the combatant. I know not why they (the royal family of 
 France ) consider not, that the bark of your good fortune floats on a dangerous 
 sea, where many contrary winds blow, and has need of all aid to obviate such 
 evils, and to conduct you safely into port. And if so be they are able to serve 
 you in aught, still you can in honour deny the intention (of transferring her rights 
 to young Anjou) : for if this right abides in them, then to me pertains the 
 wrong. 
 
 “Forasmuch I entreat you to have such consideration for me (to whom the 
 like right only pertains, who have merited, on your part, true guerdon and 
 honourable opinion), with such deeds as may preserve the true accord of har¬ 
 mony with mine, who, in all my actions towards you, will never fail of right 
 dealing. 
 
 “ Howbeit, this bearer will declare to you more amply what I wish in this 
 case. Moreover, if you desire some reply as to the commission given to my 
 lord Ross (the bishop of Ross), I believe that you forget how near it touches me i 
 if I tamper with aught that I am satisfied touches your honour and my safety. 
 Meantime, I will not fatigue you with this letter longer than that, with my cor¬ 
 dial commendations, I pray God to preserve you in good health, and give you 
 longlife. From Greenwich.” 4 
 
 1 At the end of vol. i. of the Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, all these docu¬ 
 
 ments are quoted. 
 
 3 Translated from vol. ii., pp. 59, 60, Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. Eliza¬ 
 beth's letter seems to have been originally composed in French. 
 
 3 This was the cession supposed to have been made by Mary to Anjou. 
 
 4 Meaning her mother, Mary of Guise, queen-regent of Scotland, or the regent 
 Arran. 
 
 4 La Mothe Fenelon states the highly curious fact, that the point of the cession 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 213 
 
 This letter is certainly one of the most remarkable ever penned by 
 Elizabeth. The reader will observe her recurrence, in the midst of her 
 caresses, to the leading object of her thoughts, perpetual jealousy of her 
 title. 
 
 Mary willingly executed the instrument required, and, at her request, 
 the duke of Anjou renounced any benefit he might hereafter have claimed 
 from the deed of cession extorted from the youthful Mary by his sire; 
 but, after all, the cession had never been made to him in particular, but 
 to the heirs of Henry II. Charles IX. was, therefore, the party by whom 
 the grant should have been renounced. As Mary did all that Elizabeth 
 required of her, this was the precise point where good policy should 
 have prompted Elizabeth to permit Mary’s retirement from England. 
 She ought by that time to have perceived the profound mistake she had 
 committed by detaining her in the heart of England, where she served 
 is a rallying point to every seditious movement. Elizabeth ought to 
 have recollected, that in the height of Mary’s prosperity, when backed 
 }y all the power of France, and living at Paris as queen consort, and 
 ]ueen regnant of Scotland, no injury had been effected to England. It 
 .vas not probable that Mary could do more against her, if she had suf¬ 
 fered her to retire to France, blighted as she was now by calumny and 
 11 health, and dethroned from her realm. 
 
 The glory of Elizabeth’s reign was dimmed from the hour Mary was 
 letained a prisoner, not only in a moral sense, but, politically and sta- 
 istically speaking, it was a false step, which placed England in an inci¬ 
 dent state of civil war, during the whole life of the queen of Scots, and 
 he became, with good cause, jealous of her own subjects, even those 
 mong her nobility who were most nearly connected with herself by 
 |ie ties of blood. 
 
 On one occasion, she observed, significantly, “ that as long as the 
 uke of Norfolk lived, the queen of Scots would never want an advo- 
 ate.” On the return of Norfolk from the Scotch conferences, she had 
 iven him a very ungracious reception, in consequence of the reports 
 tat had been conveyed to her by the persons who had first of all sug- 
 ested to him the flattering chimera of a marriage with the Scottish 
 ueen. Norfolk entered into the subject with his sovereign, and told 
 er, “ that the project had not originated with him, and that he never 
 lad given it any encouragement.” “But would you not,” said Eliza- 
 3th, “marry the Scottish queen, if you knew that it would tend to the 
 anquillity of the realm, and the safety of my person ?” 
 
 If Norfolk had not been deficient in moral courage, he would have 
 plied, frankly, “ that if her majesty were disposed to think so, he 
 ould be ready to conform to her wish, but that he had already assured 
 urray, and the others who had suggested this marriage to him, that it 
 as a matter in which he could not engage himself without the consent 
 his sovereign.” He, however, knew the deep dissimulation of Eliza¬ 
 ary, queen of Scots, had been supposed to have made of her kingdom to the 
 ike of Anjou, was first inquired into in parliament by the duke of Norfolk, 
 tensibly on account of the public benefit, but with a secret regard to his own 
 erest, as he was engaged to marry Mary. 
 
 1 
 
214 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 beth, and suspecting that it was her design to entangle him in his talk, 
 replied, with answering insincerity, “ Madam, that woman shall never 
 he my wife who has been your competitor, and whose husband cannot 
 sleep in security on his pillow.” 1 This artful allusion to the injurious 
 reports against Mary’s honour, though most unworthy of the man who 
 was secretly pledged to become her husband, had the desired effect of 
 lulling Elizabeth’s suspicions to sleep, and restoring her to good humour. 
 She had, however, ere long, sufficient reason to be convinced that the 
 enamoured duke was every day involving himself more deeply in the 
 snares which were thrown in his way by those who were tempting him 
 to his ruin, by their pretended schemes for the accomplishment of his 
 wishes. 2 
 
 Elizabeth’s great dread, in the perilous year for Protestantism, 1569. 
 was a catholic coalition throughout Europe in behalf of her royal pri¬ 
 soner, Mary, queen of Scots. Ireland was in a state of revolt, the north¬ 
 ern counties progressing to the same; the Protestant cause had received 
 two severe blows, the retreat of the prince of Orange, and the victorj 
 of the duke of Anjou at Jarnac. Jealousy between the courts of Franct 
 and Spain had proved her safeguard hitherto, but there was a prospec 
 of a new bond of union, in the proposed marriages of Charles IX. ant 
 Philip II. with the daughters of the emperor Maximilian. 
 
 Elizabeth thought it possible to prevent this brotherly alliance by ; 
 little coquetry, on her own account, with Charles IX. Her hand hai 
 been twice solicited by the plenipotentiaries of that prince, and she ha 
 declined because of his tender youth. His majesty was now reall 
 marriageable, though much too young to be a suitable consort for her 
 yet she might, without committing herself too deeply, contrive to lur 
 him from his imperial fiancee. Catherine de Medicis’ favourite projec 
 was to marry her second son, the duke of Anjou, to Elizabeth; and tin 
 able intriguer, La Mothe Fenelon, had instructions to bring this matte 
 to pass, if possible. With this design constantly in view, the converse 
 tions between him and her majesty of England invariably turned to tl 
 subject of matrimony. 
 
 The conference in which Elizabeth threw out her first lure for tl 
 young king of France, as related by La Mothe, has almost dramatic i 
 terest. The queen began by asking news of the marriages betwei 
 Charles IX. and Philip of Spain with the daughters of the emperc 
 which appeared to give her uneasiness. La Mothe fully exemplified t 
 Henry Wotton’s character of an ambassador, whom he defined to “ 
 a person sent to lie abroad for the service of his country,” for he deni 
 any knowledge of his master’s intended marriage. Elizabeth told h 
 
 * Haynes; Lingard. 
 
 * Miss Aikin has very finely observed, with regard to the habitual dissimulat. 
 of Elizabeth, and her contemporary of evil memory, Catherine de Medicis, “t’i 
 in mistaking the excess of falsehood for the perfection of address, the triumji 
 ot'cunning for the masterpieces of public wisdom, they did but partake the err 
 of the ablest male politicians of that age of statesmen. The same narrow viei 
 of the interest of princes and of states governed them all. They seem to h;J 
 believed that the right and the expedient were constantly opposed to each otlti 1 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 215 
 
 14 that she had heard for certain that the marriages were concluded,” and 
 repeated the eulogiums she had heard 44 of the fine stature and martial 
 appearance of Charles and his brother, and of their vigorous constitu¬ 
 tions and excellent dispositions; * 1 how Charles IX., in martial bearing 
 and skill in horsemanship, resembled Henry II., his father, who was the 
 most accomplished warrior of any prince in his times; and that his 
 another had exchanged all his boyish diversions at court for heroic and 
 lifficult enterprises, and that everybody wonderfully commended him.” 
 She concluded this flourish by observing, 44 that as the princess of Por- 
 ugal 2 had been proposed as a match, first to the king, and afterwards to 
 4njou, she herself could not be considered as too old.” 
 
 44 I told her,” said La Mothe Fenelon, 3 44 that all the world stood 
 imazed at the wrong she did to the grand endowments that God had 
 ;iven her of beauty, wisdom, virtue, and exalted station, by refusing to 
 eave fair posterity to succeed her. It was a duty she owed to God, 
 Vho had given her power of choice, to elect some partner, and that she 
 'ould not find a prince more worthy of such distinction than one of 
 he three sons of the late king of France, Henry II. The eldest of them 
 /as the true successor of his father, the second, royal in all conditions 
 xcepting being crowned, and the third would, without doubt, in time 
 e equal to his brethren.” This last was the young Alen§on, to whom 
 Elizabeth was almost married when she was many years older; but the 
 ‘oint, to which all this expert flattery tended, was to persuade her to 
 ;ed the handsome duke of Anjou. Elizabeth pretended to discuss the 
 'ossibilily of wedding the elder of these much-lauded princes, and, for 
 ■te purpose of eliciting a stronger dose of flattery from the ambassador, 
 ;plied, 44 That the king, Charles IX., would none of her, for he would 
 e ashamed to show, at an entry into Paris, a queen for his wife so old 
 5 she was, and that she was not of an age to leave her country, like 
 te queen of Scots, who was taken young to France.” 
 
 ' The ambassador replied, 44 If such a marriage could happen, then 
 ould commence the most illustrious lineage that had been known for 
 re last thousand years; but that previously she had been objecting to 
 ie age of his king, and now she was finding fault with her own. Mean- 
 me, she had so well spent her years, that time had carried away none 
 her beauties; while king Charles and the duke of Anjou had so well 
 ofited by time, that they had acquired beauty, strength, and stature, 
 
 > that no men could be more perfect. And the king certainly ought to 
 pire the queen of England to make her entry into Paris as his wife, 
 r it was there she would be the most honoured, most welcome, and 
 ost blessed by all the good people and nobility of France; and if she 
 flered with passing the sea, nevertheless she would find it a most 
 ippy voyage, from which she would ultimately receive great pleasure 
 d satisfaction.” 
 
 Depeche tie la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 f The princess of Portugal was daughter of Emanuel the Great, king of Portu- 
 
 I, and Leonora of Austria, queen of Francis I. She must have been born 
 fere 1525 
 
 La Mothe Fenelor, vol. ii., p. 118, 119. 
 
216 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 At flie time of uttering this flourish, the ambassador was as well con¬ 
 vinced as the queen herself that Charles IX. was almost married to 
 Elizabeth, the youngest daughter of the emperor. 
 
 “ I know not,” rejoined Elizabeth, “ if the queen (Catherine de Medi- 
 cis) would approve of it, for it is possible she might choose to have a 
 daughter-in-law whom she might mould to her pleasure.” 
 
 “ 1 know,” answered the ambassador, “ that the queen-mother is sc 
 benign, and of such humane and gracious conversation, that nothing in 
 the world would be more agreeable than for you to be together: witness 
 the honour and respect in which she has always held the queen of Scot¬ 
 land, and that she now bears to her.” 
 
 When this interview was over, Cecil came to discuss with him the 
 projected marriage of the king of Spain with the eldest daughter of the 
 emperor. “ I w'as far enough from giving him a hint respecting the 
 matriage of the youngest,” 1 added the ambassador, “but declared 
 would treat with him touching another marriage, which would be th< 
 most apropos in the world for the aggrandizement of two realms, ant 
 for the universal peace of Christianity. 
 
 A future day was then appointed for queen Elizabeth to receive an 
 other repast of these frothy compliments. The French ambassado 
 subjoined to his despatches a dissertation on the queen’s real intention 
 regarding marriage, and it is certain the result bore out his view of th 
 subject. “ It is the general opinion,” he wrote, “ that queen Elizabeti 
 will never marry; but when her subjects press her to name her succes 
 sor, she meets the inconvenient proposal by a feigned intention of entei 
 ing into some marriage she never means to concludeand he brough 
 as an instance, the late futile negotiation regarding the archduk 
 Charles. 
 
 The earl of Arundel, who had been for many years a suitor for th 
 hand of queen Elizabeth, made no scruple of declaring, that the intimac 
 between her and the earl of Leicester was the reason of her refusing a 
 her suitors, whether they were foreign princes or English peers. Th 
 great noble, according to the report of the French ambassador, 2 inst 
 gated his son-in-law, the duke of Norfolk, to call Leicester to a shat 
 account for familiarities with the queen, which they affirmed disgrace 
 them all, as Englishmen, as well the crown she wore, and that neith 
 the English nobility nor her subjects in general would permit the cot 
 tinuance of such proceedings. They then taxed Leicester with usir 
 his privilege of entree into the queen’s bed-chamber unbecomingl 
 affirming that he went there before she rose, and that he took upon hit 
 self the office of her lady in waiting, by handing to her a garment whit 
 ought never to have been seen in the hands of her master of hor? 
 Moreover, they charged him with “kissing her majesty when he w 
 not invited, thereto.” 
 
 It is very evident that the first queens-regnant of England had mat 
 officers in attendance in their private apartments, the same as if th< 
 
 1 Elizabeth of Austria, soon after married to Charles IX. 
 
 *La Mothe Fenelon, vol. ii., p. 120. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 217 
 
 had been kings; and in this instance the fault found was, not tnat Lei¬ 
 cester had the right of entree into the royal sleeping apartment, but that 
 he used it at improper times, and took freedoms which the premier 
 duke and the premier earl of England, deemed derogatory to the decorum 
 which ought to be observed towards the female sovereign of their coun¬ 
 try. They proceeded to exhort Leicester “ to be candid, and say if the 
 queen really wished to marry him, and then they would both unite 
 their influence with the nobility and the rest of the nation to sanction 
 their honourable union, and stop all this scandal.” 
 
 Leicester, the arrogant Leicester, seems to have assumed the humble 
 tone of a chidden inferior to these two great peers. He thanked them 
 i both for their offer and for their warning; he acknowledged u that the 
 queen had shown him such good affection, as had emboldened him to 
 use some well-intentioned familiarities, in the hope of espousing her;” 
 he assured the duke of Norfolk “ that he had, by this oiler of assistance, 
 laid him under the greatest obligation in the world, and at the same time 
 had done his duty well to the queen and the crown, as a faithful vassal, 
 and councillor ought, and during the remainder of his life he would 
 i never forget the same.” Neither, according to bishop Goodman, did he 
 ever forget that Norfolk had once bestowed on him a box on the ear. 
 
 Till Norfolk subsequently laid his head on the block, there is little 
 , doubt this conversation was duly remembered by Leicester, as well as 
 the unlucky box on the ear. He assuredly understood the intentions 
 of Norfolk and Arundel as well as they did themselves. Arundel had 
 long wooed queen Elizabeth; Norfolk, who had previously married his 
 heiress, was the father of a son, who was, at the same time, heir of 
 - Arundel, and a mutual bond between them; Norfolk was a widower, 
 and the secret suitor of Mary queen of Scots. Thus a strong family 
 compact already existed between these noblemen, the two greatest of 
 the ancient English aristocracy; and if the earl wedded queen Elizabeth, 
 the actual possessor of the English crown, and the duke the queen of 
 Scotland, and heiress of the whole island, they might well deem that 
 their united strength might have defied the sons of little men, whom the 
 Tudor monarchs had called from the shears and the forge, to guide the 
 civil and religious government of England. 
 
 As for Leicester’s freedoms in the chamber of the queen, there is no 
 (reason for implicit belief (hat they ever occurred, merely because we 
 find them in a French ambassador’s despatch; but that such were the 
 current reports at the English court is indubitable; and when the inten¬ 
 tions of Norfolk and his father-in-law, Arundel, in regard to the mar¬ 
 riages they projected with queen Elizabeth and her captive heiress, are 
 considered, the fact that they held this conversation with the favourite, 
 and taxed him with the scandals circulating at court, becomes highly 
 probable, and is in consonance with other facts, which are narrated by 
 eye-witnesses, both as to her past and future conduct . 1 
 
 It was the policy of the two great nobles, Norfolk and Arundel, to 
 
 1 See various passages in Melville’s Memoirs, already quoted, regarding Eliza 
 ''eth's behaviour to Leicester. 
 
 VOL. VI.- 19 
 
218 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 clear their path of the favourite, as a matrimonial pretender to the uand 
 of Elizabeth; and, according to La Mothe’s letter, this measure was 
 speedily effected. “ Some days after,” he resumes, “ the said lady 
 (meaning queen Elizabeth), being earnestly pressed to declare her inten¬ 
 tions respecting the earl of Leicester, resolutely answered, ‘ that she 
 pretended not to marriage with him.’ Since this reply, both have con¬ 
 ducted themselves more modestly, and he has withdrawn the expensive 
 parade he made while he had hopes of success in his enterprise.” 
 
 Perhaps Elizabeth was far more incensed, at this forced ec/airci.sse- 
 ment of her intentions, than Leicester. Although she did not intend to 
 bring their courtship to the serious termination of matrimony, she evi¬ 
 dently liked Leicester to flutter about her as a declared pretender to her 
 hand. On the contrary, he wished to be at liberty to marry, which he 
 afterwards did, and was, withal, suffering cruelly in his property, from 
 the gorgeous display he was expected to keep up at court while he sus¬ 
 tained the character of the queen’s suitor, whom her realm expected, 
 hourly, she would declare to be her spouse. There are very evident 
 indications that for some time subsequent to this crisis, occasional agi¬ 
 tating scenes passed between the queen and Leicester, while the endless 
 negotiations for her marriage with Anjou were proceeding. Leicester, 
 in one of his letters to Walsingham, then ambassador at Paris, declares 
 that his queen was in good health, “ save some spice, or show, of hys¬ 
 teric fits. These fits did not trouble her more than a quarter of an 
 hour, yet this little in her hath bred strange bruits (gossip) here at 
 home. God send her, I beseech him, a long life.” 1 
 
 The treachery of Leicester’s conduct with regard to the duke of Nor¬ 
 folk, and the other noblemen he had been the means of drawing into 
 the snare he had planned for their destruction, by his pretended desre 
 of the marriage of Norfolk to the queen of Scots, appears a dark picture 
 of the principles of Elizabeth’s cabinet. Leicester had a twofold object 
 in view—the destruction of his great enemy, Sussex, as well as that of 
 Norfolk. Sussex, who was related in the same degree by his mother, 
 lady Elizabeth Howard, to Norfolk and to the queen, had undoubtedly 
 favoured the idea of a marriage between Norfolk and the queen of 
 Scots; but when he found the dangerous tendency of some of the rami¬ 
 fications of the plot, he recoiled from it, as inconsistent with his duty to 
 his sovereign . 2 Elizabeth was, at first, incensed against him, but though 
 not honest herself either in word or deed, she knew how to estimate 
 those who were, and finally confided to her plain-dealing kinsman the 
 command of the forces appointed to quell the northern insurgents. 
 
 Leicester had encouraged the duke to hope for the accomplishment 
 of his wishes by undertaking to obtain the queen’s consent, but put off, 
 from day to day, mentioning the matter; Cecil observing the perplexity 
 of the duke, advised him to seek her majesty, and reveal to her the mat¬ 
 ter he had on his mind, whatever it might be. If Norfolk could have 
 resolved to do this, it would probably have saved his life; but instead 
 
 * Complete Ambassador, Letter of the Earl of Leicester, p. 288 . 
 
 * See Memorials of the Northern Rebellion, by Sir C. Sharp. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 2iy 
 
 of acting without delay on this judicious advice, he sought counsel of 
 Leicester, who dissuaded him from that course, and promised to name 
 it to her majesty, the next time she went to walk in the fields. Nor¬ 
 folk himself records, “ that when the court was at Guildford, he came 
 unaware into the queen’s privy chamber, and found her majesty sitting 
 on the threshold of the door, listening with one ear to a little child, who 
 was singing and playing on the lute to her, and with the other to Lei¬ 
 cester, who was kneeling by her side .” 1 The duke, a little confused, 
 no doubt at interrupting a party so conveniently arranged, drew back; 
 but her majesty bade him enter. 
 
 Soon after Leicester rose, and came to Norfolk, leaving the queen 
 listening to the child, and told him, “ that he was dealing with the 
 queen in his behalf when he approachedto which the simple peer 
 responded, “If I had known so much, I would not have come up;” 
 and eagerly inquired, “ how he found her majesty disposed ?” Leicester 
 replied, “ indifferently well;” adding, “ that the queen had promised to 
 speak to him herself at Thornham, at my lord of Arundel’s.” “ Before 
 her highness came to Thornham,” says Norfolk, “ she commanded me 
 to sit down, most unworthy, at her highness’s board, where at the end 
 of dinner her majesty gave me a nip, saying, ‘ that she would wish me 
 to take good heed to my pillow.’ ” 2 
 
 Like many of Elizabeth’s Ion mots , this sharp inuendo cut two ways, 
 conveying as it did a threat of the block, and a sarcastic allusion to the 
 unworthy expression he had condescended to use, when endeavouring 
 to persuade her that he had no intention of becoming the husband of 
 the Scottish queen. 
 
 Then followed the contemptible farce of Leicester’s feigned sickness 
 at Tichfield,and his message to the queen that he could not die in peace 
 without confessing his faults, and obtaining her pardon for his guilt. 
 Elizabeth hastened to his bedside, and he acknowledged with many sighs 
 and tears, how deeply he had sinned against her, by being privy to a 
 design of marrying her foe, the queen of Scots, to the duke of Norfolk ; 3 
 and under pretence of making a clear conscience, put her into possession 
 of the whole of the circumstances of the plot, in which many of the 
 principal nobles of the realm were implicated. 
 
 There was no proof, however, that any attempt against either the life 
 or government of Elizabeth was contemplated: it was simply a plan for 
 the restoration of Mary to liberty, and royal dignity, by becoming the 
 wife of the great Protestant English peer, whom her own rebels of the 
 reformed faith had first solicited to unite himself with her . 4 The 
 treacherous Leicester, probably led Elizabeth to suppose that much more 
 
 1 The Duke of Norfolk’s Confession, State Paper MSS. 
 
 ’State Paper MSS. The words that historians have generally imputed to Eli¬ 
 zabeth, on this occasion, are—“That she advised him to beware on what pillow 
 he rested his head;” but the above is from Norfolk’s own confession, and doubt 
 less his version is the true one. The man in whose ear that ominous warning 
 was spoken by his offended sovereign, was not likely to make any mistake in 
 repeating them. They “nipped” too closely to be forgotten. 
 
 3 Camden. 4 Howard Memorials ; Cainden; Ilaynes. 
 
220 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 was intended. The next time her majesty saw the duke, she called him 
 to her in the gallery, and sharply reprimanded him for presuming to 
 attempt a match with the queen of Scots without her cognizance, and 
 commanded him on his allegiance, to give over these pretensions. The 
 duke promised to do so, and proudly added, “ that his estate in England 
 was worth little less than the whole realm of Scotland, in the ill state 
 to which the wars had reduced it; and that when he was in his own 
 tennis-court at Norwich, he thought himself as great as a king .” 1 
 
 The next day the queen refused the suit of the Spanish ambassador, 
 for the liberation of her royal prisoner, observing, at the same time, 
 “ that she would advise the queen of Scots to bear her condition with 
 less impatience, or she might chance to find some of those on whom 
 she relied, shorter by the head .” 2 
 
 Norfolk now found his situation at court intolerable. The queen re¬ 
 garded him with looks of anger and disdain, and Leicester and all his 
 former associates treated him with studied insolence. He endeavoured 
 to avoid collision with those who sought to force a quarrel, by return¬ 
 ing with his father-in-law, the earl of Arundel, and the earl of Pem¬ 
 broke, first to London, and afterwards to his princely seat at Kenning- 
 hall, in Norfolk, whence he wrote an apologetic letter to the queen, 
 attributing his departure “ to the pain he felt at her displeasure, and his 
 mortification at the treatment to which he had been subjected by the 
 insolence of his foes, by whom he had been made a common table 
 talk .” 3 
 
 The queen sent a peremptory order for his return to court, which the 
 duke obeyed, and was arrested by her order at Burnham, three miles 
 from Windsor, and committed to the Tower. He was subjected to an 
 examination before lord-keeper Bacon, Northampton, Sadler, Bedford, 
 and Cecil; but they reported to her majesty that the duke had not put 
 himself under the penalty of the law, by any overt act of treason, and 
 that it would be difficult to convict him without this. 
 
 “Away!” she replied; “ what the law fails to do, my authority shall 
 effect.” Her rage was so ungovernable that she fell into a fit, and they 
 were forced to apply vinegar and other stimulants to revive her . 4 * 
 
 The queen of Scots naturally felt the ill effects of the treachery of 
 her supposed friend, Leicester. His denouncements placed her, as well 
 as her friends, in a most perilous position; and the earl of Huntingdon, 
 Leicester’s brother-in-law, the immediate descendant of George, duke of 
 Clarence, and, like all of that line, a covert pretender to the regal suc¬ 
 cession, was associated with the earl of Shrewsbury, in the ungracious 
 office of gaoler to the royal captive. Mary’s terror at this appointment 
 is described in a lively manner in the letters written by her at this 
 period, and also her distress of mind at the peril to which Norfolk was 
 exposed for her sake ; 6 but the details belong to her life, and not to that 
 of Elizabeth, who must perforce, occupy the foreground of her own 
 
 1 Camden. 3 Ibid. 3 Howard Memorials. 
 
 4 Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 6 See Mary Queen of Scots' Letters, vol. i., new edition, pp. 182—186 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 221 
 
 The arrest of Norfolk precipitated the disastrous rising in the North, 
 under the luckless earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland . 1 The 
 re-establishment of Catholicism in England, was the object of this in¬ 
 surrection ; and it may be regarded as a second part to that ebullition of 
 misdirected zeal and patriotism, the pilgrimage of grace, six and thirty 
 years before; and it is a curious fact, that the persons engaged in the 
 Northern Rebellion, were the sons of those who figured as pilgrims. 
 Wordsworth, in a few of his graceful lines, appears to have given a very 
 clear and correct view of the case. No apology can be required for 
 quoting them, pleasingly illustrative as they are of the period in ques¬ 
 tion :— 
 
 “It was the time when England’s queen 
 Twelve years had reign'd a sovereign dread, 
 
 Nor yet the restless crown had been 
 Disturb’d upon her virgin head. 
 
 But now the inly working North 
 Was ripe to send its thousands forth, 
 
 A potent vassalage to fight 
 In Percy's and in Neville's right. 
 
 Two earls fast leagued in discontent, 
 
 Who gave their wishes open vent, 
 
 And boldly urged a general plea, 
 
 The rites of ancient piety, 
 
 To be triumphantly restored 
 By the dread justice of the sword.” * 
 
 Mary Stuart, as the catholic heiress of the crown, and exciting by hei 
 beauty and misfortunes, her persecutions, and her patience, the deepest 
 interest among the chivalry of the north, who were chiefly professors 
 of the same creed, was the watchword and leading point of the asso¬ 
 ciation. Whether the plot was fomented by her is doubtful. It has, 
 however, been generally supposed, that Shakspeare’s mysterious lines, 
 in the Midsummer Night’s Dream, imply, “ that some seductions had 
 been used by the captive queen to charm the northern magnates from 
 their duty to their own sovereign : 3 — 
 
 “Once I sat upon a promontory 
 And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back, 
 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 
 To hear the sea-maid's music.” 
 
 'For the particulars of this insurrection, compiled from inedited documents, 
 he reader is referred to the “Memorials of the Northern Rebellion,” by Sir 
 luthbert Sharp, a most valuable contribution to the history of Elizabeth's reign. 
 ’White Doe of Rylstone, or the Fate of the Nortons. 
 
 ’The real cause of Northumberland’s disaffection is attributed by Camden to 
 lie appropriation of a rich copper mine by Elizabeth, which had been discovered 
 upon his estate in Cumberland. Westmoreland's wife, lady Jane Howard, the 
 laughter of Surrey, and sister of Mary’s affianced husband, Norfolk, was one of 
 he most beautiful, learned, and accomplished ladies of that age, and probably 
 nfluenced her weak husband to espouse the cause of Mary, although she was 
 erself a zealous Protestant, having been, like her brother, the pupil of the his- 
 urian of the Reformation, Fox. 
 
 19 * 
 
222 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The rebel earls entered Durham in warlike array, November 14th ; 
 Richard Norton, v>f Norton Conyers, who had married the sister of 
 queen Katharine Parr’s second husband, Neville, lord Latimer, a hoary- 
 headed gentleman, aged seventy-one, bore the banner of the cross before 
 the insurgents. 
 
 “The Nortons ancient had the cross, 
 
 And the five wounds our Lord did bear.” 
 
 The principal exploits of the misguided multitude, who followed this 
 banner, consisted in burning the translations of the Scriptures and the 
 liturgies, in all the towns they passed through. They had neither plan, 
 order, nor money, to maintain themselves in the rash position they had 
 assumed. A few days sufficed the earl of Sussex to crush the insur¬ 
 rection. The two earls fled; Northumberland to Scotland, where, fall¬ 
 ing into the hands of Murray, he was sold to the English government, 
 and brought to the block; Westmoreland took refuge in Flanders, and 
 died in exile.' 
 
 The calamities of the Percys, Nortons, Dacres, and Nevilles, and 
 other noble ancient families, who took part in this disastrous rising, in¬ 
 spired some of the noblest historical ballads, and metrical romances in 
 our language. Elizabeth herself became malignly poetical on the occa¬ 
 sion, and perpetrated the following sonnet, as it is styled:— 
 
 “The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, 
 
 And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy; 
 
 For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb, 
 
 Which would not be if Reason ruled, or Wisdom wove the web; 
 
 But clouds of toys untried do cloak aspiring minds, 
 
 Which turn to rain of late repent, by course of changed winds. 
 
 The top of hope, supposed, the root of ruth will be; 
 
 And fruitless all their grafted guiles, as ye shall shortly see. 
 
 These dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds, 
 
 Shall be unsealed by worthy wights, whose foresight falsehood binds. 
 
 The daughter of debate, that eke discord doth sow. 
 
 Shall reap no gain, where former rule hath taught still peace to grow. 
 
 No foreign banish'd wight shall anchor in this port; 
 
 Our realm it brooks no stranger’s force, let them elsewhere resort; 
 
 Our rusty sword with rest shall first his edge employ, 
 
 To poll their tops that seek such change, and gape for joy.”’ 
 
 Elizabeth made good the threats with which this unfeminine effusion 
 concludes; for, besides the executions of such of the leaders of the 
 rebellion as fell into her hands, she compelled her victorious general 
 Sussex, to deluge the northern counties with the blood of the simple 
 unreflective peasants, who had been induced to join the revolt. Tht 
 learned research of sir Cuthbert Sharp has brought to light some hideou; 
 facts, in the contemporary documents preserved among the Bowes MSS. 
 Staunch, indeed, must be the admirers of good queen Bess, who cai 
 calmly peruse the following order for the hangings in Richmondshire 
 without a shudder:— 
 
 1 Memorials of the Northern Rebellion, by Sir C. Sharp. 
 
 * Puttenham’s Art of Poetry, published in Elizabeth’s own reign. 
 
 * Published in the “ Memorials of the Northern Rebellion,” by Sir C. Sharp. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 223 
 
 The Earl of Sussex to Sir George Bowes. 
 
 “Sir George Bowes,—I have set the numbers to be executed down in every 
 town, as I did in your other book, which draweth near to two hundred; wherein 
 you may use your discretion in taking more or less in every town, as yon shall 
 see just cause for the offences and fitness for example; so as, in the whole, you 
 pass not of all kind of such the number of two hundred, amongst whom you may 
 not execute any that hath freeholds, or noted wealthy; for so is the queen’s 
 majesty's pleasure. By her special commandment, 10th of January, 1569-70 
 
 “T. Sussex.” 
 
 Under the list of those who joined from eacli town and village, the 
 earl of Sussex has written the number to be executed, amounting to 
 every fifth man. The fearful order was tardily executed, and Sussex 
 wrote to spur on the reluctant ministers of the royal vengeance. In his 
 letter of the 19th of January, addressed to sir George Bowes, he says, — 
 
 “ I received, yesternight, letters from the court, whereby I perceive that the 
 queen's majesty doth much marvel that she doth not hear from me that the exe¬ 
 cution is yet ended, and that she is disburdened of her charges that was consi¬ 
 dered for that respect; and therefore I heartily pray you to use expedition, for I 
 fear this lingering will breed displeasure to us both.” 
 
 The richer sort purchased their lives, but no less than eight hundred 
 of the working classes perished by the hands of the executioner! Lei¬ 
 cester had expressed a great wish to march against the rebels, but the 
 queen detained him as her principal adviser and protector, in case of 
 danger. 
 
 Early in the spring of 1570, pope Pius V. published his bull of ex- 
 communication against queen Elizabeth, and on the morning of May 
 15th a copy of this anathema against the sovereign was found fixed on 
 the gates of the bishop of London’s palace, in St. Paul’s. After strict 
 search, a duplicate was discovered in the possession of a student of Lin- 
 coln’s-inn ; who, being put to the torture, confessed that he received it 
 from Mr. Felton, a rich catholic gentleman of Southwark. Felton, on 
 being apprehended, not only acknowledged that he had set up the bull 
 on the bishop of London’s gate, but gloried in the daring act, bore the 
 rack without betraying his accomplices, and went to the scaffold in the 
 spirit of a martyr. As the purport of the bull was to deprive Elizabeth 
 of the title of queen, and the allegiance of her subjects, Felton gave her 
 no other title than u the pretender;” but, at his execution, he said, “ he 
 begged her pardon if he had injured her,” and drawing a magnificent 
 diamond ring, value four hundred pounds, from his finger, requested the 
 earl of Sussex, who was present, to give it to her in his name, as a token 
 that he died in peace with her, bearing her no malice for his suflbrings 
 and death. 1 2 
 
 This bull caused little mischief, but great annoyance to Elizabeth , 
 she even condescended to solicit the emperor Maximilian to procure its 
 revocation. 3 * * A sarcastic query from the pontiff, in reply to the imperial 
 
 1 On the 23d, Sussex, who evidently loathed the duty that had been imposed 
 
 upon him, wrote in bitter sarcasm to Cecil—“I was first a lieutenant; I was 
 
 after little better than a marshal; I had then nothing left to me but to direct 
 
 hanging matters.” 
 
 J Camden. 8 Lingard. 
 
224 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 intervention, was the only result of this undignified proceeding on the 
 part of the head of the protestant church. In August, the plague broke 
 out in London, and some deaths having occurred in the Tower, Eliza¬ 
 beth was induced to release the duke of Norfolk, on his promising to 
 give up all future correspondence with the queen of Scots, and attempts 
 in her behalf. He was then allowed to return to his own mansion at 
 the Charter-house, where lie remained for a time as a prisoner at large, 
 under the charge of his friend, sir Henry Neville. A sort of riot had 
 taken place, in his behalf, among his loving tenantry and servants at 
 Harleston-fair, in his territorial county of Norfolk; some of the nobles 
 and gentry in that neighbourhood were supposed to have encouraged 
 the outbreak, but it was merely regarded as the effects of pot-valour on 
 the part of the men of Ilarleston, and no injury resulted to the duke 
 from their injudicious way of manifesting their affection. 1 
 
 On the assassination of the Scottish regent, Murray, Elizabeth was 
 urged by the friends of the captive queen of Scots, both in France and 
 Scotland, to reinstate her in her royal authority, under certain conditions, 
 which might have been rendered of great political advantage to England, 
 but those demanded by Elizabeth were neither in Mary’s power, nor 
 consistent with her honour to perform, especially as the sine qua non . 
 was, that she should give up her infant son, who had been crowned 
 king of Scotland, as her principal hostage. 2 The possession of this 
 princely babe had been the great object of Elizabeth’s intrigues, almost 
 from the time of his birth, but neither Mary nor the lords of the congre¬ 
 gation would hear of trusting him to her keeping. “The times,” says 
 Camden, “ were then full of suspicions and conspiracies,” for Thomas 
 and Edward Stanley, the two younger sons of the earl of Derby, by the 
 duke of Norfolk’s daughter, with sir Thomas Gerard, Rolston, Hall, and 
 others of the county of Derby, conspired to free the queen of Scots out 
 of prison, but Rolston’s son betrayed the confederacy, and the parties 
 were arrested, except Hall, who fled to Scotland, where he was after¬ 
 wards taken, at the fall of Dumbarton castle, and put to death in London. 
 Mary’s ambassador, the bishop of Ross, being implicated in this plot, I 
 was once more sent to the Tower. Elizabeth had taken a terrible ven- : 
 geance on the border counties of Scotland, for the encouragement the 
 partisans of the queen of Scots, there, had given to the rebels in the 
 north of England, for she caused Sussex, with a military force, to burn i 
 and lay waste nearly three hundred villages. 3 These cruelties were j 
 regarded as so many triumphs, by those who heard of the progress 
 * made by the unresisted bands of England, and saw not the misery | 
 caused by the inglorious work of destruction that was perpetrated. 
 
 The twelfth year of Elizabeth’s reign being now completed, the anni¬ 
 versary of her accession was celebrated as a general festival throughout 
 her dominions. The aspect of public affairs was, however, still gloomy, 
 the unsettled state of the succession was more alarming to the nation 
 than ever, and Elizabeth herself began to consider that the only chance 
 of putting an end to the plots and intrigues of the partisans of Mary 
 
 ’Camden: Howard's Memorials. 
 
 a Camden. 
 
 9 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 223 
 
 Stuart, would be the birth of heirs of her own. Her attempt to attract 
 the young king of France from the Austrian princess had only procured 
 a few empty compliments from the ambassador; and, even if the king 
 had not been too deeply pledged to his affianced bride to avail himself 
 of the opening she had given him, Elizabeth was well aware that the 
 obstacles to such a union were insuperable. But that she did regret 
 having been induced by Cecil and Leicester to trifle with the addresses 
 of the archduke Charles, there is abundant proof, and even that she was 
 anxious “ to lure the tercel gentil back again.” 
 
 In the secret minutes of the affairs of the court of England, prepared 
 by the sieur de Vassal, one of Fenelon’s spies, for the information of the 
 queen-mother of France, it is stated, that after the announcement had 
 been made to her that the marriages of her two rejected royal suitors, 
 the kings of France and Spain, with the daughters of the emperor, were 
 concluded, Elizabeth became very pensive; and when she retired to her 
 chamber with her ladies, she complained, “that, while so many honour¬ 
 able marriages were making in Europe, not one of her council had 
 spoken of a match for her, but if the earl of Sussex had been present, 
 he, at least, might have reminded them of the archduke Charles.” 1 
 This being repeated by one of the ladies to the earl of Leicester, he 
 was compelled, on the morrow, to endeavour to please her, by taking 
 measures to renew the negotiations with the archduke; the son of sir 
 Henry Cobham was forthwith despatched on a secret mission to Spires 
 for that purpose. In the meantime, she showed more and more inclina¬ 
 tion to marry, and spoke with so much affection of the archduke, that 
 the earl repented having taken any further steps in the matter. 
 
 The juvenile appearance of the functionary, whom Elizabeth had 
 selected for this delicate business, excited some surprise, both at home 
 ind abroad, for it was said that, “ if so grave and experienced a states¬ 
 man as the earl of Sussex had failed to arrange a matrimonial treaty to 
 tier majesty’s satisfaction, it was scarcely to be expected that a beardless 
 soy, of no weight, would be able to effect much.” 2 The youthful 
 Vlercury, however, opened the object of his mission, to the emperor 
 with all possible solemnity, by informing him, “ that his royal mistress 
 lad sent him to continue the same negotiation that had been com- 
 nenced, three years before, by the earl of Sussex; that she had not 
 teen able, till the present moment, to render a decisive answer on the 
 >roposal of the archduke, by reason of frequent illnesses, the wars in 
 ’ranee and Flanders, and other impediments; but this delay had not, 
 he trusted, put an end to the suit of his imperial majesty’s brother, and 
 ! he would be pleased to come to England now, he should be very 
 welcome; and, as to the differences in their religion, she hoped, that 
 er subjects would consent that he and his attendants should have such 
 ill exercise of their own, and that he would be satisfied.” 3 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., p. 466. 
 
 ’Secret Memorial for the French Court, by Vassal. Despatches of Fenelon, 
 si. iii., 466. 
 
 ’Secret Memorial of M. de Savran for the queen-mother of France, in Fenelor 
 si. iii., 424. 
 
 P 
 
 -V 
 
226 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The emperor replied, “ that his brother was very sorry that her ma¬ 
 jesty had been so tardy in notifying her good intention to him, for 
 which he was nevertheless very much obliged, but that the prince, not 
 supposing that her majesty would have delayed her answer for three 
 years, if she had intended to accept him, had turned his thoughts on 
 another match, and was now engaged to a princess, his relation and a 
 catholic, with whom there could be no disputes on the subject of reli¬ 
 gion, but that he regretted that he had not been accepted by the queen 
 at the proper time, and hoped that she would henceforward regard him 
 in the light of a brother.” His imperial majesty concluded with a few 
 compliments, on his own account, to the queen, and dismissed young 
 Cobham with the present of a silver vessel. 1 
 
 This reply was taken in such evil part by Elizabeth, that she ex¬ 
 claimed, in her first indignation, “ that the emperor had offered her so 
 great an insult, that if she had been a man instead of a woman, she 
 would have defied him to single combat.” 2 
 
 Our authority goes on to report the contents of an intercepted letter, 
 written by one of the lords of the English court to another, in which 
 the following passage occurs :—“The cause of the grief and vexation 
 of our queen, is assuredly the marriage of the archduke Charles with 
 the daughter of his sister, the duchess of Bavaria, either because she 
 had fixed her love and fantasy on him, or that she is mortified that hei 
 beauty and grandeur have been so lightly regarded by him, or that she 
 has lost this means of amusing her people for the present, and fears tha 
 she will now be pressed by her states and her parliament not to defe; 
 taking a husband, which is the principal desire of all her realm.” 
 
 Elizabeth had, however, reached that point, when, in common will 
 every childless sovereign, who is on ill terms with the successor to tin 
 crown, she felt that her power was checked, and her influence boundet 
 within comparatively narrow limits, by the want of heirs of her owi 
 person. This consideration appears, if we may believe her own asser 
 tion, to have inclined her to encourage thoughts of marriage, and th 
 offer of the young, handsome Henry of Valois came at the seasonal)! 
 juncture, when she was burning with indignation at the marriage of th 
 archduke Charles. “ After the said Cobham had returned with the ar 
 swer of refusal,” says the sieur de Vassal, “ she began to listen wit 
 more affection to the proposal of monsieur.” 
 
 This prince was the second surviving son of Henry II. and Catherin 
 de Medicis, and had just completed his eighteenth year. Elizabeth w? 
 turned of thirty-seven, and had been, in her infancy, proposed as a wi 
 for his uncle, Charles duke of Angouleme. The project for her ma 
 riage with the duke of Anjou seems to have been first suggested by tl 
 cardinal Chastillon, who, notwithstanding his high rank in the churc 
 of Rome, came to England for the purpose of soliciting the mediatic 
 
 ■ Secret Memorial of M. de Savran for the queen-mother of France, in t'euelf 
 vol. iii., 424. 
 
 * Ibid., 425. 
 
ELIZABETH. 227 
 
 of Elizabeth in a pacific treaty between the king of France and the 
 Huguenots. 1 
 
 It is probable that this liberal-minded ecclesiastic imagined, that the 
 union of the heir of France with the protestant queen of England, would 
 procure a general toleration for persons of her religion in France, and 
 that her influence and power would be amicably exerted, to compose 
 the stormy elements, whose strife was pregnant with every species of 
 crime and misery. 
 
 He took the first opportunity of touching on this project during a 
 private conference with Elizabeth at Hampton Court, as soon as the fact 
 of the archduke’s marriage transpired, and received sufficient encourage¬ 
 ment to induce him to open the matter to the queen-mother, who, on 
 the 20th of October, wrote to La Mothe Fenelon, “That the cardinal 
 de Chastillon had spoken to her son, the duke of Anjou, of an overture 
 of marriage between him and the queen of England, and she was earnest 
 with him to give it all the encouragement in his power.” 
 
 Towards the end of December, La Mothe Fenelon paid a visit to the 
 queen at Hampton Court; he was introduced into her privy chamber 
 by Leicester, “ where he found her better dressed than usual, and she 
 appeared eager to talk of the king’s (Charles JX.) wedding.” La Mothe 
 told her, “ that he could wish to congratulate her on her own.” On 
 which she reminded him, “ that she had formerly assured him that she 
 never meant to marry,” but added, “ that she regretted that she had not 
 thought in time about her want of posterity, and that if she ever did 
 take a husband, it should be only one of a royal house, of suitable 
 rank to her own.” 2 
 
 On this hint, the ambassador could not forbear from recommending 
 the duke of Anjou to her attention, as the most accomplished prince in 
 the world, and the only person who was worthy the honour of her 
 alliance. 3 
 
 She received this intimation very favourably, and replied, “ that mon¬ 
 sieur was so highly esteemed for his excellent qualities, that he was 
 worthy of the highest destiny the world could bestow, but that she be¬ 
 lieved his thoughts were lodged on a fairer object 4 than her, who was 
 already an old woman, and who, unless for the sake of heirs, would be 
 ashamed to speak of a husband; that she had formerly been sought by 
 some who would wish to espouse the kingdom, but not the queen; as, 
 indeed, it generally happened among the great, who married without 
 seeing one another.” She observed, “ that the princes of the house of 
 France had a fair reputation for being good husbands, much honoured 
 by their wives, and not less beloved.” She said many more things to 
 
 1 It is an interesting fact that this cardinal de Chastillon was the brother of the 
 Illustrious Protestant leader, admiral de Coligny, whose family name was Chastil¬ 
 
 lon. The cardinal used his influence, like a good man, to moderate between 
 the infuriated parties. (See Brantome, Les Vies des Homines IIlustres, 3me 
 Partie, p. 151.) 
 
 ’ Dcp£ches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. vii. 3 Ibid., vol. iii., p. 418. 
 
 ‘The beautiful princess of Cleves, with whom Henry of Anjou was passion 
 ately in love at that time. 
 
223 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the same purpose, but La Mothe, in reporting this conversation, in a 
 private letter to the queen-mother, expresses himself as doubtful whether 
 she will ever carry any marriage into effect, having frequently promised 
 her people to marry, and then, after entertaining a proposal for a long 
 while, found means to break it off. However, he recommends the offer 
 to be made. 
 
 The first time Elizabeth gave audience to the French ambassador, 
 after the marriage of Charles IX., she asked him, “ how his master found 
 himself as a married man ?” and added many questions as to the proba¬ 
 bility of his being happy with his young queen. La Mothe replied, 
 “ that his sovereign was the most contented prince in Christendom, and 
 the greatest pleasure he had was being in her company.” 
 
 Elizabeth cynically observed, “ that the record of the gallantries of 
 his majesty’s father and grandfather, Francis I. and Henry II., inclined 
 her to fear that he would follow their example.” “ And thereupon,” 
 pursues the ambassador, slily, to his sovereign, “ she revealed to me a 
 secret concerning your majesty, which, sire, I confess I had never heard 
 before.” 1 So much better was our maiden queen acquainted with the 
 scandals of her royal neighbour of France than his own ambassador, 
 although monsieur de la Mothe Fenelon was a notorious gossip. 
 
 We are indebted to his lively pen, for many rich details of her say¬ 
 ings and doings, relative to the successive matrimonial negotiations be¬ 
 tween her and Henry duke of Anjou, and subsequently with his younger 
 brother Francis, alias Hercules, duke of Alengon, also for a variety of 
 anecdotes of this great queen, which are new to all but those who have 
 studied his despatches. In a private letter, dated January 18th, 1571, 
 he informs the queen-mother, that on the preceding Sunday, he was con¬ 
 ducted by the earl of Leicester into the presence of the queen of Eng¬ 
 land, when the conversation having been led to the subject of the pri¬ 
 vate overtures for the marriage with the duke of Anjou, the queen ac¬ 
 knowledged, “that she objected to nothing but his age.” To which it 
 was replied, “ That the prince bore himself already like a man.” “ But,” 
 said the queen, “ he can never cease to be younger than me.” 
 
 “ So much the better for your majesty,” rejoined Leicester, laughing, 
 and Elizabeth took this freedom from her master of the horse in good 
 part. Then the ambassador took the word, and, after adverting to the 
 wedded happiness of his recently-wedded king and queen, said, “ that 
 he would advise any princess, who wished to acquire perfect felicity in 
 wedlock, to take a consort from the royal house of France.” Elizabeth 
 replied, “ that madame d’Estampes and madame de Valentinois made 
 her fear, that she would be only honoured by her husband as a queen, 
 and not loved by him as a woman.” This interesting conversation was 
 interrupted by the entrance of cardinal Chastillon, on which Fenelon 
 and Leicester withdrew, and her majesty remained a considerable time 
 in private conference with him. 
 
 As soon as the cardinal retired from her presence, Elizabeth summoned 
 her council, and communicated her matrimonial prospects to them in a 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 229 
 
 truly original style. She began by informing them, “ that the cardinal 
 Chastillon had inquired of her three things; ‘first, if she were free from 
 all contracts, with power to marry where she pleased ? secondly, whether 
 she intended to marry within her own realm, or to espouse a foreigner ? 
 and, thirdly, in case it was her will to take a foreigner for her consort, 
 if she would accept monsieur, brother to the king of France?’ and that 
 she had replied to these questions, ‘ that she was free to marry, but that 
 she would not marry one of her subjects, and that she would, with all 
 her heart, enter into a marriage with monsieur, on such conditions as 
 might be deemed advisable.’ ” 1 She then went on to say, that the car¬ 
 dinal had presented his credentials from the king, and prayed her, as the 
 affair was of great consequence to the world, that she would communi¬ 
 cate with her council on the subject before it went any further. “ But 
 this,” her majesty said, “ she could tell them plainly, she had not 
 thought good, and had replied, ‘ that she was queen sovereign, and did 
 not depend on those of her council, but rather they on her, as having 
 their lives and their heads in her hand, and that they would, of course, 
 do as she wished;’ but inasmuch as he had represented to her the in¬ 
 conveniences which had been considered to result to the late queen, her 
 sister, for having chosen to treat of her marriage with the king of 
 Spain, without consulting her council, she had promised him, that she 
 would propose it to them, and she willed that they should all promptly 
 jive her their advice.” 
 
 The members of the council hung their heads in silence, being scarce¬ 
 ly less startled at the gracious terms in which their maiden monarch had 
 thought proper to signify her intentions, with regard to this new s.uitor, 
 than astonished at the fact, that the affair had proceeded to such lengths; 
 p or so secretly had the negotiations been kept, that very few of them 
 tad an idea that such a thing was in agitation. At length, after a con¬ 
 siderable pause, one of the most courageous ventured to say, that 
 ‘Monsieur appeared to be very young for her majesty.” 
 
 “ What then!” exclaimed Elizabeth, fiercely interrupting him, “if the 
 prince be satisfied with me ?” and then, apparently desirous of averting 
 .he unwelcome discussion of her age, she concluded by saying, “ that 
 he cardinal, after showing his credentials, had proposed several articles 
 of an advantageous nature, which she considered well worthy of atten- 
 ion.” 2 
 
 The reason of Elizabeth’s imperious language to her council on this 
 occasion may be attributed to the displeasure she had cherished against 
 hose, who opposed obstacles to her marriage with the archduke, which 
 rad ended in his abandoning his suit to her, and wedding the Bavarian 
 .orincess. Far from concealing her feelings on this subject, she spoke, 
 unong her ladies, in a high tone of the ill-treatment, she considered 
 hat she had experienced from her cabinet, with regard to the various 
 overtures that had been made by foreign princes for her hand, observ- 
 ng, with emphatic bitterness, “ that her people had often pressed her to 
 narry, but they, her ministers, always annexed such hard conditions to 
 
 1 1)ep6ches de la Motlie Fenelon, vol. iii., pp. 439, 440. ’Ibid., p. 440 
 
 VOL. VI. — 20 
 
•230 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the treaty, as to keep her from it, and that she should know now who 
 were her good and faithful subjects, and they might note well, that she 
 should hold as disloyal those who attempted to cross her in so honour¬ 
 able a match.” When one of her ladies regretted that monsieur were 
 not a few years older, she replied, “ He is twenty now, and may be 
 rated at twenty-five, for everything in his mind and person beseems a 
 man of worth 1 and when my lord chamberlain proceeded to relate an 
 anecdote of the prince, which some of the ladies of the bed-chamber 
 considered rather alarming on the score of morality, her majesty only 
 turned it off with a joke. But however favourably disposed she might 
 be to her new suitor, she could not forget or forgive the slight which 
 she considered she had received from him, by whom she had been for¬ 
 saken. 
 
 If we may believe the sieur de Vassal and La Mothe Fenelon, when 
 the baron de Vualfrind was presented to her, she expressed herself with 
 mingled jealousy and disdain on the subject of the archduke’s nuptials. 
 She inveighed with strong reprobation on a marriage between such near 
 relations as uncle and niece, observing, “ that the king of Spain, as a 
 great prince, possibly considered that his example might be a law to the 
 world, but that it was a law against Heaven.” According to the same 
 authority, she so far forgot the dignity of the queen and the delicacy of 
 the woman, as to add, “ that the archduke was much obliged to her for 
 refusing him, since he had found a better than her, and where love could 
 not fail, for if they could not love each other as spouses, they might 
 love as relations; and that she also hoped, on her part, to find better 
 than him, and so the regret would cease on both sides.” Then she 
 went on to say, “ that she had not refused him, but only delayed her 
 answer, and he had not been willing to wait; but, nevertheless, she 
 loved and honoured the emperor and all his house, without any excep¬ 
 tions.” 
 
 When the baron left her majesty’s presence, he inquired of the writer 
 of this memorial, “ whether the queen had spoken thus of the archduke 
 from affection and jealousy, or by way of a device?” and said, “he re¬ 
 pented of not having proposed prince Rodolph, the emperor’s eldest son I 
 to her, as he was already seventeen.” The sieur de Vassal told him 
 “ that the mission of young Cobham to the emperor showed plainly i 
 that if the archduke had been willing to wait the queen’s leisure, hf 
 would have been accepted.” On which the baron expressed much re¬ 
 gret, that the archduke had been so hasty in plighting himself to the 
 Bavarian princess; but observed, “ that the conditions to which they 
 would have obliged him, if he had married the queen, were so hard tha 
 it was shameful to impose such on a king.” 2 
 
 'Secret Memorial of M. de Vassal, in Fenelon's Despatches, vol. iii.. p. 467. 
 
 * That title would, of course, have been conferred on any prince whom Eliza 
 beth had thought proper to honour with her hand; and it was guarantied to he: 
 two successive suitors, the princes of France, but only for the term of her life 
 and we shall see that it was contended for Henry of Anjou, that if he survivec 
 her, he should retain a shadow of this matrimonial dignity, by bearing the styh i 
 of king-dowager of England. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 231 
 
 One of the proudest and happiest days of Elizabeth’s queenly life, 
 was the 23rd of January, 1571, when she came in state into the city, to 
 dine with that prince of English merchants, sir Thomas Gresham, who 
 had invited her to open the new Bourse, on Cornhill, which he had 
 built at his own expense, for the benefit of his fellow-citizens. 1 
 
 The queen had not visited the city of London for upwards of two 
 years, on account of the pestilence; of which, like her father, Henry 
 VIII., she was always in great dread. The welcome which she received 
 on this occasion, from her loving lieges in the east, was enthusiastically 
 affectionate. La Mothe Fenelon, who accompanied her majesty, as an 
 invited guest, to “ the festival of the Bourse,” as he terms it, bears tes¬ 
 timony, in his letters to his own court, to the magnificence of the pre¬ 
 parations that had been made in the city, in honour of her coming, 
 “ which,” he says, “ were no less splendid than on the day of her coro¬ 
 nation. She was received everywhere by throngs of acclaiming people; 
 the streets were hung and garlanded ; and all things in the same order, 
 as at her first public entrance. It gave- her great pleasure,” continues 
 he, “ that I assisted on this occasion, because it showed more of her 
 grandeur, that such a display should be so suddenly arranged, than if it 
 had been premeditated, and got up some time beforehand. The said 
 lady did not omit to make me remark the affection and devotion with 
 which she is looked upon by this great people.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth dined in company with Fenelon, at sir Thomas Gresham’s 
 house, in Bishopsgate Street, where, though every costly viand that 
 wealth could procure, and refined luxury devise, were provided for her 
 entertainment, her greatest feast appears to have been that, which neither 
 Stowe, Holinshed, or any of our pleasant civic chroniclers of that day 
 were at all aware her majesty enjoyed—namely, the choice dose of flat¬ 
 tery, which the insinuating French diplomat administered. In his pri¬ 
 vate letter to the queen-mother of France, he says, “ the queen of Eng¬ 
 land took pleasure in conversing a long time with me after dinner; and, 
 among other things, she told me, ‘that she was determined to marry, 
 not for any wish of her own, but for the satisfaction of her subjects; 
 and also to put an end, by the authority of a husband, or by the birth 
 of offspring (if it should please God to give them to her), to the enter 
 
 ‘Queen Elizabeth was accustomed to call this great and good man ‘-her mer¬ 
 chant.” La Mothe Fenelon mentions him, in his despatches to his own court, 
 as “ Grasson , the queen's factor.” He was related to the queen through the Bo- 
 leyns; and he and his father had amassed great wealth during the reigns of the 
 Tudor sovereigns. On the death of his only son, he declared his intention of 
 making his country his heir, and wisely endeavoured to divert his grief for his 
 irreparable loss, by the erection of a public building for the transaction of mer¬ 
 cantile business, such as he had seen in the great commercial cities abroad; and 
 which was indeed a public want in the rich city of London, where the merchants, 
 not having a proper place of assembly, were accustomed to congregate in Lom¬ 
 bard street, to the great inconvenience of passengers in that narrow thoroughfare; 
 and when the weather was unpropitious, they adjourned to the nave of old Saint 
 Paul's to complete their bargains, with no more reverence to a Christian church 
 than was exhibited by the money-changers and sellers of doves in the temple at 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 a Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., p. 450. 
 
232 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 prises which she felt would perpetually be made against her person and 
 her realm, if she became so old a woman that there was no longer any 
 pretence for taking a husband, or hope that she might have children .’ 5,1 
 
 She added, “ that in truth, she greatly feared not being loved by him, 
 whom she might espouse, which would be a greater misfortune than the 
 first, for it would be worse to her than death, and she could not bear to 
 reflect on such a possibility.” 
 
 “I told her, in reply,” continues monsieur de la Mothe, “‘that to 
 such prudent considerations, I had nothing to say, except, that in the 
 course of a year she might remedy all that, if before next Easter she 
 would espouse some royal prince, the choice of whom would be easy 
 for her to make, as I knew of one who combined in himself every virtue, 
 by whom there was no doubt but she would be singularly beloved and 
 greatly honoured; and then I hoped that in due time she would find 
 herself the mother of a fair son, and being thus rendered happy in a 
 consort and an heir, she would by that means prevent any more evil 
 plots being devised against her.’ She approved of this very much, and 
 pursued the subject with joyful and modest words for a considerable 
 time. The cardinal Chastillon was also at this festival, but she did not 
 speak with him apart .” 2 
 
 The time chosen by sir Thomas Gresham, for her majesty’s visit to 
 his patriotic foundation, was evening, “ and the whole of the buildings 
 of that fair cloister, the Bourse,” as it is called by the old translator of 
 Camden, were brilliantly illuminated, and adorned in an appropriate 
 manner, for the occasion ; 3 neither pains nor expense had been spared 
 to render it worthy of her attention. 
 
 The munificent founder had secured a grand and unbroken coup-d’ceil, 
 by offering the shops rent free for a year, to such as would furnish them 
 with goods and wax-lights against the coming of the queen. Thus 
 everything was new and fresh, and effectively arranged; and a splendid 
 display was made of every variety of the most costly and splendid 
 wares, that native industry could produce, or commerce supply. 
 
 The queen, attended by the principal nobles and ladies of her court, 
 and the friendly representative of the king of France, on her homeward 
 route through Cornhill, entered the Bourse on the south side, and 
 visited with great interest every part of the edifice, in which she beheld, 
 not only a monument of the generosity and public spirit of her civic 
 kinsman, but a pledge of the increasing greatness of her city of Lon¬ 
 don; and after expressing herself with eloquent and gracious words in 
 commendation of all she saw, especially the Pawn, where the richest 
 display was made, she gave it the name of the Royal Exchange , 4 and 
 caused proclamation to that effect to be made by sound of trumpet. She 
 remained till about eight o’clock, and was escorted in great state through 
 the illuminated streets, which were lined on each side by torch-bearers; 
 the whole population, indeed, supplied themselves with torches on this 
 occasion to do her honour, and surrounded and followed her with 
 tumultuous acclamations of joy. 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., p. 450. 2 Ibid., p. 455. 
 
 3 Stowe. * Stowe's Survey; Camdec 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 233 
 
 Her majesty asked monsieur de la Mothe, u if this did not, in a small 
 way, remind him of the late rejoicings in Paris, at the public entrance 
 of the king, his master?” She then observed, “ that it did her heart 
 good to see herself so much beloved and desired by her subjects;” and 
 added, “ that she knew they had no other cause for regret, than that 
 they knew her to be mortal, and that they had no certainty of a suc¬ 
 cessor, born of her, to reign over them after her death.” The courteous 
 statesman replied, with an outpouring of compliments to this pathetic 
 boast, u that her majesty would be without excuse to God and the world, 
 if she deprived her subjects of the fair posterity she had it in her power 
 to provide for them.” 1 
 
 Soon after the opening of the Royal Exchange, Elizabeth created sir 
 William Cecil, lord of Burleigh (indifferently spelt Burghley), and made 
 him lord high treasurer. Her uncle, lord William Howard, exchanged 
 the office of lord chamberlain^ for that of lord privy seal; the earl of 
 Sussex succeeded him as chamberlain ; sir Thomas Smith was made 
 principal secretary of state; and Christopher Hatton, esq., captain of her 
 majesty’s guard. The latter gentleman, who has been described by 
 Naunton as a mere vegetable of the court, that sprang up at night, and 
 sank again at his noon, was soon after preferred to the office of vice¬ 
 chamberlain, sworn of the privy council, and, lastly, made lord chan¬ 
 cellor. lie was indebted for his good fortune to his fine person, in¬ 
 sinuating manners, and graceful dancing. He was bred to the law, and 
 entered the court, as his great enemy, sir John Perrot, used to say, “ by 
 i the galliard,” for he first appeared there among the gentlemen of the 
 inns of court in a mask, at which time her majesty was so charmed 
 with his beauty and activity, that she took him into her band of pen¬ 
 sioners, who were considered the tallest and handsomest men in Eng¬ 
 land. 2 
 
 The extraordinary marks of favour lavished by the queen on her new 
 favourite, excited the jealousy of the whole court, and most especially 
 that of Leicester, who, for the purpose of depreciating the accomplish¬ 
 ment which had first attracted Elizabeth’s notice to the handsome young 
 lawyer, offered to introduce to her attention a dancing master, whose 
 performance of the same dances, in which Hatton’s caperings had been 
 so much admired, was considered much more wonderful, and worthy of 
 the encouragement of her smiles. “ Pish !” replied Elizabeth, con¬ 
 temptuously; “I will not see your man ;• it is his trade.” Not only 
 her partiality for Hatton, but Iter good taste, led her to prefer the easy 
 grace of the gentleman to the exhibition of the professor of the art. 
 
 Scandal did not spare Elizabeth on the score of sir Christopher Hat¬ 
 ton, but as he was not only the beau ideal of a queen’s vice-chamber¬ 
 lain, but acquitted himself very well in his high and responsible office 
 of lord chancellor, we may fairly conclude that his royal mistress pre¬ 
 ferred him for his talents to those places, rather than from the im¬ 
 probable weakness which has been attributed to her. 
 
 Hatton, though of mild and gentle manners, was rapacious, and 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., p. 454. a Naunton's Fragmenta 
 
 20 * 
 
 i 
 
234 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 coveted a slice of the bishop of Ely’s noble garden, which consisted 
 of twenty acres of richly planted ground on Holborn-hill and Ely- 
 place. 1 
 
 Dr. Cox did not like his see to be despoiled, and resisted this en¬ 
 croachment, though backed by the queen’s private orders. This refusal 
 produced the following unique epistle from her maiden majesty:— 
 
 “ Proud Prelate,—You know what you were before I made you what you are 
 now. If you do not immediately comply with my request. I will unfrock you, 
 by God. Elizabeth.” 
 
 This letter had the desired effect of inducing the bishop of Ely to 
 resign a large proportion of the estate of the see,—the gate-house of his 
 palace on Holborn-hill, and several acres of land, now Hatton-garden, 
 reserving to himself and his successors free access, through the gate¬ 
 house, of walking in the garden, and leave to gather twenty bushels of 
 roses yearly, therein. 2 Twenty bushels of roses gathered on Holborn- 
 hill !—what a change of time, place, and produce since. How per¬ 
 plexed would the denizens of Ely-place and Hatton-garden be, if the 
 present bishop of Ely were to demand his twenty bushels of roses, and 
 admission to gather them in Hatton-garden ? It was this bishop of Ely 
 who remonstrated with Elizabeth for retaining the crucifix and lighted 
 tapers in her chapel; for which she never forgave him. Soon after, her 
 fool, set on by one of her courtiers, put out the wax-lights; but though 
 she suffered them to be abolished in general, she ever retained them on 
 her own domestic altar. 
 
 Fenelon informs Catherine de Medicis that there were four lords of 
 queen Elizabeth’s court and cabinet, who influenced the decisions of all 
 the others, and even those of their royal mistress. He does not name 
 this junta, but they appear to have consisted of Leicester, Cecil, YVal- 
 singham, and the lord keeper Bacon. In his letter of the 6th of Feb¬ 
 ruary, he writes to Catherine, “ that these four statesmen had met in 
 council to deliberate on what course they should advise the queen to 
 pursue, touching the proposed marriage with the duke of Anjou. The 
 first of these approved of it as good and honourable; the second op¬ 
 posed it as perilous to the protestant religion, calculated to provoke 
 jealousy in other princes, and full of danger to the realm; the third was 
 of the same opinion as the second; and the fourth held with the first, 
 but only so far that he considered the match was for the honour of her 
 majesty and the realm, yet, if it could be broken without personal 
 offence to monsieur, by means of such conditions being annexed as 
 would be refused by the king of France, it would be the means of cre¬ 
 ating a division and enmity between the royal brothers, which would be 
 advantageous to England.” 
 
 1 Fuller. 
 
 2 Elizabeth's bishops appear to have been great horticulturists. Edmund 
 Grindal, bishop of London, sent her an annual present of grapes from his vine¬ 
 yard at Fulham, but had nearly forfeited her favour for ever, by sending his last 
 offering at the time there had been a death in his house, which caused a report 
 that he had endangered her majesty's person, by sending from an infected place. 
 He wrote a piteous letter, denying that the plague was in his house. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 235 
 
 The queen, when she was informed of these adverse opinions of her 
 council, assembled them together, and said, with a tear in her eye, “ that 
 if any ill came to her, to her crown, or her subjects, from her not hav¬ 
 ing espoused the archduke Charles, it ought to be imputed to them, and 
 not to her;” 1 adding, “that they had been the cause of giving umbrage 
 to the king of Spain—that they had embroiled her with the Scotch— 
 and that, through their intrigues with the Rochellers, a war with the 
 king of France would have ensued if she had not prevented it, and she 
 prayed them all to assist her now to smooth all these evils in the only 
 way they could, which was by forwarding her marriage with monsieur, 
 and that she should hold every one as a bad subject, an enemy to this 
 realm, and disloyal to her service, who in any way crossed her in it.” 
 No one present, of course, presumed to contradict or oppose her in her 
 sad and passionate mood. 
 
 It appears to have been the rule with Elizabeth’s ministers to listen, 
 with profound reverence, to every rating it pleased her to bestow upon 
 them, but without altering, except in a few deceitful compliances of 
 trifling and temporary import, the line of conduct which had provoked 
 her displeasure. 
 
 It was the decided opinion of that minute observer, La Mothe Fene- 
 lon, that it was not the intention of those who ruled the councils of the 
 queen, and overawed the ancient aristocracy of her realm, to permit 
 their royal mistress to marry. Leicester, from whom he had much of 
 his information, whether true or false, but most probably a mixture of 
 both, informed him, “ that such of the lords of the council as were in 
 the interest of Spain were greatly opposed to the match between her 
 majesty and monsieur, so also he said was Mr. Secretary Cecil (Bur¬ 
 leigh), who did not choose that his mistress, after the fashion of the 
 world, should have any husband but himself, for he was more the sove¬ 
 reign than she was.” So earnestly, indeed, was Cecil bent on diverting 
 Elizabeth from the French marriage, that he even ventured the daring 
 experiment of tampering with her suspected passion for Leicester, by 
 gravely soliciting her to accept him for her husband, as the person who 
 would give the greatest satisfaction to the whole realm, but she treated 
 the notion with deserved contempt. 
 
 Leicester, on his part, assured La Mothe Fenelon, “ that, knowing full 
 well that Burleigh had no good meaning in this, and that he only de¬ 
 vised it, as a contrivance, to hinder the queen from entering into a matri¬ 
 monial treaty with the French prince; he had replied, “that when the 
 time was favourable for him in that matter, Burleigh had opposed and 
 prevented him; but now that the time was unpropitious for it, he pre¬ 
 tended to assist him; but those who would now attempt such a thing 
 were neither good servants to her majesty nor true friends to him, their 
 only aim being to interrupt the proposition of Monsieur, for which he 
 (Leicester) owed them no good-will, nor would render them thanks, not 
 choosing to become their tool.” 2 
 
 The queen, meantime, having apparently set her mind entirely on the 
 
 1 Dep6ehe de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., p. 462. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
°36 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 French marriage, complained to lady Clinton and lady Cobham of the 
 difficulties that some of her ministers made to her marriage with mon¬ 
 sieur, on account of his being too young, and she conjured them, “to 
 tell her freely their opinions, as she esteemed them as two of the most 
 faithful of her ladies, and placed more confidence in them than in all the 
 ladies in the world, and therefore did not wish them to dissimulate with 
 her in anything.” Then the lady Clinton, being an old courtier, and 
 well knowing that her majesty did not wish to hear a repetition of the 
 same sentiments which had displeased her in her uncomplying council, 
 replied by praising the perfections of her majesty, and encouraging her 
 in her design of marrying, and highly approving of her choice of mon¬ 
 sieur, “ whose youth,” she said, “ ought not to inspire her with fear, for 
 he was virtuous, and her majesty was better calculated to please him 
 than any other princess in the world.” 1 
 
 Her majesty received this agreeable answer with such evident satis¬ 
 faction, that lady Cobham, not daring to say anything in opposition, 
 merely observed, “ that those marriages were always the happiest when 
 the parties were of the same age, or near about it, but that here there 
 was a great inequality!” Elizabeth interrupted her, by saying, “ that 
 there were but ten years difference between them.” Now, although 
 both the ladies were aware that it was nearer twenty, neither ventured 
 to correct the royal calculation, and her majesty said, in conclusion, 
 “ that it might possibly have been better if the prince had been the 
 senior, but since it had pleased God that she was the oldest, she hoped 
 that he would be contented with her other advantages.” 2 
 
 But while the mighty Elizabeth, laying aside the dignified restraints 
 of the sovereign, endeavoured, like a perplexed and circumvented wo¬ 
 man as she was, to find, among her favoured confidants of the bed¬ 
 chamber coterie, sentiments and advice more in accordance with her 
 wishes than the unwelcome opposition she had encountered from her 
 privy councillors, and was soothed by their flattery into so happy an 
 idea of her own perfections, that she anticipated no other obstacle to 
 her marriage with the handsome Henry of Anjou, than that which pro¬ 
 ceeded from the jealousy of her own cabinet, the possibility of a demur 
 arising on his part appears never to have entered into her imagination. 
 Unfortunately, however, the overtures for this marriage had been made 
 by the scheming politicians of France, and the negotiations pursued by 
 the desire of the ambitious queen mother, Catherine de Medicis, up to 
 the present point, without the necessary preliminary of obtaining the 
 assent of the said Henry of Anjou, to the disposal of his hand in wed¬ 
 lock to her majesty of England. 
 
 When matters were so far advanced, that it was absolutely necessary 
 for the nominal suitor to come forward, in propria persona, the royal 
 youth, with all the reckless wilfulness of his age, expressed his disap¬ 
 proval of the mature bride elect, who had been so warmly wooed in his 
 name, and protested “ that he would not marry her, for she was not 
 only an old creature, but had a sore leg.” This infirmity, though a 
 
 'Secret Memorial of Vassal, in Fenelon's Despatches. 2 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 237 
 
 new feature in the personal description of queen Elizabeth, was not 
 altogether the invention of her refractory suitor; it seems she really 
 had a temporary affliction of the kind, for, in the preceding June, La 
 Mothe Fenelon informed his court, in his official report, that he could 
 not have an audience, on business, with Elizabeth, for she was ill, and, 
 the truth to say, something was the matter with her leg. 
 
 On the 26th of the same month, she gave the French ambassador an 
 audience in her chamber, dressed in a wrapping-gown, with tire leg laid 
 in repose. First she discussed her malady, and then the affairs of 
 Europe, and she vowed, “if she were lame, France and Scotland would 
 find her affairs did not halt.” 1 
 
 The next month her lameness was not amended, and she was forced 
 to make her summer progress in a coach. Nevertheless, in September 
 she was not only on her feet, but pursuing her old diversions of the 
 chase. She received La Mothe, he says, in a sylvan palace, not far from 
 Oxford, surrounded by forests, which, though he calls it by the unin¬ 
 telligible name of Vuynck , could be no other than Woodstock. She 
 gave him audience, not in the main building, but in a lodge in the wil¬ 
 derness, where toils were pitched, that she might shoot deer with her 
 own hand, as they defiled before her. “ She took the cross-bow and 
 killed six does; and,” says the ambassador, “she did me the honour to 
 give me a share of them.” 
 
 Early in February, 1571, the repugnance of young Anjou assumed a 
 graver and sterner form, and finding that his ill-mannered railing against 
 the royal bride, who had been provided for him, was oidy regarded by 
 his mother as boyish petulance, he appealed to the king, his brother, 
 against the marriage, on such startling grounds, that the wily queen- 
 mother, deeming it useless to proceed further with the negotiation in his 
 name, wrote an agitated letter to monsieur de la Mothe, informing him 
 of the contumacy of Henry, and imploring him to do his best to prevail 
 on the queen of England to accept his younger brother, the duke of 
 Alemjon, in his place. After telling the ambassador “ that she would 
 not confide the purport of what she is about to write to any other hand 
 than her own,” she says, “I assure myself that you will conduct this 
 affair so secretly and dexterously, that we shall not incur the danger I 
 apprehend, if the queen of England, thinking herself disdained or scorned, 
 should avenge herself by making war upon us, either openly or under¬ 
 hand, as she has done before now. To come to the point, my son 
 (Anjou) has let me know, by the king his brother, that he will never 
 marry the queen of England, even if she be ever so willing to have him 
 —so much has he heard against her honour, and seen in the letters of 
 all the ambassadors who have ever been there (in England), that he con¬ 
 siders he should be utterly dishonoured, and lose all the reputation he 
 has acquired. But still, hoping to make him yield to reason, I would 
 wish you to continue to write in the same strain as at present, till I can 
 decide what to do; letting the affair proceed, lest she should bear us 
 ill-will, and feel resentful at being refused. I declare to you, that if she 
 
 ’Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. iii., pp. 219, 220. 
 
238 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 expresses a willing mind, I shall feel extreme concern at the opinion he 
 has taken. I would give half my life-blood out of my body could I 
 alter it, but I cannot render him obedient in this matter. 
 
 “Now, monsieur de la Mothe,” continues the royal maternal specu¬ 
 lator, “we are on the point of losing such a kingdom and grandeur for 
 my children, that I shall feel great regret—see if there be no means, as 
 I formerly asked you, of inducing her to adopt one of her female rela¬ 
 tives as her heiress, whom one of my sons could espouse.” * 1 The 
 ignorance betrayed by Catherine de Medicis in this modest suggestion, 
 is scarcely less laughable than her absurd egotism; since, if Elizabeth 
 could have been guilty of the folly of involving her realm in a succession 
 war, for the sake of thus aggrandizing one of the cadet princes of France, 
 there was no surviving marriageable lady descended from Henry VII., 
 save Elizabeth herself and the captive queen of Scots. 
 
 Catherine had, however, another project, scarcely less chimerical, by 
 which she hoped to secure the crown of the Plantagenets and Tudors 
 to her own precious offspring—“Not very easy,” as she herself admits 
 in the said letter to La Mothe, but still possible to be accomplished 
 through his surpassing powers of persuasive eloquence. Her majesty 
 discloses this darling scheme in the following anxious query—“ Would 
 she (queen Elizabeth) have my son Alenqon ?—As for him, he wishes it. 
 He is turned of sixteen, though but little of his age. 2 I deem she would 
 make less difficulty of it if he were of stately growth, like his brethren, 
 then 1 might hope somewhat; for he has the understanding, visage, and 
 demeanour of one much older than he is; and, as to his age, there are 
 but three years between his brother and him.” 
 
 This doughty candidate for the hand of the greatest female sovereign 
 the world had ever seen, was born in March, 1555, consequently he 
 was two and twenty years younger than Elizabeth, and his diminutive, 
 mean figure, and prematurely old face, were rendered more ridiculous 
 by the fact that he had received the potent name of Hercules at the bap¬ 
 tismal font; though, at the death of his elder brother, it had been judi¬ 
 ciously changed for that of Francis. To make the case worse, he was 
 scarred with the small-pox, his nose was so disproportionately large as 
 to amount to deformity, and the conditions of his mind were as evil as 
 those of his inconvenient little body. These circumstances were the 
 more unpropitious, as Elizabeth was a decided admirer of beauty, and 
 entertained the greatest antipathy to ugly and deformed people; she 
 even carried her fastidiousness on this point to such an extreme, that 
 she refused the place of a gentleman-usher to an unexceptionable person 
 for no other objection than the lack of one tooth; and whenever she 
 went abroad, all ugly, deformed, and diseased persons were thrust out 
 of her way, bv certain officers whose business it was to preserve her 
 majesty from the displeasure of looking on objects offensive to her taste. 
 La Mothe Fenelon, who was aware of all her peculiarities, in his reply 
 to Catherine, positively refused to insult Elizabeth by the offer of such 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. vii., pp. 178, 170. 
 
 1 Ibid., pp. 170—180. 
 
ELIZABETII. 
 
 239 
 
 a consort as the ugly urchin whom he was requested to recommend to 
 her acceptance, and requested leave to return to France. He advised 
 the queen-mother, withal, to wait till the duke of Alen^on should have 
 grown a little, before she caused him to be proposed to the queen of 
 England, or that princess would consider that it was done in mockery, 
 and might possibly retaliate by some serious political injury. In reply 
 to the evil reports alluded to by the duke of Anjou, he affords the fol¬ 
 lowing noble testimonial of Elizabeth’s character:— 
 
 “They can write and speak very differently of this princess from the 
 hearsay of men, who sometimes cannot forgive the great qualities of their 
 betters; but in her own court they would see everything in good order; 
 and she is there very greatly honoured, and understands her affairs so 
 well, that the mightiest in her realm, and all ranks of her subjects, fear 
 and revere her; and she rules them with full authority, which, I con¬ 
 ceive, could scarcely proceed from a person of evil fame, and where 
 there is a want of virtue. Nevertheless, I know what you have heard; 
 and that there is an opinion that she will never have children.” 
 
 At the end of February, the importunities of Catherine de Medicis 
 had wrung from Anjou a declaration that he was 'not only willing to 
 wed queen Elizabeth, but that he earnestly desired it. She wrote inde- 
 fatigably with her own hand to forward the marriage, and gave the most 
 earnest advice to Elizabeth to wed Anjou while he was in the mind. 
 She exerted all her diplomatic skill in a dialogue she had with lord 
 Buckhurst, queen Elizabeth’s relative, and ambassador extraordinary at 
 Paris; but, to her infinite vexation, she found him perfectly acquainted 
 with the reluctance of the bridegroom, for his refrain to all her fine 
 speeches was—• 
 
 “ But why is monsieur so unwilling ?” 
 
 On the return of Norris, her ambassador, to the court of France, Eli¬ 
 zabeth questioned him very minutely as to the personal qualifications 
 of Henry of Anjou; and received such a favourable description of his 
 fine figure, handsome face, and graceful mien, that, conceiving a great 
 wish to see him, she ordered Leicester to make a discreet arrangement 
 for that purpose with La Mothe Fenelon, without committing her maid¬ 
 enly delicacy. The plan proposed was, for her to direct her progress 
 towards the Kentish coast, and then, if her princely suitor wished to 
 see her, he might cross the channel, incognito, by a morning tide, and 
 return by the next tide, provided he had no inclination to remain longer, 
 to cultivate the opportunity, thus condescendingly vouchsafed to him, 
 of pleading his own cause. 1 Unfortunately, monsieur did not feel dis¬ 
 posed to become the hero of the petite romance, which the royal 
 coquette had taken the trouble of devising, by way of enlivening the 
 solemn dulness of a diplomatic courtship with a spice of reality. She 
 had, from first to last, declared that nothing on earth should induce her 
 to marry a prince whom she had never seen; and Henry of Anjou, 
 though acknowledged to be one of the handsomest princes in Europe, 
 perversely determined not to gratify her curiosity by exhibiting himself. 
 
 1 Depeehes de la Mothe Fenelon 
 
240 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Perhaps he had been alarmed at the well-meant, but injudicious hint 
 conveyed by monsieur de la Mothe to his royal mother, that the queen’s 
 ladies had received instructions to watch him very diligently, in order 
 to discover whether he evinced any genuine demonstrations of love for 
 their mistress. A formidable ordeal, certainly, for any man to undergo, 
 who was expected to play the wooer to a royal spinster of Elizabeth’s 
 temper; and who was so many years his senior. Elizabeth, though 
 disappointed of a personal interview of monsieur, requested to see his 
 portrait; and two were sent for her inspection, by the queen-mother. 
 
 In her official instructions to Walsingham, on the subject of the pre¬ 
 liminary negotiations for her marriage with Anjou, Elizabeth expresses 
 herself sincerely disposed to take a consort for the good of her realm; 
 enlarging at the same time on her natural preference for a maiden life, 
 she says'—“ In the beginning of our reign it is not unknown how we 
 had no disposition of our own nature to marry, no otherwise than it is 
 manifestly known, that when the king, our dear father reigned, and 
 many times pressed us earnestly to marry; nor when, in the late king, 
 our brother’s time, the like was renewed unto us, even for such as were 
 then in real possession of kingdoms. When we lived but in a private 
 state as a daughter, or a sister to a king, yet could we never induce our 
 mind to marry ; but rather did satisfy ourself with a solitary life.” Who 
 the regal suitors were by whom the hand of Elizabeth was sought 
 during her father’s life, might have been known to herself, but no his¬ 
 torian, or documentary evidence, has ever recorded their names. Small, 
 however, would have been the attention vouchsafed by Henry VIII. to 
 her reluctance to espouse any person on whom he might have felt dis¬ 
 posed to bestow her in marriage. The evidences of history sufficiently 
 prove that, from the time of her mother’s first decline in the favour of 
 the capricious tyrant, Henry, the young Elizabeth was at discount in the 
 royal matrimonial market; and even the earl of Arran neglected to 
 secure her, when offered as a bride for his son. The scene was changed, 
 as she felt, when a kingdom became her portion; and her contempt for 
 the interested motives of the numerous princely wooers, by whom she 
 was then surrounded, was open and undisguised. But as the princes of 
 the royal house of France were not marriageable till some time after her 
 accession to the crown, she received the successive proposals of the 
 three brothers with more civility than sincerity. She had a great politi¬ 
 cal game to play; and in entertaining the matrimonial overtures from 
 the court of France, she disarmed every direct hostile attempt that might 
 otherwise have been made in favour of her royal prisoner, Mary Stuart 
 
 She directed Walsingham to say, in her name, “that, considering the 
 king is married, there can be no greater nor worthier offer made by the 
 crown of France than monsieur d’Anjou; and therefore we do thank¬ 
 fully accept it.” On the terms of the marriage she bids him say, “ thai 
 he thinks no less can be offered for conditions than was by the emperoi 
 Charles with king Philip, for queen Mary.” On the matter of religion 
 Walsingham was privately to inform the queen-mother, “ that thougl 
 
 1 Complete Ambassador, by Sir Dudley Digges, folio 63. 
 
 * " V 
 
% 
 
 ELIZABETH. 241 
 
 she did not mean to put any force on the conscience of her son, yet she 
 could not permit his exercising that form of religion in England which 
 was prohibited by the laws of her realm; and that she should require 
 his attendance upon her at such churches and oratories as she fre¬ 
 quented.” 
 
 She adds, “ that she is contented to have this matter kept secret for 
 the presentmeaning to make no one privy to it but such members of 
 her council whom she has most reason to trust, both for fidelity and 
 secrecy; “to wit, our cousin, the earl of Leicester, of whom you may 
 say that whatsoever may be otherwise doubted, we find ready to allow 
 of any marriage that we shall like, and withal marriages with any prince 
 stranger—most of all this with the crown of France; the other is sir 
 William Cecil, lord of Burleigh, and our principal secretary.” 1 
 
 This letter is given under the royal signet at Greenwich, the 24th of 
 March, 1571. Walsingham, diplomatist though he was, candidly wrote 
 to Burleigh, “ that this letter fairly perplexed him; but he thought it 
 safest to follow the course prescribed by her majesty, whatever came 
 of it.” 
 
 Meantime, the earl of Morton, and others of his party, had arrived in 
 England, to treat on the affairs of Scotland, in the name of the infant, 
 king James. Queen Elizabeth, who was still amusing Mary and the 
 court of France with deceptive negotiations, for the restoration of that 
 unfortunate princess to her liberty and her throne, required the rebel 
 commissioners to declare the grounds on which they had deposed their 
 }ueen. Instead of gratifying her, as she expected, with the repetition 
 of all their frightful accusations against her hapless kinswoman, they 
 'avoured her majesty with a lengthy manifesto, setting forth, “ that Scot¬ 
 land had from time immemorial been governed by male monarchs; and 
 ;hat they had the authority of Calvin to prove, that magistrates had 
 power to punish wicked sovereigns, by imprisoning and depriving them 
 bf their realms; that they had shown their queen great favour, in per- 
 nitting her son to reign; and that she existed at that time only through 
 he mercy of her people.” 2 Elizabeth could not listen with even a show 
 bf patience to sentiments so opposed to her notion of passive obedience 
 tnd the divine right of kings. She told the deputies that “they had not 
 shown, nor could she perceive, any just cause for the manner in which 
 hey had troubled their queen; and advised them to seek other means 
 or composing the discord then raging in Scotland.” 3 
 
 When Morton refused to agree to the articles of the treaty with Scot- 
 and, which had been proposed by the commissioners of Elizabeth, she 
 old the four commissioners who brought his answer to her, “ that she 
 perceived in that answer, the arrogance and hardness of a very obstinate 
 teart; and that she knew that Morton himself had not brought such a 
 >ne to her country, but that he had acquired it here, from some of the 
 nembers of her council, of whom she could well say, that they were 
 vorthy of being hanged at the gate of the castle, with a copy of their 
 dvice about their necks; and that it was not her will that Morton 
 
 ! Digges. “Camden. “Ibid. 
 
 VOL. VI. 21 Q 
 
242 
 
 0 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 should stir from London, or his suite from her court, till some good 
 conclusion had been made in this affair.”' 
 
 On the 23d of March, 1571, queen Elizabeth held a council at Green-, 
 wich, at which the affairs of Mary, queen of Scots, were debated in her 
 presence, and the articles of the treaty, then on the tapis, caused such a 
 tierce contention among these statesmen, that her majesty was compelled 
 to interpose for the restoration of order. This she did in the very tone 
 of old Henry, her father, by calling one of the assembly “ a fool,” and 
 another “ a madman.” 2 The French ambassador had been invited to 
 attend this council, as a matter of courtesy to Mary’s royal kindred in 
 France, and entered just at the moment the discussion had reached this 
 interesting climax. His arrival gave a different turn to the scene, for in¬ 
 stead of proceeding with the subject, his excellency paid his compli¬ 
 ments to the queen, “ and told her it was a long time siace he had re¬ 
 ceived news from .France, and he came express this time to inquire of 
 hers.” She told him, with much satisfaction, “ that she could inform 
 him, that the public entry of their majesties of France had been made, 
 on the first Monday in March, and that her ambassador, lord Buckhurst. 
 had informed her that it was very magnificent; and also had written tc 
 her accounts of the combat at the barriers, and all the other feats that 
 had been performed by the royal bridegroom, Charles IX., whose per¬ 
 sonal prowess he had greatly extolled, and had also praised monseigneur 
 his brother, and that one of her equerries whom she had sent with lore 
 Buckhurst was already returned, and had affirmed that, without making 
 comparisons between kings, for he had never seen any other besides his 
 present majesty of France, it was impossible for any prince, lord, oi 
 gentleman, to go beyond him, or perform his part more gallantly, oi 
 with greater skill, in every sort of combat, whether on horse or foot . 
 and that he had related to her many particulars,all which had given hei ' 
 such pleasure to hear, that she had made him repeat them several times 
 not without wishing that she had been present, as a third queen, to set 
 it all herself, and that in truth she could willingly have reserved for her¬ 
 self the commission which she had given to lord Buckhurst, to go am 
 congratulate their most Christian majesties on their present felicity-,’ 
 adding, “ that she trusted, that by the blessing of God, the most Chris 
 tian queen would be happily cured of all her sickness in the course ol 
 the next nine months.” 
 
 She then said, “ she had to solicit pardon, for having sent a thief tc 
 Paris, to steal a likeness of the queen, that she might enjoy the satis 
 faction of possessing her portrait.” She drew it forth, as she spoke 
 from that capacious pocket, to which she was accustomed to consigi 
 the letters of foreign potentates and despatches from her own ambassa 
 dors, with other diplomatic papers, and showing it to monsieur de 1 
 Mothe, inquired if her most Christian majesty had quite as much embon 
 point, and whether her complexion were as beautiful as the painter ha* 
 tepresented. 
 
 Before the interview concluded, La Mothe said, “he was instructe 
 
 1 Depeehes de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., p 20. 
 
 3 Ibid., p. 30. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 24$ 
 
 to inquire how her majesty meant to proceed with respect to the queen 
 of Scotland.” On which, Elizabeth observed, “ that she had doubted 
 whether he would allow the audience to end without naming the queen 
 of Scots to her, whom she could wish not to be quite so much in his 
 master’s remembrance, and still less in his.” After this shrewd hint, 
 she said, “ that she had used her utmost diligence to have the treaty 
 perfected, and complained that the cardinal of Lorraine had said and 
 done various things against her which monsieur de la Mothe took some 
 pains to explain;” 1 and the interview ended pleasantly on both sides. 
 
 After an interval of five years, Elizabeth found it necessary to sum¬ 
 mon a new parliament to meet at Westminster, for the purpose of grant¬ 
 ing an enormous property tax, consisting of two-tenths, and two-fif¬ 
 teenths, and one subsidy by the laity, and six shillings in the pound by 
 the clergy. 2 The interference of Elizabeth in the continental wars, and 
 the pensions she had paid for years, and continued to pay to the mer¬ 
 cenary agitators in France, Scotland, and elsewhere, compelled her to 
 inflict these grievous burdens on her own subjects. The spoils of the 
 nobility and gentry, who had taken part in the late risings in the north, 
 might have sufficed to pay the expenses of the armament, employed to 
 crush the insurrection, but the queen had been harassed by the impor¬ 
 tunities of a greedy set of self-interested councillors and servants, who 
 expected to be paid for their loyal adherence to her cause, out of the 
 forfeitures of their misguided neighbours. At the head of these bold 
 beggars, was her cousin, lord Hunsdon, who, to use his own expression, 
 was laudably anxious that her majesty’s friends “ may pyk a sallett” 
 from the spoils of the house of Percy. 3 He and his sons made a good 
 thing of the late revolt. 
 
 Nothing tends more to establish despotism in sovereigns than the un¬ 
 successful efforts of a faction, to resist lawful authority. In consequence 
 of the late rebellion, statutes were made for the security of the queen, 
 which stretched the prerogatives of the crown beyond the limits to 
 which the haughtiest of her predecessors had presumed to carry it; and 
 the penalties against non-conformity assumed a character as inconsistent 
 with the divine spirit of Christianity, as the religious persecutions which 
 had disgraced the preceding reign. 
 
 In the very face of these arbitrary enactments, George Strickland, 
 isq., one of the leaders of the Puritan party in the House of Commons, 
 moved a reformation in the liturgy of the church of England, and his 
 motion was supported by those members professing the same opinions. 
 The queen was highly offended at the presumption of Strickland in 
 paring to touch on matters, over which she, as the head of the church, 
 claimed supreme jurisdiction. 4 But when this intimation was given to 
 
 1 Dep6ches de la Motlie Fenelon, vol. iv. ’Journals of Parliament. 
 
 * So much offended was Hunsdon at not being gratified with the picking of the 
 salad, on which he had set his mind, that he refused to carry the unfortunate 
 3arl of Northumberland to he executed at York, with this remark :—“ Sir John 
 Forster hath both the commodity and profit of all his lands in Northumberland, 
 ind he is fittest to have the carriage of him to York. 1 '—Appendix to Memorials 
 
 af the Northern Rebellion, by Sir Cuthbert Sharp. 
 
 ‘Journals of Parliament. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 the Commons, Strickland and his party unanimously exclaimed, “ that 
 the salvation of their souls was in question, to which all the kingdoms 
 of the earth were nothing in comparison.” Elizabeth, in a transport of 
 indignation, summoned the uncompromising northern member before 
 her and her council, and laid her personal commands upon him not to 
 appear any more in the house of Commons. This arbitrary interference 
 with the proceedings of the representatives of the great body of her 
 subjects, excited murmurs, both deep and loud in the house, which, for 
 the first time, entered the lists with royalty, on the subject of violated 
 privilege, and in defence of that palladium of English liberty—freedom 
 of debate. They maintained, withal, the constitutional truth, that it 
 was neither in the power of the sovereign to make laws singly, nor to 
 violate those that were already established. Elizabeth had the wisdom 
 to relinquish the struggle, and Strickland triumphantly resumed his 
 place in the house, where he was received with shouts of congratula- ! 
 tion. 1 • 
 
 If we may trust the reports of La Mothe Fenelon, Elizabeth was I 
 heard to say, “that she was tired of parliaments. None of her prede¬ 
 cessors,” she observed, “ had held more than three during their whole 
 lives, while she already had had four, and she Trad been so much tor¬ 
 mented in the last about marrying, that she had resolved on two things 
 — the first was, never to hold another parliament; the other, never tc 
 marry; and she meant to die in this resolution.” 2 But, as concerned 
 holding the parliament, it was easier to make that resolution, than tc 
 abide by it. 
 
 One of the statutes of this parliament rendered it penal, even to speak 
 of any other successor to the crown of England, than the issue of the 
 reigning queen. Elizabeth’s fastidious delicacy in refusing to have the 
 word lawful annexed, as if it were possible that any other than legiti¬ 
 mate children could be born of her, gave rise not only to unnecessary 
 discussions on the subject, but some defamatory reports as to hei 
 motives for objecting to the customary word. “ I remember,” says 
 Camden, “ being then a young man, hearing it said openly by people, 
 that this was done by the contrivance of Leicester, with a design to im¬ 
 pose, hereafter, some base son of his own upon the nation, as the 
 queen’s offspring.” In the preceding August, a Norfolk gentleman, of 
 the name of Marsham, had actually been tried for saying, “ that my lord 
 
 1 D'Ewes’ Journals. That queen Elizabeth did not scruple to send members 
 of parliament to the Tower for saying wli^t she did not like, is evident from 
 what befel Mr. Wentworth. A brief abstract of her dealings with him is as 
 follows. “Wentworth, a member of the' House of Commons, reflecting on the 
 queen for ordering Mr. Strickland to forbear coming to the House last sessions 
 was sent to the Tower, February 8, 1575.”—Toone s Chronology, second edition 
 Again, in February, 1587, several of the most zealous members of the House o£ 
 Commons were sent to the Tower, by an order from council, for bringing in a 
 hill to establish Puritanism against the Church of England.—(Toone, vol. i., p 
 184.) Again, in September, 1588, a book of devotion being presented to the 
 House of Commons by four members of parliament, the queen committed tc 1 
 prison the four members who presented it.—(Toone, vol. i., p. 185.) 
 
 * Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 245 
 
 )f Leicester had two children by the queen,” and was condemned to 
 ose both his ears, or else to pay a hundred pounds; both punishments 
 •ombined would have been a trifling mulct for the propagation of so 
 njurious a scandal of a female sovereign. 
 
 Early in April, 1571, signor Guido Cavalcanti arrived in England, 
 rearing a joint letter from Charles IX., and Catherine de Medicis, ad- 
 Iressed to queen Elizabeth, in which a formal tender of the duke of 
 \njou’s hand was made to her. Cavalcanti was stopped at Dover by 
 rrder of the queen, and conducted, under a guard, to the house of lord 
 3urleigh, in London, where she had a secret interview with him, on the 
 pubject of his mission, before he was permitted to see the French am¬ 
 bassador, to whom the office of delivering the royal letter to her majesty 
 vas assigned by his own court. The next day, April 12th, La Mothe 
 fenelon obtained an audience of her majesty, who received him in a re¬ 
 ared part of her gallery, and, after a few observations had been ex- 
 hanged on other subjects, he made the proposal in due form, and de- 
 ivered to her the letter from the king and queen-mother of France. She 
 eceived it, according to Fenelon, with evident satisfaction, and replied 
 nodestly, but expressed herself so desirous of the accomplishment of 
 he marriage, that he was fully convinced of her sincerity. She referred 
 iim to Leicester and Burleigh, as the chosen councillors by whom the 
 onditions of the marriage were to be arranged on her part. 1 
 
 The limits of this work will not admit of the insertion of the official 
 orrespondence, on the preliminaries of this marriage, that was ex- 
 hanged on the part of their majesties of France and queen Elizabeth, 
 ut it is among the richest documentary specimens of deceit. The state 
 apers of France abound in professions of the true love and esteem 
 /hich impelled Charles and Catherine to solicit the hand of the queen 
 f England, for her “devoted servant, monsieur,” together with a few 
 pologies, for not having come to a positive declaration sooner, “ hav- 
 tg been informed that her majesty was determined never to take a con- 
 ort, and that she was accustomed to deride and mock every one, who 
 retended to her hand, which had deterred their most Christian majes- 
 es from preferring the suit of their said son and brother, and had made 
 lonsieur very sad and sore at heart.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth, in her reply, gravely defended herself from the charge of 
 ever having mocked or trifled with any of the princely candidates for 
 er hand.” She availed herself, at the same time, of the opportunity of 
 numerating a few of the most considerable of those. “When the king 
 f Spain first proposed to her,” she said, “ she immediately excused her- 
 alf on a scruple of conscience, which would not permit her to espouse 
 ne, who had been her sister’s husband; and as to the princes of Swe- 
 en and Denmark, she had, within eight days, replied to them, ‘ that she 
 ad no inclination then to marry,’ so that they had no occasion to wait; 
 ad as for the proposal of the king, Charles IX., which was made when 
 e was very young, she had also done all that was proper to let him 
 nderstand her mind. The archduke, she must confess, had been kept 
 
 1 Deputies de Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 58. 
 
 21 * 
 
 a Ibid., p. 64, ^5. 
 
•246 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 longer in suspense, because of the troubles and hindrances that \ver< 
 happening in the world; but it might nevertheless be seen that she hac 
 used no deceit towards him.” She artfully hinted, with regard to Scot 
 land, “ that when monsieur should be her lord and husband, the pros 
 perity and peace of England would be his concern no less than hers, ant 
 he would see that, the dangers, caused by the intrigues of the queen ol 
 Scots, would be more easy to parry while she was in her care, than ii 
 she were at large.” 1 
 
 On the 13th of April, articles were presented, by the French ambas 
 sador and Cavalcanti, as preliminaries, among which it was proposed 
 that the marriage might be solemnized without the ceremonies pre 
 scribed by the catholic ritual; that monsieur and his domestics shouh 
 have free exercise of their religion; that, immediately the marriage wa 
 concluded, monsieur should govern jointly with the queen; and that 
 the day after the consummation of the marriage, he should be crownet 
 as the husband of the queen, and received by her subjects as king, am 
 sixty thousand livres a year should be granted for his maintenance. 1 
 was replied, on the part of Elizabeth, “ that she could not concede th< 
 exercise of his religion to the duke, but that she would promise, tha 
 neither he nor his servants should be compelled to use those of he 
 church. The title of king,” of which she notices, “ there was prece 
 dent in the case of her sister’s husband, king Philip, she was willing t 
 allow.” With regard to the pension, she objected, but did not refuse il 
 observing, “ that king Philip had no manner of thing allowed him, bu 
 sustained all his own charge, and gave also to noblemen, gentlemen, an 
 yeomen of our nation good entertainment.” 2 
 
 She then made some inquiries as to the dominions of the prince, an 
 in what manner they were to be inherited, whether by daughters a 
 well as sons. She notices that the ambassador had earnestly require 
 “ that if the duke should survive her, and have a child living, the 
 should be heir to the crown, he might retain the regal title, with thi 
 modification, to be called ‘ rex pater;’ and if no child should be sui 
 viving, then to be called ‘rex dotarius’ (king-dowager).’” Of this ver 
 original clause, her majesty contents herself with observing, “ that sh 
 considers it rather matter of form than substance, and meeter to b 
 thought of when greater matters are accorded than in the present stag 
 of the business.” 3 
 
 In a conference between Walsingham and monsieur de Foix, on th 
 subject of the disputed articles, when Walsingham told de Foix that th 
 difference on religion appeared the principal obstacle, the other repliei 
 “ that it was necessary, both for the prince’s happiness and honour, the 
 he should have some religion, and that he believed him to be well dit j 
 posed in that way, yet not so assuredly grounded but that some chang i 
 might be effected in time, and with the queen’s good persuasions 
 whereof,” continued the catholic negotiator, “ we have seen good expt 
 lienee of woman’s virtue in that way. Constantine was converted b | 
 
 1 La Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv. p. 64. 
 
 3 Instructions to Walsingham, in the Complete Ambassador, 84. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 247 
 
 his mother Helena, the king of Navarre by the queen his wife, and 
 therefore can 1 not doubt but, this match proceeding, monsieur will be 
 turned by his wife.” To this it whs replied, on Elizabeth’s part, “ that 
 although it would be a glory to her to imitate the empress Helena in so 
 great a thing, yet it by no means followed that such would be the case 
 with regard to monsieur, for there were to the full as many wives con¬ 
 verted by their husbands, as husbands by their wives.” * 1 
 
 As to the articles submitted to her on the part of their majesties and 
 monsieur, she found the greatest difficulty in those which related to re¬ 
 ligion, and she wished some of the ceremonials, required by the prince, 
 in the marriage service to be omitted. The reply to this was, “ that 
 her majesty’s marriage with monsieur ought to be dignified with all the 
 solemnities suited to their relative positions, and that the king and queen 
 of France were sure she would not treat the prince so unkindly, as to 
 wish to deprive him of the exercise of his religion; neither could she 
 esteem him, if, for the sake of worldly advantages, he were to dispense 
 Iwith it.” To this Elizabeth very obligingly responded, “ that she had 
 terself been sacred and crowned according to the ceremonies of the 
 catholic church, and by catholic bishops, without, however, assisting at 
 he mass, and that she would be sorry if she thought monsieur was 
 willing to give up his religion, for if he had the heart to forsake God, 
 te might also forsake her.” However, she referred all to the lords 
 Leicester and Burleigh, whom she appears to have constituted lord- 
 teepers of her conscience in this delicate affair. 2 
 
 In a private conversation with La Mothe Fenelon, Elizabeth observed, 
 acetiously, “ that one of her reasons for wishing to dispense with the 
 elaborate matrimonial service of her proposed bridegroom’s church, was 
 bn the score of portents, for if monsieur, in consequence of so many 
 ceremonies, should chance to let the nuptial ring fall on the ground, she 
 hould regard it as an evil omen.” She expressed a great desire for him 
 o accompany her sometimes to prayers, that neither she nor her people 
 night see any manifestation of ill-will on his part towards the protestant 
 eligion. “He need not doubt,” she said, “of being very honourably 
 irovided for by her, in case of being the survivor, and, during her life, 
 le and she would have all things in common.” 3 
 
 Then she spoke of the praises she had heard of the prince, with a 
 ear, put in parenthetically, that he had not received such advantageous 
 eports of her, and fell to repeating the commendations she had heard of 
 lis sense, prudence, and good grace, of his valour and magnanimity, and 
 he beauty and elegance of his person, not forgetting to speak of his 
 land, which she had been told was one of the most uncommonly beau- 
 iful that had ever been seen in France; “and then,” says the ambas- 
 ador, “ concluded, with a smile, by telling me, 4 that she would have 
 ie told one day by my said lord, if things came to a good winding up, 
 hat I ought rather to have maintained, that a match with her would be 
 lore honourable lbr him, than with the queen of Scots.’ ” 
 
 1 Complete Ambassador. 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., pp. 65, 66. 
 
 3 La Mothe Fenelon 
 
243 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Notwithstanding these flattering words, La Mothe Fenelon had his 
 doubts, and in order to come to a clear understanding of her majesty’s I 
 intentions on this subject, he endeavoured to cultivate the good-will of 
 the countess of Lenox, who, as the first lady in the realm, next to the 
 queen and her nearest relative, he supposed would be in the secret. All 
 the information, however, that lady Lenox gave him, he says, only , 
 amounted to this : “ That by what she could observe in the queen, she I 
 seemed to be not only well disposed, but affectionately inclined to my 
 said lord; that she generally talked of nothing but his virtues and per¬ 
 fections ; that her majesty dressed better, appeared more lively, and 
 more of a belle, than was usual, on his account; but that she did not 
 use much confidence with her ladies on this subject, reserving it entirely I 
 between herself, the earl of Leicester, and my lord Burleigh; so, if I 
 required more light on the matter, I must obtain it from one of the 1 
 twain.” 1 
 
 On this hint, La Mothe Fenelon applied himself to Leicester and Bur¬ 
 leigh, and inquired of them, how the nobles of the realm stood affected 
 to the match. Leicester replied, “ that he had sounded the duke of 
 Norfolk on that point, for he was the leader of the ancient nobility, and 
 he had professed himself entirely devoted to the wishes of the king of 
 France and his brother of Anjou.” Some communication had already 
 taken place between Norfolk and La Mothe Fenelon on the subject, and 
 the latter had promised, that in case the duke made no objection to the 
 matrimonial treaty between the French prince and Elizabeth, his own 
 marriage with the queen of Scots would be facilitated, through the 
 friendship of the court of France. Meantime, one of La Mothe’s spies 
 informed him, “ that the opinion of the people was, that the queen 
 neither could, would, or ought to espouse monsieur, and that her inten¬ 
 tion was merely to lull the French court on the affairs of Scotland, and 
 also to induce the king of Spain to offer better conditions to her, and foi 
 the satisfaction of some of her subjects; but even if all the articles ol 
 the contract could be agreed upon, the marriage would never take effect 
 and that leagues were already formed to strengthen the malcontents 
 from the dangers that might befal from this marriage.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth had, at the same time, received reports of a far more annoy¬ 
 ing nature from her spies in France; and, in her nextpnterview with L; 
 Mothe, she complained bitterly, “ that it had been said, in France, ‘ that 
 monsieur would do well to marry the old creature, who had had for tin 
 last year the evil in her leg, which was not yet healed, and never coulc 
 he cured; and, under that pretext, they could send her a potion fron 
 France, of such a nature, that he would find himself a widower in thi 
 course of five or six months, and after that he might please himself bj 
 marrying the queen of Scotland, and remain the undisputed sovereign o 
 the united realms.’ ” She added, “ that she was not so much shockei 
 at this project on her own account, as she was from her regard fo 
 monsieur, and the honour of the regal house from which he sprang.” 
 
 La Mothe, with all the vivacious eloquence of his nation, expresse 
 
 1 Depeckes de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv. ’Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 249 
 
 his detestation of the project, and of the person by whom it had been 
 promulgated; and entreated the queen to name him, that their majesties 
 of France might punish him. 
 
 Elizabeth replied, with great anger, “ that it was not yet the proper 
 time to name him, but that it was undoubtedly true, and she would soon 
 let them know more about it.” 1 
 
 The next time she vouchsafed an audience to his excellency, was, on 
 the 10th of May, in her privy chamber, to which he was conducted by 
 Leicester and Burleigh. When her majesty entered, she presently gave 
 him a shrewd hint on the sore subject, by informing him, “ that, not¬ 
 withstanding the evil report that had been made of her leg, she had not 
 neglected to dance on the preceding Sunday, at the marquis of North¬ 
 ampton’s wedding, so she hoped that monsieur would not find himself 
 cheated into marrying a cripple (un loiteuse ), instead of a lady of proper 
 paces.” 2 That Sunday evening’s performance of the royal Terpsichore 
 must have been well worth witnessing. How “ high and disposedly” 
 she danced on that occasion, and the energetic nature of the pirouettes 
 she executed for the honour of England, as a public vindication of the 
 activity of her insulted limb, may be imagined. 
 
 It was at this crisis that Walsingham wrote to Elizabeth u that the 
 court of France projected a marriage between the duke of Anjou and 
 Mary queen of Scots; and matters were so far advanced, that the pope 
 had been applied to, and had promised to grant a dispensation; and that 
 it was determined, if the treaty for restoring her to her liberty and royal 
 authority did not succeed, that an expedition should be immediately 
 prepared for taking her by force of arms from England.” Elizabeth 
 was transported with rage and jealousy at the idea that the prince, whose 
 addresses she had condescended to encourage, actually preferred to her 
 and her royal dowry, the deposed, calumniated princess, whose exist¬ 
 ence hung on her fiat. This preference, though unsought by her beau¬ 
 tiful rival, who, wrapped up in the excitement of her romantic passion 
 for Norfolk, regarded the addresses of all other suitors with coldness 
 and impatience, was probably the cause of the vindictive cruelty with 
 which the last fifteen years of the hapless Mary’s imprisonment was 
 aggravated, and the many petty mortifications which Elizabeth meanly 
 inflicted upon her. Mary’s treatment at this period was so harsh, that 
 Charles interposed in behalf of his hapless sister-in-law, by his ambas¬ 
 sador, who, ceasing to speak of the duke of Anjou, warned Elizabeth, 
 M that unless she took means for the restoration of the queen of Scot¬ 
 land to her rightful dignity, and in the meantime treated her in a kind 
 and honourable manner, he should send forces openly to her assist¬ 
 ance.” 
 
 Elizabeth stifled her anger at this menace, so far as to commence her 
 reply, with deceitful softness, “ that she was grieved that he should 
 always put her friendship at less account than that of the queen of 
 scots j” and then began angrily to enumerate a great number of offences 
 which she had received from that lady, befoa-e she entered into her 
 
 Depeehes de la Motke Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 85. 
 
 a Ibid.; p. 21. 
 
250 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 realm ; and many and more heinous ones since, by her intrigues with 
 Rome, France, and Flanders, and lately with the duchess of Feria, in 
 Spain,—of all of which she had such clear proofs in her possession, 
 that she could not but regard her as her greatest enemy.” 1 
 
 In June, 1571, Elizabeth wreaked her long-hoarded vengeance on the 
 hoary head of her ancient foe, Dr. Story, who had, during her time of 
 trouble, in her sister’s reign, loudly proclaimed before the convocation, 
 “ that it was of little avail destroying the branches, as long as the 
 princess Elizabeth, the root of all heresies, was suffered to remain.” 
 On her accession, he had entered the service of Philip of Spain; but in 
 the year of 1569, he was taken on board an English ship, on his voyage 
 to London. He was tried on the charges of magic and treason, and con¬ 
 demned to death. One of the charges against him was, that every day 
 before dinner he regularly cursed her majesty, as a part of his grace. 
 The Spanish ambassador endeavoured to save Story’s life, by claiming 
 him as a subject of the catholic king. 
 
 “ The king of Spain may have his head, if he wishes it,” replied 
 Elizabeth, “but his body shall be left in England.” 2 
 
 About this time, the emperor Maximilian offered his eldest son, prince 
 Rodolph, as a husband for Elizabeth, a youth about six months younger 
 than the duke of Anjou; and Elizabeth gave an encouraging reply to the 
 overture. On this, the ambitious queen-mother of France, dreading the 
 loss of so grand a match for her son Anjou, conjured him to waive all 
 foolish scruples, and win the prize from this powerful rival. She even 
 entreated Walsingham to try the effect of his rhetoric on her perverse 
 son, in a private conversation, for the purpose of prevailing on him to 
 exchange the mass for the crown matrimonial of England. 
 
 The prince replied as evasively as Elizabeth herself could have done 
 under such temptation, by saying, “ that he rather desired to become the 
 means of redressing inconveniences, than causing any, which he trusted 
 would not happen.” Not to be outdone by Elizabeth’s boasts of the 
 numerous matrimonial offers she had received, he added, “ that though 
 he was young, yet for the last five years there had been many overtures 
 of marriage made unto him, but that he found in himself no inclination 
 to yield to any, till the present; but,” said he, “ I must needs confess, 
 that through the great commendations that are made of the queen, your 
 mistress, for her rare gifts, as well of mind as of body, being, as even 
 her very enemies say, the rarest creature that has been seen in Europe 
 these five hundred years, my affections, grounded upon so good respect, 
 make me yield to be wholly hers; and if I thought any inconvenience 
 could ensue to her disquiet through me, I would rather wish myself 
 never to have been.” He then requested, as it touched his soul and 
 conscience, that some private place might be accorded for the exercise 
 of his own religion in secret. Walsingham replied, by recommending 
 him to dispose himself to a devout attendance on the church service. 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 a Story was executed in his eightieth year. He had been the most pitiless of 
 persecutors, and gloried in having inflicted acts of needless cruelty with his own 
 hands. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 251 
 
 On which he rejoined, “ that he knew not how God hereafter would 
 dispose his heart, therefore for the present he requested her majesty to 
 weigh, in her own mind, what it was to do anything with scruple or 
 remorse of conscience, and so requested Walsingham to present his 
 most affectionate and humble commendations to her, and to assure her 
 that she only had authority to command him.” 1 A very dutiful decla¬ 
 ration, if it had been sincere. 
 
 Elizabeth had, about the same time, the offer of the young hero and 
 hope of the protestant cause in France, Henri of Navarre; but she gave 
 little encouragement to his suit. Her pride was more flattered by the 
 addresses of the princes of the royal house of Valois or Austria. She 
 coquetted with all in turn, both amorously and politically. 
 
 Whenever Elizabeth perceived that the negotiation flagged, she said, 
 “ that her inclination for matrimony had decreased, and she had in fact 
 never suffered such great constraint since her imprisonment in the 
 Tower, during her sister’s reign, as she had done in making up her 
 mind to marry.” 2 She also caused reports to be circulated, that she 
 was going to send sir Henry Sidney and sir James Croft into Spain on 
 a secret mission, touching the rival candidate for her hand, prince Ro- 
 dolph. Then the indefatigable monsieur de la Mothe, alarmed at the 
 possibility of such an alliance, redoubled his flatteries and persuasions 
 in behalf of his recreant client, Anjou, whom neither gallantry, ambition, 
 nor maternal authority could induce to come to England and plead his 
 own cause. 
 
 All, however, that could be effected in the way of deputy courtship, 
 was done by our silver-tongued diplomatist, from day to day, and still 
 the treaty advanced no further, though Leicester affected to be anxious 
 for its completion, and her majesty appeared to be well disposed towards 
 it. One evening, in June, she sent for La Mothe Fenelon to go with her 
 into her park at Westminster, to witness a salvo of artillery, and a re¬ 
 view of some arquebusiers, that the earl of Oxford had led there, when 
 she was pleased to say, “ that she should not fail to provide in good 
 time such pleasures for monsieur; but that she was astonished at the 
 tardy proceedings of his ambassador in coming to some conclusion.” 
 
 In his despatch of the 9th of July, monsieur de la Mothe informs the 
 queen-mother of France, “ that he has many times inquired of the lords 
 and ladies about the queen, how her majesty stood affected to the mar¬ 
 riage, and that one tf her ladies had told him, that one day when she 
 was alone with the queen, her majesty had of her own accord com¬ 
 menced talking of monsieur, and bad said, ‘ that up the present hour, 
 she was resolved on the match, and that she hoped much from the vir¬ 
 tue, valour, praiseworthy qualities, and good graces that were in him; 
 that he was reputed, wise, brave, and generous, and very amiable, like 
 all the members of the royal house of France; that he was handsome 
 but not vain ; and she trusted that he would deport himself so pleasantly 
 to her subjects, that all would be agreeable between him and them, and 
 that they two would live very happily together, although some of her 
 
 1 Complete Ambassador, p. 102. 
 
 5 Dep^ches de Fenelon, vol. iv. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 252 
 
 nobles, who were in the interests of others, would do all they could to 
 traverse it. For herself, she confessed, that she had been, and still was 
 struggling with many doubts; for as he was younger than herself, she 
 feared that he would soon despise her, especially if she should have no 
 children, but that she hoped God, in his grace, would give her some; 
 and, at all events, she would place all her affection on the prince, and 
 love and honour him as her lord and husband.’ ” The lady to whom 
 these observations were made, endeavoured to encourage her royal mis¬ 
 tress in her present disposition. 
 
 The next day, however, some of the other ladies strove to infuse 
 scruples into the mind of the queen, by speaking of the dangers that 
 were involved in this marriage, and prognosticating that she would have 
 cause to repent it; on which her majesty said, “ that in truth she feared 
 the young prince would despise her, and that she neither found herself 
 in health nor inclination for a husband, and that she wished to delay 
 the treaty till she found herself more disposed to it.” This being re¬ 
 peated to the French ambassador the same evening, he hastened to re¬ 
 present to her two male confidants, “ that it would by no means be 
 advisable for her majesty to trifle with the duke of Anjou, now matters 
 were so far advanced, for he was not to be considered like the king of 
 Sweden, the duke of Holstein, or the archduke, who were all poor 
 princes, too far off to do her any harm; but monsieur was the best 
 loved brother of a very powerful king, and that he was himself a duke 
 and military leader of a very warlike nation; and so near a neighbour, 
 that in ten hours he could invade her realm; and that she might be as¬ 
 sured he would not brook such treatment as she had shown to the other 
 princes.” 
 
 The next night, the queen, while she was undressing to go to bed, 
 sprained her right side so severely that she was much alarmed, and in 
 great pain with violent spasms, for more than two hours, which caused 
 a pause in the negotiations; after which, a privy council was held at the 
 house of the earl of Leicester, to deliberate on the old stumbling-block, 
 the demands made by the duke of Anjou for the unrestrained exercise 
 of his religion. As usual much was said, and little done. The queen 
 could not grant enough to satisfy the scruples of a catholic; and she 
 had conceded too much to please the protestant portion of her subjects. 
 Meantime, having received a portrait of her princely suitor, she sent for 
 the French ambassador, to discuss it with him. Slfb said, “although it 
 was done in crayons, and his complexion had been chafed and injured 
 with the chalks, enough of the lineaments remained to indicate great 
 beauty, and marks of dignity and prudence, and she could easily see 
 the manner of a perfect man.” Then she adverted to the disparity of 
 age between herself and the prince, and said, “ that, considering her 
 time of life, she should be ashamed to be conducted to church, to be 
 married to any one looking as young as the earl of Oxford,” who was 
 the same age as her bridegroom elect; “ but that monsieur had such a 
 modest and dignified mien, with so great an appearance of gravity and 
 wisdom, that no one could say but he looked seven years older than he 
 was, and she only wished that it really were so, not because those 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 253 
 
 years ivould have given him the crown of France, which in right of pri¬ 
 mogeniture pertained to his brother, (for would to God that she might 
 never desire anything more,) it being well known w hat pain she had 
 been in about his majesty’s wound, and her fear 1 :st it should have 
 ended in making monsieur so great, that he would not have required the 
 grandeur, she had it in her power to bestow upon him ; her only reason 
 for wishing him to be older was, that he might not find such a great dis¬ 
 parity between them, for she confessed to have seen thirty-five years, 
 although neither her countenance nor her disposition indicated that she 
 was so old.” 1 
 
 As Elizabetli was born in 1533, she was three years older than she 
 told the ambassador; but so far from correcting her small miscalcula¬ 
 tion on the delicate point, he courteously replied, “ that God had so 
 well preserved her majesty, that time had diminished none of her charms 
 and perfections, and that monsieur looked older than her by years; that 
 the prince had shown an unchangeable desire for their union, and he 
 (monsieur de la Mothe) doubted not, that she would find in his said 
 lord, everything that she could wish, for her honour, grandeur, the se¬ 
 curity, and the repose of her realm, with the most perfect happiness for 
 herself.” All this her majesty received with great satisfaction ; and 
 everything appeared to progress favourably towards the completion ot 
 the matrimonial treaty. 
 
 Elizabeth sent her portrait to Anjou, and ultimately declared her full 
 determination to espouse him, and to grant him the free exercise of his 
 religion in private; when lo! the unfortunate youth, who had relied on 
 her caprice and insincerity, had no other way of escape, but declaring 
 he would not go to England, unless he could be allowed the full and 
 public profession of the catholic religion; on which his disappointed 
 mother-queen penned the following letter, 2 in which her hypocrisy is 
 fully displayed ; for if she had believed in the religion for which she 
 committed so many crimes, could she have been so angry because het 
 son refused to compromise it ? or ought she to have vowed vengeance 
 on his adviser ? 
 
 “Monsieur de la Mothe Fenelon, 
 
 “As I place particular confidence in you, I will not hide from you that the 
 humour in which I find my son Anjou has given me great pain. He is utterly 
 determined not to go over to England, without having a public assurance for the 
 open exercise of his religion ; and neither the king nor I can prevail on him to 
 rely on the word of the queen of England. We suspect, very strongly, that Vil- 
 lequier, Lignerolles, or Sauret—possibly all three together—are the originators 
 of these fantasies. If we could have assurance that such were the case, I can 
 assure you that they should repent of it. 3 
 
 “For all this, 1 would not that we reveal it, since it is possible we may work 
 something on his mind, or on that of the queen (Elizabeth). 
 
 “If, unfortunately, matters do not accord for my son (Anjou) as I could wish, 
 
 1 DepSches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., pp. 186, 187. 
 
 “Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vii., p. 234, written entirely in the 
 queen's hand (Catherine de Medicis). 
 
 3 Catherine de Medicis plays on the words assurance and assure exactly thus in 
 
 (le original French :— 
 
 Si nous pouvons, tn avoir, aulcwne asseurance, je vous asseure qu'ils e'en repentirorU. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 23 
 
254 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 I am resolved to try all efforts to succeed with my son Alen$on, who would not 
 be so difficult. Meantime, as we propose to make a league with this queen, to 
 attach her the more to us, and distance the son of the emperor and others, let no 
 hint of this appear; but burn this present, after having read it, and believe no¬ 
 thing that may be told you, and nothing that is written to you, save that which 
 bears the king’s signature, or mine; 1 and this you are told not without reason, 
 for those who desire not that things should be as they are (thanks be to God), so 
 well advanced and disposed to be successful, have artifices enough to write and 
 publish which they think may hinder the good work. Praying to God for you, 
 &c., &c. 
 
 “At Fontainebleau, this Thursday, xxv. day of July, 1571. 
 
 “ CatebiSe.” 
 
 On the 31st of July, monsieur de la Mothe informs Catherine de 
 Medicis, “that queen Elizabeth, on the previous Tuesday, filled one of 
 her own little work-baskets, which always stood in her cabinet, with 
 beautiful apricots; and desired the earl of Leicester to send it to him, 
 with her commendations, that he might see that England was a country 
 good enough to produce fair fruits.” Leicester employed his secretary 
 to deliver her majesty’s present and message to the ambassador, and to 
 inquire, if he had had any news from France, for the satisfaction of the 
 queen, whom he assured him “ he had never seen in better health or 
 spirits than at present; and that she would not go out in her coach any 
 more to the chase, but on a fine large horse.” 2 
 
 “ I replied,” continues our diplomat, “ that I thanked the earl very 
 much for the continuation of his good-will towards me; and that I en¬ 
 treated him to kiss her majesty’s hands, very humbly in my name, and 
 to assist me in thanking her properly for her greeting, and beautiful 
 present, and added, ‘ that these fine apricots showed very well that she 
 had fair and good plants in her realm, where 1 wished the grafts from 
 France might in time produce fruits even more perfect.’” This last 
 compliment was intended as an allusion to the marriage, which was 
 then in negotiation between the queen and the duke of Anjou. Some 
 delay had occurred in the arrival of communications from France, at 
 which it should seem her majesty was impatient; for, on the 5th of 
 August, she sent a gentleman to the ambassador, with the present of a 
 fine stag, which she had shot with her own hand, with an arblast, oi 
 cross-bow, and inquired again “if he had any news from France?” 
 
 “ The earl of Leicester,” writes monsieur de la Mothe, “ has sent to 
 me, ‘ that the queen, his mistress, having seen this great stag as she was 
 hunting at Oatlands, and wishing to kill it, that she might send me the 
 venison of her forests, as well as the fruits of her gardens, that I might 
 be the belter able to judge of the goodness of her land, called hastily for 
 an arblast, and with one blow from the bolt, she had herself broken its 
 leg, and brought it down; and her old lord chamberlain had finished 
 killing it.’ 1 was at the time assured, that the said lady persevered in 
 her good intentions towards monsieur; and often talked of the agree¬ 
 able pleasures and exercises they should take together, in hunting and 
 
 1 It might be thought this caution was superfluous to an ambassador, especially 
 to so careful a man as La Mothe. 
 
 * Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 200. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 21)5 
 
 visiting the beautiful places in her kingdom; but that she considers that 
 your majesties are very tardy in your replies, and thinks it strange that 
 she has not yet had the portrait of monsieur in large, and in colours.” 
 That which had been sent about a month before, was evidently only a 
 sketch in black chalks. Two portraits, from the skilful hand of Janet, 
 were afterwards sent—one to show the face, the other the figure of the 
 prince; but the original, though Elizabeth had so frequently intimated 
 how agreeable a visit from him would be, remained obstinately on the 
 other side the water, whence reports were perpetually transmitted by 
 Walsingham, sometimes of his projected marriage with the queen of 
 Scots, and at others with her venerable rival, the princess of Portugal. 
 
 The detection of the share the French ambassador had taken in the 
 Norfolk plot, had the effect of suspending the negotiations for the alli¬ 
 ance between Elizabeth and the duke of Anjou; and though Burleigh, 
 in one of his oracular letters to Walsingham, at this crisis, writes:— 
 “Truly, the more matters are discovered, the more necessary it is seen 
 that her majesty should marry” — all attempts to agitate the matter 
 proved abortive. The reluctance of the proposed bridegroom was, in 
 fact, insurmountable, though the farce was carried on a few weeks 
 longer. 
 
 When Anjou told his ribald companion, the mareschal Tavannes, 
 that the earl of Leicester had endeavoured to forward his marriage 
 with the queen of England,” the other profanely rejoined, “My lord 
 ,Robert would marry you to his friend; make him marry Chateauneuf, 
 Who is yours.” 1 Leicester having importuned for a French lady of 
 rank as a bride. 
 
 Elizabeth honoured her kinsman, lord Hunsdon, with a visit in Sep- 
 ember, 1571, at his mansion, Hunsdon House. A curious contemporary 
 Sainting, in the possession of the earl of Oxford, is supposed to com- 
 nemorate this event, and the manner of the royal approach. The queen 
 s seated in a canopied chair of state, carried by six gentlemen, preceded 
 jy knights of the garter, and followed by a procession of the most dis- 
 .inguished ladies of the household—they are all portraits. Henry lord 
 Hunsdon carries the sword of state before her majesty. Among the 
 mights of the garter, Leicester walks nearest to the queen; then my 
 ord-treasurer, Burleigh, with his white staff, and Charles Howard the 
 ldmiral, afterwards earl of Nottingham ; followed by Sussex, Russell, 
 md Clinton, each adorned with a profile portrait of her majesty, pendant 
 'rom a ribbon. The ladies are all richly jewelled, and Elizabeth her- 
 •elf, according to custom, outdoes the queen of diamonds in her bravery. 
 >he is represented of a comely and majestic presence. 
 
 The picture is conjectured to have been painted by Mark Gerrard, 
 Elizabeth’s court painter, and it has been splendidly engraved by Ver- 
 ue, among his historic prints; a posthumous portrait of Mary Boleyn, 
 ord Hunsdon’s mother, and aunt to the queen, appears in the back- 
 ;round, in a grave dark dress; lady Hunsdon is in white, and nearest to 
 he queen. Lady Knollys, his sister, and the young Catherine Carey, 
 
 1 The countess Chateauneuf was the mistress of the duke of Anjou. 
 
256 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 his daughter, who afterwards married her cousin, Charles Howard, the 
 lord admiral, are also among the dramatis personae of this remarkable 
 picture. 
 
 We find, by Stowe, that the queen was carried to St. Paul’s, occa¬ 
 sionally, after this fashion, which reminds us of the procession of a 
 pagan goddess, surrounded by her priests and worshippers, or the ova¬ 
 tion of a Roman conqueror, rather than the transit of a Christian queen 
 in civilized times. The semi-barbarous display of pomp and homage 
 suited the theatrical taste of Elizabeth, who inherited the pride and 
 vanity of both her parents, and understood little of the delicacy and re¬ 
 serve of an English gentlewoman, which, even in the days of Alfred, 
 deterred royal females from exhibiting themselves to the vulgar in a 
 manner unbefitting the modesty of their sex. 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Elizabeth discovers Norfolk's implication in Ridolfi's plot—Scene with the Frencl 
 ambassador—Her anger—Her observation touching her wedding—Anjou break 
 his faith with her—His younger brother offered to her in his place—Elizabeth' 
 vexation—Her rejoinder to the Spanish ambassador—Her. reluctanoe to Not 
 folk's execution—Signs his death-warrant—Revokes it—Her angry letter to th 
 queen of Scots—Dangerous illness of Elizabeth—Her marriage treaty wit ] 
 Alengon—Her Maundy—Alen§on's portrait sent to her—Execution of Norfol j 
 —Parliament urges her to execute the queen of Scots—Elizabeth's noble repl 
 —Signs a treaty with France—Elizabeth's fetes, &.C*, and Sunday amusement 
 —Dissimulation—Flattered by La MotheFenelon—"Alenyon's letter—Elizabet 
 objects to his youth, ugliness, &c.—Deliberates on curing his defects—Eliz; 
 beth s praise of Catherine de Medicis — Entry into Warwick —Receives tli 
 French ambassadors there—Their flattery, and marriage discussions—Warwic 
 fired by the fireworks at a festival in Elizabeth's honour—Her reception c 
 the French ambassador after the massacre of St. Bartholomew—Her proje. 
 for betraying the queen of Scots—Her parsimony—She continues secretly hi 
 marriage treaty with Alen§on—She has the small-pox—Her recovery—Fac 
 tious observations—Accepts the office of sponsor to Charles IX.'s infant—Scei 
 in the privy-council—Love-letter from Alenjon to Elizabeth—Asks permissic i~ 
 to visit her—She demurs—Court gossip—Favours the earl of Oxford—Inte 
 feres in his quarrel with Sir Philip Sidney—Her progress in Kent, &,c.—H 
 visit to Canterbury—Feasted by the archbishop of Canterbury—Treats wi 
 the French envoy—Dinner at St. Austin's Hall—Her visit to Sandwich—E 
 tertained by mayor's wife, &c.—Surveys the dock-yards at Chatham. 
 
 While Elizabeth was deluding herself into something like an im 
 ginary passion for the youthful heir-presumptive of France, her kin 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 257 
 
 man, the duke of Norfolk, had resumed his interdicted correspondence 
 with the captive queen of Scots; and the luckless lovers had suffered 
 themselves to be entangled by the intriguing Florentine banker, Ridolfi, 
 in the meshes of a political plot, of the full tendency of which they ap¬ 
 pear not to have been aware. * 1 Its ostensible object was the liberation 
 of Mary, her marriage with Norfolk, and her restoration to her rightful 
 throne. As this could not be effected without foreign aid, Mary and 
 Norfolk empowered Ridolfi to apply to the duke of Alva. 
 
 Alva by no means approved of his client, whom he regarded as a 
 chattering visionary, half-madman, half-knave, but as it was the policy 
 of his sovereign to cause all the annoyance in his power to the queen 
 of England, he promised to assist the confederates with ten thousand 
 men in the following spring. Letters to that effect were found on the 
 person of Baily, the queen of Scots’ courier from France, and a watch¬ 
 ful eye was kept on all parties. Meantime, Fenelon, by Mary’s desire, 
 furnished two thousand crowns in gold for the relief of her faithful 
 friends in Scotland. These the duke of Norfolk undertook to forward, 
 and his servant, Higford, gave the bag to a person of the name of Brown, 
 telling him it was silver for the duke’s private use, and bidding him de¬ 
 liver it to Banister, his lord’s steward. Brown, judging by the weight 
 of the bag that it contained gold, carried it to the council. It was 
 opened, and letters in cipher discovered, which betrayed the whole 
 business. Norfolk was arrested, and the letters from the queen of Scots, 
 which Higford had been ordered to burn, but had treacherously pre¬ 
 served, were found under the mats of his chamber-door, and the key of 
 the cipher in which they were written under the tiles of the house. 2 
 
 There is something peculiarly revolting in the fact, that Elizabeth 
 should have been so callous to all the tender sympathies of the female 
 character, as to enjoin the application of torture to extort a confession, 
 tgainst their unfortunate lord, from Barker and Banister, two of the 
 luke of Norfolk’s servants. She says :— 
 
 “If they shall not seem to you to confess plainly their knowledge, then we 
 varrant you to cause them both, or either of them, to be brought to the rack; 
 ind first to move them with fear thereof, to deal plainly in their answers; and 
 If that shall not move them, then you shall cause them to be put to the rack, 
 '.nd to find the taste thereof , until they shall deal more plainly, or until you shall 
 hink meet.” 3 
 
 Two days subsequent to the date of this warrant, sir Thomas Smith 
 vrites thus to lord Burleigh, respecting Barker’s, Banister’s, and the 
 ther examinations:— 
 
 “I suppose we have gotten so much as at this time is likely to be had, yet to- 
 
 1 The details of this foolish business maybe seen in Camden, Lingard, and 
 her historians of Elizabeth's reign. The intelligent research of my lamented 
 iend, the late Mr. Howard of Corby, among the records of Simanfas, has brought 
 
 1 light many curious particulars connected with the intrigues of Ridolfi, which 
 re printed in the last supplementary appendix of the Howard Memorials, for 
 rivate circulation. 
 
 ’Camden; Despatches of Fenelon ; Lingard. 
 
 ’Letter of warrant, addressed to Sir Thomas Smith and Dr. Wilson, MS. Cotton, 
 ilig. c. Ill, fol. 229. 
 
 22 * 
 
 R 
 
258 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 morrow do we intend to bring a couple of them to the rack, not in any hope to 
 get anything worthy that pain and fear, but because it is so earnestly commanded 
 to us.” 1 
 
 Melancholy comment on the royal order! 
 
 When the confessions of Higford, and others of his servants, were 
 read to the unfortunate nobleman, he exclaimed, in the bitterness of his 
 heart, “ I am betrayed and undone by mine own people, for not know- 
 ng how to distrust, which is the only sinew of wisdom !” 2 
 
 Ridolfi deposed before the council, “ that the catholics were resolved 
 to seize the queen’s person, or to assassinate her, during one of her pro¬ 
 gresses in the country, and that the marquis Vitelli had offered to strike 
 the blow.” The pope, the king of Spain, and the bishop of Ross, were 
 all stated to be cognizant of these intentions, but the duke of Norfolk 
 passionately denied having the slightest evil intention against his royal 
 mistress; he acknowledged that he had been undutiful in disobeying 
 her commands, but that he would have died a thousand deaths rather 
 than have suffered her to be harmed.” 3 
 
 The queen was greatly irritated, especially against the bishop of Ross, 
 whom she had at one time determined to put to death. While her in¬ 
 dignation was at its height, the French ambassador came to intercede 
 for the bishop, and presented a letter in his behalf from Charles IX., 
 which he prayed her majesty to take in good part. The queen read the 
 letter, and replied, angrily, “ that she could not take it in good part that 
 the king of France should have written to her in that fashion, for the 
 bishop had been plotting against her, to introduce foreigners as invaders 
 of her realm, who were to be joined, she found, by some of her own 
 subjects, and that there was a conspiracy to declare her illegitimate, and 
 to place the queen of Scots on her throne: for which, as he had vio¬ 
 lated the character of an ambassador, she had imprisoned him.” She 
 said, u she wished to know to whom the bishop of Ross had written 
 two letters, marked 40 and 30, since the Spanish ambassador and the 
 queen of Scots had affirmed that it was not to them,” 4 and significantly 
 observed, “ that the king of France, who had been implicated in the con¬ 
 federacy against her, wished, she supposed, to exemplify the truth of this 
 saying of Machiavelli— 
 
 1 Murdin State Papers. The case of Barker and Banister was not, we lament 
 
 to add, a solitary instance of the use of torture in the reign of Elizabeth. The 
 history of the Tower of London teems with records of the cruelties that were, in 
 the years 15S0-1, inflicted upon the recusants, and other state prisoners, with 
 whom the jealous policy of her ministers had peopled its gloomy cells. Some 
 persons were confined in a dungeon twenty feet below the surface of the earth; 
 others in “ litel ease,” where they had neither room to stand upright, nor to lie 
 down at full length. Some were put to the rack, or placed in Skivington's irons, 
 vulgarly called the “scavenger s daughter” (scavengeri filiam ). an iron instrument, 
 by which head, feet, and hands were bound together. Many were chained and 
 fettered, while others, still more unfortunate, had their hands forced into iron 
 gloves, which were much too small, or were subjected to the horrid torture of 
 the boot. (Bayley’s History of the Tower of London.) 
 
 1 Camden. ’ Ibid. 
 
 4 La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
ELIZABETH. 259 
 
 “ ‘ The friendship of princes does not go beyond their con¬ 
 venience.’ ” 1 
 
 Charles might have retorted, that all the domestic troubles by which 
 his realm was convulsed, had been, in like manner, fomented by Eliza¬ 
 beth. lie had been especially incensed at the protection afforded by her 
 to the count Montgomeri, by whose erring lance his royal father had 
 been slain at the bridal tournament twelve years before, and who had 
 since distinguished himself as one of the Huguenot leaders. After the 
 defeat of his party at JVIoncortour, Montgomeri had taken refuge in Eng¬ 
 land. Charles demanded, by his ambassador, that he should be given 
 up. “ Tell your master,” said Elizabeth, “ that I shall answer him in 
 this case, as his father once did my sister, when some of her traitors 
 having (led to France, she demanded that justice might be done on them, 
 to which he replied, ‘ I see no reason why I should be the queen of 
 England’s hangman;’ and such is my answer touching Montgomeri.” 2 
 
 As neither Charles nor Elizabeth were prepared for open hostility, 
 they contented themselves with doing each other all the ill turns they 
 could, under the name of friendship, exchanging meanwhile all the com¬ 
 pliments and affectionate professions that the deceitful tempers of either 
 could devise. On the 11th of November, the French ambassador gave 
 a banquet at his own house to Leicester, Burleigh, the admiral, and the 
 other members of Elizabeth’s cabinet; on which occasion, Leicester 
 enlarged on the affection borne by his royal mistress to the king of 
 France, and assured La Mothe, “ that nothing could disunite them, unless 
 it were interference with her majesty in the affairs of Scotland ; and at 
 the same time openly avowed, that it was not her intention ever to 
 liberate tbe Scottish queen.” 
 
 The court of Elizabeth was enlivened by four weddings, December 
 22; that of the sister of the earl of Huntingdon with the son of the 
 earl of Worcester, the eldest daughter of the lord chamberlain with lord 
 Dudley, the daughter of Burleigh with the earl of Oxford, and the lord 
 Paget with a rich young widow. Elizabeth honoured the nuptials of 
 the daughter of her premier, with the representative of the ancient line 
 of de Vere, with her presence, and, becoming a little merry at the wed¬ 
 ding feast, she was pleased to observe to the French ambassador, ‘“that 
 so many marriages at one time seemed to her a presage 3 that her own 
 would soon take place.” 
 
 Monsieur de la Mothe, though well aware of the state of the hand¬ 
 some and reckless Henry of Anjou’s feelings towards his royal fiancee , 
 made a complimentary reply to this intimation, and took care to charge 
 the blame of the tardy progress of the treaty on her majesty’s confiden¬ 
 tial advisers. 
 
 It was a singular coincidence, that the month of January, 1572, was 
 fraught with the condemnation of Mary Stuart’s afiianced lover, the duke 
 of Norfolk, and the rupture of the matrimonial treaty between the duke 
 of Anjou and queen Elizabeth. Matters had indeed come to such a pass, 
 that Elizabeth perceived, that if she w'ould avoid the mortification of 
 
 ’La Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 145. ’Ibid., vol. iii. 8 Ibid., vol. iv. 
 
260 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 being refused by that prince, she must refuse him, on the grounds of re 
 ligious scruples. She expressed her regrets “at the necessity that com 
 pelled her to decline the alliance, and hoped, that neither the king ol 
 France nor monsieur would consider her fickle; but, till the last com¬ 
 munication she received from them, she had flattered herself that the 
 disputed points might have been arranged.” 1 
 
 The plenipotentiaries of France, who had long been aware of the 
 impossibility of inducing their wilful prince to fulfil the engagements 
 which had been promised and vowed in his name, felt themselves re¬ 
 lieved from an embarrassing dilemma by the declaration of Elizabeth; 
 and the very same day proposed, as a candidate for her majesty’s hand, 
 the Duke of Alengon, the younger brother of Henry of Anjou, who was 
 disposed to be more complying on the subject of religion than the said 
 Henry. The first hint touching this absurd alliance, was given to Bur¬ 
 leigh and Leicester, and not, on the whole, unfavourably received, 
 though one of them exclaimed, in his first surprise, that “ the royal 
 pair would rather remind people of a mother and son, than of a husband 
 and wife.” Particular inquiries were then made as to the prince’s age, 
 and especially what was his precise height. The artful Frenchman had | 
 no distinct remembrance on these points. 
 
 Burleigh, who was sick of an intermittent fever and cold, caught at 
 the marriage of his daughter with the young earl of Oxford, wrote to 
 Walsingham, the 23d of January, 1571-2, in allusion to this new suitor 
 of the royal house of France. “ In the matter of the third person, 
 newly offered, his age, and other qualities unknown, maketh one doubt¬ 
 ful how to use speech thereof. The ambassador hath dealt, as he saith, ; 
 secretly with me; and I have showed no argument from one hand or 
 the other, but fear occupieth me more in this cause of her marriage, i 
 whom God suffered to lose so much time, than for my next fit.” 
 
 When the premier broke the matter to Elizabeth, and told her, “ that 
 the treaty of alliance proposed with the duke of Alengon would be 
 attended with the same political advantages as that lately negotiated for 
 Anjou.” Her majesty replied, quickly, “ that, however suitable it might 
 be in other respects, there was too great a disproportion in age, as well 
 as stature, between themand asked, “ how tall the duke of Alengon 
 was ?” 
 
 “About your majesty’s own height,” was the reply. Elizabeth was 
 not to be put off with generalities on such important points—she in¬ 
 sisted on date and measurement being produced. Burleigh applied to 
 the ambassador for these, and both were promised. 
 
 Notwithstanding the semblance of indifference assumed by Elizabeth, 
 on the rupture of the matrimonial treaty with Henry of Anjou, it was a 
 bitter mortification to her in reality; for Burleigh writes, in confidence 
 to Walsingham, “ this matter of monsieur is here grievously (in secret) 
 taken, and surely it was not here well used, in drawing it out at length, 
 which was politically done; so hath it not there been friendly ordered, 
 and yet I do not so show mine opinion of her majesty’s stomaching that 
 
 * Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 354. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 261 
 
 part, where the amity is so needful.” 1 Thus it appears that the suavity, 
 with which the ridiculous proposal of the youngest brother of France 
 was received, proceeded at first, not from the coquetry of Elizabeth, but 
 the diplomacy of Burleigh, who was determined not to allow his sove¬ 
 reign to take an affront with the court of France. Her majesty in con¬ 
 sequence smothered her resentment, and revenged herself by playing on 
 the maternal ambition of the queen-mother, and tantalized her for years 
 with delusive hopes that she might be induced to share her crown with 
 the ugly untoward imp, Alencon. 
 
 Burleigh appears to have done all in his power to induce the queen 
 to entertain the proposal. He even wrote out (some say, made) an as¬ 
 trological calculation of her majesty’s nativity, by which it seemed “ that 
 the stars decreed. that she was to marry a young man, a stranger, who 
 had never been married; that she would have by him a son, healthy, 
 famous, aud fortunate in his mature age; that she would highly esteem 
 her husband, would live with him many years, and also survive him.” 2 
 The fact was, Burleigh did not mean the queen to marry at all, and 
 judged that the negotiations with Alencon would amuse and prevent 
 her from looking out for another husband, till it was too late to think 
 of matrimony. This proved to be the case. 
 
 Early in this year arrived a deputy from Flanders, with a message 
 from the Duke of Alva, announcing to queen Elizabeth the accouche¬ 
 ment of the queen of Spain, and informing her, u that the king, his mas¬ 
 ter, who was despatching a courier to the emperor at the same time, had 
 not had leisure to write to her, to ask her congratulations on the birth 
 of the son which God had given him, but that he had charged the Duke 
 of Alva to do so, in his name, by a special messenger.” 
 
 Elizabeth replied with infinite disdain, “ that she rejoiced at the good 
 luck of the king of Spain, but not at the fashion in which it had been 
 made known to her; for as a courier had been despatched so far ex¬ 
 press for that purpose, he might have been delayed a few moments, or 
 wen an hour, to write the same thing which the duke of Alva had sent 
 o her.” 3 
 
 The messenger requested leave, through the Spanish ambassador, to 
 •emain till they should receive some communication from their sove¬ 
 reign, to which she replied, “ that in four days she would let them 
 enow her pleasure;” but before that time, she sent her orders to the 
 mibassador to depart, but detained his maitre d’hotel as a prisoner, on a 
 ;harge of having conspired against lord Burleigh. 
 
 Elizabeth held the axe suspended over her unfortunate kinsman, the 
 Duke of Norfolk, for many weeks, during which time earnest supplica¬ 
 tion was made for his life, by his mother, sister, and the French ambas¬ 
 sador. Fie endeavoured himself to mollify her by his submissive de¬ 
 triment, though he behaved like a faithful and stainless knight, with 
 egard to his royal love, the captive queen of Scots. Early in February 
 Elizabeth issued her warrant and order for his execution on the follow- 
 
 'Complete Ambassador. Digges, p. 166. 
 ’Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 Strype's Appendix. 
 
262 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ing morning; and at eleven at night her mind misgave her, and she sent 
 to revoke it. 
 
 Burleigh, who, some months before, had offered to save the life of 
 this great peer if he would resign his pretensions to the hand of the 
 queen of Scots, and marry his sister, had, on his declining,-though with 
 all possible courtesy, an alliance so unsuitable in point of birth, con¬ 
 ceived the most vindictive hatred for him, and sorely grudged at these 
 indications of the royal disposition to mercy. In one of his letters to 
 Walsingham, dated February 11 th, he says:— 
 
 “I cannot write to you what is the inward stay of the duke of Nor¬ 
 folk’s death, only I find her majesty diversely disposed. Sometimes, 
 when she speaketh of her danger, she concludeth that justice should be 
 done; another time, when she speaketh of his nearness of blood, (mean¬ 
 ing his close degree of relationship to herself,) of his superiority in 
 honour, she stayeth. On Saturday, she signed a warrant for the writs 
 to the sheriffs of London for his execution on Monday; and so all pre¬ 
 parations were made, with the expectation of all London, and concourst 
 of many thousands yesterday-in the morning, but their coming was an 
 swered with another ordinary execution of Mather and Burney, for con 
 spiring the queen’s majesty’s death, and of one Ralph, for counterfeiting 
 her majesty’s hand twice, to get concealed lands. And the cause of thi 
 disappointment was this:—suddenly on Sunday, late in the night, th 
 queen’s majesty sent for me, and entered into a great misliking that th 
 duke should die the next day, and said, she was and should be dis 
 quieted, and tk that she would have a new warrant made that night t 
 the sheriffs to forbear until they should hear further, and so they die 
 God’s will be fulfilled, and aid her majesty to do herself good.” 1 
 
 Norfolk was nearly allied in blood to the queen, and whether froi 1 
 that cause, or from the consciousness of his accomplishments and gret 3 
 popularity, she appears to have entertained many misgivings before sh 
 could resolve to carry the sentence against him into effect. Throng 
 the incessant importunity of Burleigh and Leicester, she again signed a 
 order for his execution on the ‘27th, and revoked it the next mornin; 
 two hours before day. Two other warrants were afterwards signed at: 
 revoked in the same manner. 
 
 The last letter of revocation, the original of which is written entire! 
 in the queen’s own hand, is extremely curious, and worthy of tl 
 reader’s attention, it is addressed to lord Burleigh, and is as follows 
 
 11 My lord, methinks that I am more beholden to the hinder part of my hei 
 than will dare trust the forward side of the same, and therefore sent the lieu 
 nant and the S., as you know best, the order to defer this execution till they he 
 further. And that this may be done, I doubt nothing, without curiosity of r - 
 further warrant, for that this rash determination upon a very unfit day, w 
 countermanded by your considerate admonition. The causes that move me i 
 this are not now to be expressed, lest an irrevocable deed be in meanwli 
 committed. If they will need a warrant, let this suffice, all written with l 
 own hand. Your most loving soveraine, Elizabeth R.” 
 
 This letter is indorsed in Lord Burleigh’s hand:— 
 
 ’Complete Ambassador, Sir Dudley Digges. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 263 
 
 “xi. Apl. 1572. 
 
 “ The Q. Majy. with 
 her own hand, for 
 staying of the execution 
 of the D. N. 
 
 R. at 2 in the morning.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth appears to have been much exasperated, at this painful 
 crisis, by a letter addressed by the queen of Scots to the duke of Alva, 
 which was unfortunately intercepted. When she gave an audience to 
 monsieur du Croc, who had just arrived on a mission from France, and 
 wished to obtain permission to see Mary, and also to convey her to 
 France, she told him “she would not grant either request, and took a 
 paper out of her pocket,” says La Mothe Fenelon, “ which she showed 
 us was a letter in cipher, and we recognised that it was really signed by 
 the queen of Scotland’s hand. She then read to us a portion of the 
 decipherment, which was addressed to the duke of Alva, exhorting him 
 to send ships to the coast of Scotland, to carry off the prince h r son, 
 whom she had committed to the king of Spain. Unfortunately, Mary 
 adverted to the state of affairs in England in this letter, and said, “ that 
 she had a strong party there, and of the lords who favoured her cause, 
 of whom, although some were prisoners, the queen of England would 
 not dare to touch their lives.” She concluded by expressing a hope 
 “ that the whole island would, by these means, in time be restored to 
 the catholic church.” 2 
 
 La Mothe goes on to say, that Elizabeth’s comments on this decipher¬ 
 ment were very bitter, and she enlarged angrily on all the plots, which 
 she said “ the queen of Scots had devised to deprive her of her life and 
 royal estate.” 
 
 It was this letter which, probably, decided the fate of Norfolk, for 
 Elizabeth was not of a temper to brook the opinion, that she dared not 
 touch the life of the mightiest in her realm who had offended her, al¬ 
 though the noble blood that she was preparing to shed on a scaffold 
 was the same that flowed in her own veins, the duke and herself being 
 the descendants of the same great-grandfather—the victorious earl of 
 Surrey, afterwards duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Elizabeth vented a portion of the vindictive rage that was rankling in 
 her heart against her royal captive, Mary Stuart, by replying in the fol¬ 
 lowing bitter terms to several piteous letters, of supplicatory remon¬ 
 strance, which the latter had written to her from the bed of sick¬ 
 ness :— 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Mary, Queen of Scots . 3 
 
 “February 1st, 1571-2. 
 
 “ Madame,—Of late time I have received divers letters from you, to the which, 
 you may well guess, by the accidents of the time, why I have not made any 
 answer, but specially because I saw no matter in them that required any answer, 
 as could have contented you ; and to have discontented you, bad been but an 
 
 'Ellis’ Royal Letters. 
 
 3 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. iv., p. 393, 394. 
 
 3 MS. Cottonian Calig., c. iii.. fol. 141. Endorsed, “ Minute of a letter sent ti» 
 the queen of Scots.” 
 
264 
 
 ELIZA BETH. 
 
 increase of your impatience, which I thought time would have mitigated, as it 
 commonly doth, where the cause thereof is not truly grounded, and that it be so 
 understood; but now, finding by your last letter, the 27th of the last (month), 
 an increase of your impatience, tending, also, to many uncomely, passionate, and 
 vindictive speeches, I thought to change my former opinion, and, by patient and 
 advised words, to move you to stay, or else to qualify your passions, and to con¬ 
 sider, that it is not the manner to obtain good things with evil speeches, nor be¬ 
 nefits with injurious challenges, nor to get good to yourself with doing evil to 
 another. 
 
 ‘And yet, to avoid the fault which I note you have committed, in filling a long 
 letter with a multitude of sharp and injurious words, I will not, by way of letter, 
 write any more of the matter, but have rather chosen to commit to my cousin, 
 the earl of Shrewsbury, the things which I have thought meet, upon the reading 
 of your letters, to be imparted unto you, as in a memorial, in writing, ho hath to 
 shew you; wherewith I think, if reason be present with you, and passion absent 
 at the reading, you will follow, hereafter, rather the course of the last part of 
 your letter than the first, the latter being written as in a calm, and the former in 
 a storm. Wishing you the same grace of God that I wish to myself, and that he | 
 may direct you to desire and attain to that which is meet for his honour and your 
 quietness, with contentation both of body and mind. Given at my palace of 
 Westminster, the 1st day of February, 1571-2. 
 
 “ Your cousin, that wisheth you a better mind, 
 
 “ Elizabeth.'’ 
 
 It is very probable that the sudden and dangerous attack of illness | 
 with which Elizabeth was seized, about the 20th of March, was caused j 
 by the mental conflict she certainly suffered at this anxious period, j 
 This illness appears to have been severe inflammation of the chest and 
 stomach, attended with agonizing pain; and, according to the temper * 
 of the times, it was at first attributed to poison, though her majesty’s ’ 
 physicians declared “ that it was occasioned by her contempt for physic, « 
 and utter neglect of such potions as they considered necessary to keep 
 her in health.” But, from whatever cause it originated, her illness was 
 most alarming to her cabinet, and with good cause, considering how 
 deeply one and all stood committed with the captive heiress of the i 
 realm. The whole court awaited the event in breathless suspense—the j 
 two whom it most concerned, Leicester and Burleigh, watched three •; 
 whole nights by her bedside, and the French ambassador detained his 
 courier, who was ready to start with his despatches, till it was decided 
 whether her majesty would live or die. The shadow of death passed 
 from over her, after five days of intense pain, and, as soon as she was 
 convalescent, she again issued her mandate for the execution of the duke 
 of Norfolk; and, for the fourth time, revoked her order. This was the 
 17th of April. 
 
 Meantime, a lively dialogue on the affairs of England and her queen 
 took place in the gardens of the royal castle of Blois, between the 
 queen-mother of France and Elizabeth’s astute ambassadors, Walsing- 
 ham and sir Thomas Smith, 1 * * which we abstract from the official report 
 of the latter, as affording a most amusing episode in the negotiations 
 for the Alen$on alliance. 
 
 1 The Complete Ambassador, edited by Sir Dudley Digges, p. 195, dated March 
 
 17, 1 S' 7 1-2 Letter of Sir Thomas Smith, clerk of Elizabeth s council, then tem- 
 
 --porary ambassador. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 265 
 
 Catherine asked, u If the duke of Norfolk were executed yet f” 
 
 “We said, ‘No; not that we could learn.’ 
 
 “‘No !’ said she, ‘ then belike the queen will pardon him ?’ We an¬ 
 swered, ‘ We could not tell.’ ‘ I would,’ resumed Catherine de Medicis 
 ‘ that she were quiet from all these broils. Do you know nothing, now, 
 hosv she can fancy marriage with my son the duke of Alenqon ?’ 
 
 “‘Madame, you know me of old, except I have a sure ground, 1 
 dare affirm nothing to your majesty.’ 
 
 “‘Why,’ rejoined Catherine, ‘if your queen be disposed to marry, I 
 do not see where she can marry better, though I, as a mother, may be 
 justly considered partial, but as for those I have heard named, the em¬ 
 peror’s son (the archduke Rodolph\ or don John of Austria, they both 
 be lesser than my son is, and of less stature by a good deal. If she 
 should marry, it were pity any more time should be lost.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Madame,’ quoth I, ‘ if it pleased God that she were married, and 
 had a child, all these brags, and all these treasons would be soon ap¬ 
 peased ; and, if her child’s father were the duke of Alenqon, for my 
 part I cared not if ye had the queen of Scots here, for ye then would 
 be as jealous over her, for the queen my mistress’ security, as we, or as 
 she herself is.’ 
 
 “ ‘ That is true,’ replied her majesty, ‘ and without this marriage, if 
 she should marry otherwise, I see not how our present league and amity 
 will be sure!’ 
 
 “‘True, madame,’ quoth I, ‘the knot of marriage and kindred is a 
 stronger seal than that which is printed in wax; yet all leagues have 
 not marriage joined with them, as this may, if it please God.’ 
 
 “ ‘ I would it were done,’ replied Catherine, ‘ then surely would I 
 make a start over to England, and see her myself, which I most desire 
 of all things.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Madame,’ quoth I, ‘ if I had now as ample a commission for M. dc 
 Alen^on as I had at the first for monsieur 1 (the duke of Anjou), the 
 matter would soon, by God’s grace, be at an end !’ 
 
 “‘Would you had,’ enthusiastically replied the royal mother of both 
 the princes; ‘ and if you have such a one when you return to England, 
 would you not come over again to execute it ?’ 
 
 “ ‘Yes, madame,’ quoth I, ‘ most gladly, for so good a purpose would 
 1 pass again the sea, if I were never so sick!’ 
 
 “‘Surely,’ interposed Mr. Walsingham, ‘ it was not religion which 
 made that stop in the marriage of monsieur, the duke of Anjou, but 
 some other thing ?’ 
 
 “‘No, surely;’ replied the queen-mother, ‘my son Anjou never 
 showed me any other cause.’ 
 
 “ ‘ I assure you, madam,’ said Mr. Walsingham, ‘ I can marvellous 
 hardly believe it; for, at Galliont?) 2 he was so willing and well- 
 affected, that methought it did me much good to hear him speak of the 
 queen, my mistress; I perceived it in his words, in his countenance, 
 
 'This passage shows, from the very highest authority, how fully determined 
 queen Elizabeth had been to marry the duke of Anjou (afterwards Henry Hi'' 
 “Probably Galliers, a French country palace. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 23 
 
266 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and in all things; but, when he came again to Paris, all was clean 
 changed!’ 
 
 “ 1 It is true,’ replied queen Catherine, ‘ and it may be much to mar¬ 
 vel, but even at Gallion all things he liked well but the religion, at 
 which he made a little stop, yet nothing as he did afterwards. Upon 
 this I bare him in hand, for it grieved me not a little, (and the king, my 
 son, as you know,) that he believed all evil rumours and tales that 
 naughty persons, who wished to break the matter, spread abroad of the 
 queen of England, and that made him so backward. I told him,’ con¬ 
 tinued Catherine, ‘ that all the hurt which evil men can do to noble and 
 royal women, is to spread abroad lies and dishonourable tales of us; 
 and that we princes, who be women, of all • persons are subject to be 
 slandered wrongfully by them who be our adversaries—other hurt they 
 cannot do us. 1 Then my son Anjou said and swore to me, that he gave 
 no credit to them, for he knew that queen Elizabeth had so virtuously ^ 
 governed her realm, for this long time, that she must needs be a good 
 woman and princess, and full of honour, and other opinion of her he 
 could not have, but his conscience and his religion did so trouble him, 
 that he could not be in quiet.’ ” 2 
 
 Walsingham and Smith 3 were recreated with another diplomatic walk 
 in the garden of the castle of Blois with the scheming queen-mother 
 of France. Some curious conversation occurred, relating to the mutual 
 jealousies felt by England and France at the Ridolfi plot, the gist of 
 which was to steal young James of Scotland from his guardians, and 
 deliver him to Philip II., in order that marriage might be contracted be¬ 
 tween him and the young infanta. Likewise the project of Alva to free 
 Mary, queen of Scots, by an invasion of Flemish troops at Harwich. 
 
 “ Jesus!” exclaimed Catherine de Medicis, “and doth not your mis¬ 
 tress, queen Elizabeth, see plainly that she will always be in such dan¬ 
 ger till she marry ? If she marry into some good house, who shall 
 dare attempt aught against her ?” 
 
 “ Madame,” replied sir Thomas Smith, “ I think if she were once 
 married, all in England that had traitorous hearts would be discouraged, 
 for one tree alone may soon be cut down ; but when there be two or 
 three together, it is longer doing; for if she had a child, then all these 
 bold and troublesome titles of the Scottish queen, or of the others, whc 
 make such gapings for her death, would be clean choked up.” 
 
 “ 1 see,” observed Catherine, “ that your queen might very well have 
 five or six children.” 
 
 1 This observation, coming so philosophically and calmly from the lips of a 
 qneen who is more loaded with obloquy than any other woman in the world, in 
 defence of another, who had her share of scandal (from one party at least), is a 
 great historical curiosity. 
 
 2 The reader has been let behind the scenes as to Anjou’s real reason for his 
 insolent refusal of Elizabeth, by his mother’s letter, already quoted. Catherine 
 de Medicis, who was not so cunning as she thought herself, lets out his real 
 reasons—viz., the scandals on Elizabeth, in this remarkable speech to the acute 
 and inimical Walsingham. 
 
 3 Letter of Smith to Burleigh, Complete Ambassador, p. 167, dated March 22, 
 1571-2. 
 
ELIZABETH. 207 
 
 “ I would to God we had one!” devoutly rejoined the zealous 
 Smith. 
 
 “ No;” said Catherine, “two boys, lest one should die, and three or 
 four daughters to make alliance with us again, and with other princes 
 to strengthen the realm.” 
 
 “ Why, then,” replied ambassador Smith, gaily, “ you think that mon¬ 
 sieur Le Due shall speed ?” 
 
 Catherine laughed, and said, u Je le desire injinitement , and I would 
 then myself trust to see three or four, at the least, of her race, which 
 would make me spare nor sea nor land to behold them myself. And 
 if,” continued she, “queen Elizabeth could have fancied my son Anjou 
 as much as you told me, w'hy not this (the duke of Alen^on), come of 
 the same house, and every way equal to his brother ?” 
 
 Nevertheless, her majesty expressed her doubts that Alenqon had 
 stopped growing, and that he would never attain the fine stature of 
 Anjou. She, however, interrupted a remark of the English ambassa¬ 
 dor, on the height of this candidate for Elizabeth’s hand, by exclaim¬ 
 ing— 
 
 “ Nay, he is not so little; he is as high as you, or very near.” 
 
 “For that matter,” replied Smith, “ I, for my part, make small ac¬ 
 count of height, provided the queen’s majesty can fancy him. Since 
 Pipitius Brevis, 1 who married Bertha, the king of Almain’s (Germany) 
 daughter, was so little to her, that he is standing in Aquisgrave 2 or Mo- 
 guerre, a church in Germany, she taking him by the hand, that his 
 head reaches not her girdle; and yet he had by her Charlemagne, the 
 great emperor and king of France, reported to be almost a giant in sta¬ 
 ture. And as to your Oliver Glesquint, the Briton constable, 3 that you 
 make so much of, who lieth buried among your kings at St. Denis, if 
 he was no bigger than there portrayed on his tomb, he must have been 
 very short, scarcely four foot long, but yet he was valiant, hardy, and 
 courageous, and did us Englishmen most hurt of any one.” 
 
 Thus did ambassador Smith fluently vindicate the worth and valour 
 of little men, including among them the redoubtable descendant of king 
 Pepin, Elizabeth’s small suitor Alen^on, and, doubtless, himself, since 
 Catherine de Medicis considered them nearly the same height. 
 
 “ It is true,” resumed her majesty, “ that it is the heart, courage and 
 activity that are to be looked for in a man, rather than his height. But, 
 hear you no word of the queen’s affection in my son’s way ? can you 
 give me no comfort ?” 
 
 Smith assured her he had no fresh intelligence, “ for their courier had 
 only departed on the 11th of the month, and had not yet returned.” 
 
 In the midst of all these matrimonial speculations, Elizabeth kept her 
 maundy at Greenwich, according to the ancient custom practised by Ed¬ 
 ward the Confessor, and his relatives St. Margaret, St. David, and queen 
 Matilda Atheling the Good. This custom required, that the queen her¬ 
 self should wash the feet of the poor, in remembrance of our Saviour 
 
 ‘Pepin, the little king of France, father of Charlemagne. 3 So written. 
 
 ’Probably the valiant Bertrand du Guesclin, constable of France. 
 
‘268 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Washing the feet of the apostles. Elizabeth will scarcely be blamed in 
 modern times, because she performed the office daintily. The palace 
 hall was prepared with a long table on each side, with benches, carpets, 
 and cushions, and a cross-table at the upper end, where the chaplain 
 stood. Thirty-nine poor women, being the same number as the years 
 of her majesty’s age, at that time, March 19, 1572, entered, and were 
 seated on the forms; then the yeoman of the laundry, armed with a 
 fair towel, took a silver bason filled with warm water and sweet flowers, 
 and washed all their feet, one after the other; he likewise made a cross 
 a little above the toes, and kissed each foot after drying it; the sub-al¬ 
 moner performed the same ceremony, and the queen’s almoner also. 
 Then her majesty entered the hall, and went to a priedieu and cushion, 
 placed in the space between the two tables, and remained during prayers 
 and singing, and while the gospel was read, how Christ washed his 
 apostles’ feet. Then came in a procession of thirty-nine of the queen’s 
 maids of honour and gentlewomen, each carrying a silver bason with 
 warm water, spring flowers, and sweet herbs, having aprons and towels 
 withal. Then her majesty, kneeling down on the cushion placed for 
 the purpose, proceeded to wash, in turn, one of the feet of each of the 
 poor women, and wiped them with the assistance of the fair bason- 
 bearers ; moreover, she crossed and kissed them, as the others had done. 
 Then, beginning with the first, she gave each a sufficient broad cloth for 
 a gown, and a pair of shoes, a wooden platter, wherein was half a side 
 of salmon, as much ling, six red herrings, two manchetts, and a mazer, 
 or wooden cup, full of claret. All these things she gave separately. 
 Then each of her ladies delivered to her majesty the towel and the 
 apron used in the ablution, and she gave each of the poor women one 
 a-piece. This was the conclusion of the ladies’ official duty of the 
 maundy. The treasurer of the royal chamber, Mr. Heneage, brought 
 her majesty thirty-nine small white purses, 1 each with thirty-nine pence, 
 which she gave separately to every poor woman. Mr. Heneage then 
 supplied her with thirty-nine red purses, each containing twenty shil¬ 
 lings; this she distributed to redeem the gown she wore, which by 
 ancient custom was given to one chosen among the number. After tak¬ 
 ing her ease on her cushion of state, and listening awhile to the choir, 
 her majesty withdrew, for it was near sunset. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon soon after announced that the portrait of the duke 
 of Alenyon had been delivered by Cavalcanti, to the earl of Leicester, 
 who carried it into her majesty’s private cabinet, and submitted it to her 
 inspection; and he afterwards told La Mothe, “ that though it was not 
 altogether the same as monsieur, her majesty seemed to think it had 
 somewhat of the same air and bearing; that she did not appear to dis¬ 
 like it, and had judged that the accident to his face would wear out in 
 time; but when she came to read the inscription of his age, she said, 
 ‘ It was just the half of hers—nineteen years to thirty-eight—and that 
 she feared being so much his senior.’” 2 
 
 1 They were made of wash-leather, with very long strings. 
 
 2 Fenelon's Despatches, vol. iv. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 2(39 
 
 In consequence of Elizabeth’s reluctance to bring the duke of Nor¬ 
 folk to the block, a party was raised by the secret instigation of Bur¬ 
 leigh, and his other equally deadly foe, Leicester, by whom her majesty 
 was urged both privately and publicly, to cause the sentence of death 
 to be executed on the unfortunate duke. At length an address from 
 parliament, assuring her that there could be no security for herself and 
 realm till this were done, furnished her with a legitimate excuse for 
 bringing him to the block, June 2d, 1572. 
 
 It is impossible, however, to read Burleigh’s frequent lamentations to 
 Walsingham, on the repugnance of their royal mistress to shed her un¬ 
 fortunate kinsman’s blood, without perceiving the real authors of his 
 death. Well did the pitiless men by whom Elizabeth’s better feelings 
 were smothered, understand the arts of bending her stormy temper to 
 their determined purposes. 
 
 “As to your letters to her majesty,” writes Burleigh to Walsingham, “ foras 
 tnuch as the duke of Norfolk had suffered upon Monday, and your letters came 
 on Tuesday, I thought it not amiss to tell the queen ‘that I had letters from you 
 to her, which I thought were only to shew her the opinion of wise men, and her 
 majesty’s well-wishers in France, both for the queen of Scots and the duke of 
 Norfolk whereupon, she bade me open the letters, and so I did, in her presence; 
 and she being somewhat sad for the duke of Norfolk’s death, I took occasion to 
 cut off the reading thereof, and so entered into speech of the queen of Scots, 
 which she did not mislike, and commended your care and diligence.” 1 
 
 The death of Norfolk was intended by Elizabeth’s council as a pre¬ 
 lude to that of a more illustrious victim. The queen was told, “ that 
 she must lay the axe to the root of the evil, for that she would neither 
 have rest nor security while the Scottish queen was in existence.” Eliza¬ 
 beth, with a burst of generous feeling, recoiled from the suggestion. 
 “ Can I put to death,” she exclaimed, “ the bird that, to escape the pur¬ 
 suit of the hawk, has fled to my feet for protection ? Honour and con¬ 
 science forbid!” 
 
 The same parliament which had urged the execution of the duke of 
 Norfolk, passed a bill for inflicting the punishment of death on the 
 queen of Scots, for her share in the recent plots, but Elizabeth refused 
 her assent both to that and another bill, which would have made it a 
 capital offence for any one to assert the rights of that princess to the 
 regal succession. 
 
 The tragedy of Norfolk’s execution was followed by a series of bril¬ 
 liant fetes, which were ordained in honour of the arrival of the duke 
 de Montmorenci and monsieur de Foix, who came to conclude, in the 
 name of the king of France, the solemn treaty of perpetual peace and 
 alliance between that prince and queen Elizabeth, as well as to make an 
 official offer to her of the hand of the boy Alen^on. 
 
 On the 14th of June, the noble envoys presented their credentials to 
 her majesty, together with private letters from the king of France, the 
 queen-mother, and the two princes, her late suitor, and her present; all 
 which she received graciously, but only read that from the king in their 
 presence. The next day being Sunday, they, with the French ambassa- 
 
 23 
 
 ‘Complete Ambassador, Digges, 212. 
 
270 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 dor, monsieur de la Mothe, were introduced by lord Burleigh into the 
 chapel royal, after the prayers were ended, for the purpose of receiving 
 a solemn ratification of the treaty from the queen. 
 
 A profusion of compliments having been exchanged, her majesty ex¬ 
 pressed her happiness at entering into a treaty of perpetual alliance with 
 the king of France; and called “God to witness for her punishment, 
 if in her heart he saw not a true intention of bringing forth the fruits 
 of this concord by suitable deeds; for words,” she said, “ were no bet¬ 
 ter than leaves.” She made also a deceitful profession of her impartial 
 dealing with regard to Scotland, in a loud voice. She then demanded 
 the parchment digest of the treaty with the royal seal and signature of 
 the king of France, which was forthwitli presented to her with all due 
 ceremony by the plenipotentiaries of his most Christian majesty. Then 
 she approached the altar, and, laying her hand on the gospels, which 
 were held by one of her bishops, swore solemnly “ to observe all the 
 articles contained in the treaty.” She signed it on a golden desk, which 
 was supported by four earls, in the presence of a great many French 
 nobles, and the principal lords and ladies of her court . 1 
 
 “ On our departure from the chapel,” says monsieur de la Mothe, to 
 whose lively pen we are indebted for these details, “ she took us all 
 three into her privy chamber, and, a little after, to her hall of presence, 
 where she would have us dine at her own table, and the other French 
 nobles in another great hall, with the lords of her court.” After din¬ 
 ner, she talked some time apart with the duke de Montmorenci; and 
 then conducted the matrimonial commissioners into her privy chamber, 
 where the more interesting business, with which they were charged, 
 was formally opened by the duke de Montmorenci, and confirmed by 
 De Foix, according to the royal etiquette on such occasions, after she 
 had read the letters of the royal family of France. 
 
 Her majesty returned her thanks most graciously, “ which,” observes 
 La Mothe Fenelon, “ she well knows how to do;” touched on the dif¬ 
 ficulties that had attended the late negotiation, and were likely to im¬ 
 pede the present; and, without either accepting or rejecting the new 
 candidate for her hand, deferred her answer till such time as she should 
 have given it proper consideration. She then did M. de Montmorenci 
 the honour of taking him into her own bed-chamber, where she per¬ 
 mitted him to remain for some hours, till his own was prepared for him, 
 which was near it, being the same formerly occupied by the earls ol 
 Leicester and Sussex . 2 
 
 “Then they came,” pursues La Mothe, “and took us to see the com¬ 
 bats of bears, of bulls, and of a horse and monkey.” The latter sport 
 appears to have been an amusement confined to the court of the maiden 
 queen, who took peculiar delight in these pastimes. “Then,” continues 
 his excellency, “ we went into the pleasure gardens, till the said lady 
 came out, in readiness for the banquet, which was prepared with the 
 utmost grandeur and magnificence, on one of the terraces of the palace, 
 in a green arbour, or a pavilion, very large and beautiful, and well 
 
 J Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 •Ibid., vol. v., p. 16—18. 
 
ELIZABETH. 271 
 
 adorned with many compartments, and with two of the richest and most 
 splendid beaufets in Europe. 
 
 “ She again made M. de Montmorenci, M. de Foix, and me, eat at her 
 [own table; and all the rest of the lords, French and English, mingled 
 with the ladies of the court, occupied another very long table near hers. 
 We were sumptuously entertained, and the feast was prolonged till about 
 . midnight, when she led us to another terrace, which looked into the 
 igreat court of the palace, where we had not been long, when an old 
 man entered with two damsels, and implored succour for them in her 
 (court; and immediately there appeared twenty knights in the lists—ten 
 
 I in white, led by the earl of Essex, and ten in blue, led by the earl of 
 Rutland—who, in the cause of these damsels, commenced a stout com¬ 
 bat on horseback with swords, which lasted till the dawn of day, when 
 the queen, by the advice of the umpires of the field, declared ‘ that the 
 damsels were delivered, and gave them all leave to retire to bed.’ ”' 
 This royal fete champetre and mask, took place on a midsummer 
 Sabbath-night, at the old palace of Westminster, on the banks of the 
 Thames. Two days after, the French ambassador accompanied the 
 court to Windsor, where her majesty invested Montmorenci with the 
 order of the Garter. La Mothe Fenelon informs the king of France 
 that he and his suite travelled at the expense of the queen, and were 
 most liberally treated. “And I have seen,” says he, “ in the palaces of 
 Windsor and Hampton Court, but especially at the latter, more riches, 
 and costly furniture, than I ever did see, or could have imagined.” 
 
 At the same time that Francis duke de Montmorenci was admitted as 
 knight of the Garter, Walter Devereux, earl of Essex, the lord Grey of 
 Wilton, lord Chandos, and lord Burleigh, were elected companions of 
 the order; and at the investiture, queen Elizabeth, as a signal mark of 
 her favour to her prime minister, Burleigh, buckled the Garter about the 
 knee herself; which appears to have been the first time this personal 
 favour was conferred by the hands of a female sovereign. 2 Elizabeth 
 was, however, very proud of her distinction as the sovereign of this 
 chivalric order. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon informs the queen-mother of France, in his letter 
 of the 22d of June, “that he had urged Burleigh and Leicester to en¬ 
 treat their royal mistress to give an early answer on the subject of the 
 marriage, and grant a conference to himself and Montmorenci. For this 
 cause,” pursues he, “ she sent for us all three on the morrow, to come 
 to her after dinner, in private, without ceremony. We were brought by 
 water into her garden, and found her in a gallery, where she received us 
 all very graciously.” 
 
 Elizabeth, while she avoided saying anything that might in the slightest 
 degree commit herself, accused the equally cautious procurators of con¬ 
 fining themselves to generalities, and said, “ she desired to enter into 
 particularities, especially on the important subject of religion.” They 
 assured her that everything would be arranged to her satisfaction. It is 
 
 •Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 “Hist, of the Orders of Knighthood, by Sir H. Nicolas. 
 
272 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 impossible not to observe the malign pleasure with which Elizabeth re¬ 
 counts the personal defects of the unlucky boy, whom the royal in¬ 
 triguante, Catherine de Medicis, had the folly to propose as a suitable 
 consort for her. She demands of the ambassador, “ what compensation 
 is to be made to her, in the marriage articles, for the injury to his face 
 from the small-pox ?” and discusses his royal highness from top to toe, 
 svith no more ceremony than is commonly used by persons who are 
 bargaining for the purchase of a lap-dog, a monkey, or any other animal 
 of small account. But for the strong reasons of political expediency, 
 which rendered it necessary for the haughty Elizabeth to keep fair with 
 France, there can be no doubt but she would have poured the overflow¬ 
 ing measure of her ill-concealed scorn on both mother and son; as it 
 was, she served her own purposes, by humouring this most absurd of 
 projects, and permitted the wily Catherine, and her agreeable agent, 
 monsieur de la Mothe Fenelon, to fancy that they were beguiling her, 
 while she was in reality fooling them. 
 
 It was, however, no mistake for them to suppose that their flattery 
 had some effect on the mind of Elizabeth, for she enjoyed it so much, 
 that it is evident she prolonged the negotiations for the purpose of 
 having the dose more frequently repeated ; but though it was not diffi¬ 
 cult for the insinuating diplomatist to persuade the vainest of princesses 
 that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that the laws 
 of nature were so far reversed in her favour, that time had improved 
 her charms, instead of injuring them, it was another matter to induce 
 her to bestow all these perfections, in addition to her more important 
 endowments of grandeur and regal power, on a suitor of Alen§on’s de¬ 
 scription. Elizabeth certainly treated the idea with mockery at the 
 very time that she was feasting and bestowing honours, presents, and 
 counter-flattery on the procurators of the marriage. The fetes and en¬ 
 tertainments, with which she graced Montmorenci and De Foix, lasted 
 for a whole fortnight. The queen gratified them with costly and valu¬ 
 able presents of plate and money at their departure. Burleigh informs 
 Walsingham, “ that the ambassadors did all they could in the matter of 
 the due d’Alen$on, but got from her majesty neither yea nor nay, but 
 the delay of a month, in which she was to make up her mind.” He 
 charges Walsingham, meantime, to learn all he can of the duke, his real 
 age and stature, and conditions, his inclination to religion, and that of 
 his followers; of all which her majesty desired to be speedily adver¬ 
 tised, that she might resolve before the month; “ and surely,” observes 
 " the premier, M I cannot see any lack in this, but in opinion for his age; 
 which defect, if it might be supplied with some other recompense, were 
 not worthy to be thought of. 1 wish we might have Calais for their 
 issue, and he to be governor thereof during his life, so as we might 
 have security for our staple there.” 1 
 
 The next time La Mothe Fenelon had an interview with Elizabeth, 
 on the subject of the marriage, she expressed herself doubtfully touch¬ 
 ing the disparity of their age. The ambassador assured her, “ that his 
 
 1 Complete Ambassador, Digges. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 273 
 
 prince’s youth would be a singular advantage, as it would enable iier 
 and her counsellors to govern him at their own discretion ; and that she 
 could not, in all Europe, find a gentleman more deserving of the love 
 and esteem of a fair and virtuous princess than the duke; and that she 
 did herself wrong if she doubted that she was not worthy of the love 
 and service of the most accomplished prince in the world, and entreated 
 her to be satisfied that no one under heaven would be so extremely be¬ 
 loved as she, if she would but accept the affection of this prince, and 
 receive him into her good graces.” Elizabeth replied, “ that perhaps it 
 might be so for a little while, but in seven or eight years he would 
 begin to despise and hate her, which would quickly bring her to the 
 grave.” 
 
 Then the ambassador told her, “ that he had found a little piece of 
 writing among monsieur de Foix’s papers, after his departure, which was 
 part of a letter written by the duke of Alen§on himself to that gentle¬ 
 man, on the subject of his much-desired marriage with her majesty, and 
 though, in truth, he had no commission to show it to her majesty, yet, 
 if she would like to see it, he would venture to do so, as it would serve 
 materially to dispel the doubts she had in her heart.” Elizabeth imme¬ 
 diately called for seats, and, having taken his excellency into a corner 
 of the apartment, made him sit down by her, while she perused the 
 paper, which had, of course, been written for this very purpose. “She 
 read and re-read it,” says La Mothe, “ and pronounced it 1 marvellously 
 well done, and exactly what she hoped to find in him,’ adding her praise 
 of his beautiful and graceful style of writing, and also commended his 
 fair penmanship.” 
 
 The next day, Leicester came to inform the ambassador, that the 
 sight of that little letter had done more with her majesty, in favour of 
 the marriage, than all that had been said by Montmorenci and de Foix, 
 by himself, or Burleigh, and, in short, than all the council had been 
 able to do; and very obligingly advised La Mothe to get the duke of 
 Alen$on to write another good letter, as discreetly expressed, and full 
 of affection, that it might be shown to the queen, and even, if lie thought 
 proper, one to her majesty, who would not take it amiss. Leicester 
 took the opportunity of hinting, “ that if the marriage were accom¬ 
 plished through his good offices, he should have no objection to a noble 
 and wealthy French match himself, and expressed a wish that the queen- 
 mother would send him the portrait of mademoiselle de Montpensier, 
 which he knew well was in the house of the Count Palatine.” 1 
 
 One day, Elizabeth told La Mothe, “that one of her embassy in 
 France had written very favourably of the duke of Alen$on, in all re¬ 
 spects, and had said, ‘he would not deceive her about the injury his 
 face had received from the small-pox, knowing what a delicate eye she 
 had for observing everything about any one, but that he would other¬ 
 wise have been much handsomer than his brothers.’ ” 
 
 On this hint, La Mothe Fenelon launched out into the most extrava¬ 
 gant encomiums on the prince, declaring “ that in every particular, save 
 
 'Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 s 
 
274 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and except the accident to his face, he was a paragon above all the 
 other princes in the world, and that this injury was not without remedy, 
 for there was a physician in London, who had lately cured a person of 
 the marks of the small-pox, who had been more frightfully seamed with 
 it than any one in the world, and that if she would only accept the ser 
 vice of the duke, he would, in a few days afterwards, be rendered beau 
 tiful, and worthy of her favour.” This was certainly treating Elizabeth 
 very much like a child, but it was an age of quackery and credulity, and 
 it is very plain that Fenelon was himself deceived by the reports of the 
 wonderful renovations, effected by this occult practitioner, in com¬ 
 plexions that had been spoiled by the small-pox. He spoke of this to 
 Burleigh, who begged him to name any person within the realm, who, 
 to his certain knowledge, had been cured by the said physician. 
 
 “ I named two,” writes La Mothe to the queen-mother, “ one of whom 
 is of this city of London, and the other is a country lady, and a relation 
 of the countess of Bedford. In truth, the said doctor is a person of 
 great learning and much experience, and has made no difficulty of it, 
 but said , 1 that the remedy has nothing in it that is noxious, and that it 
 is very sure.’ ” 
 
 After La Mothe had mentioned this to Elizabeth, she smiled, and 
 begged him to have the remedy applied by all means to the face of the 
 duke of Alen^on. 1 The earl of Lincoln, on his arrival from Paris, spoke 
 very favourably of the young prince, and settled the two great objec¬ 
 tions, that were constantly urged against the marriage, in an off-hand 
 way, by saying, “ that his youth need not be any impediment, as he was 
 growing older every day, and as for the scars of the small-pox, they 
 were of no consequence, as he would soon have a beard to hide them.” 
 
 On the 27th of July, Elizabeth sent the earl of Sussex, her grand 
 chamberlain, to tell the French ambassador, “ that she was going, the 
 next day, to dine at the house of the lord-treasurer, and that if he would 
 come, he should be very welcome, and requested him to bring any let¬ 
 ters that he had received for her, from his own court, with him.” After 
 dinner, she led him into a little compartment, out of the saloon, where 
 she ordered seats to be brought for him and herself, and suffered no 
 other person to approach. When she had discussed several subjects of 
 political interest with him, he presented to her letters which he had re¬ 
 ceived in his last packet, addressed to her from the king and queen of 
 France. She opened and read them with apparent satisfaction, and par¬ 
 ticularly noted every word of that written to her by the queen-mother, 
 whom she commended as one of the wisest and most virtuous prin¬ 
 cesses in the world. She then put her letters into her pocket, and be¬ 
 gan to discuss her small suitor, the duke of Alengon, and the objections 
 to her marriage with him, observing “ that her subjects had hitherto 
 esteemed her as somewhat wise, she having reigned over them in peace 
 and prosperity fourteen years; but if, after she had eschewed matrimony 
 all her life, she should, now she was an old woman, take a husband, so 
 much too young, and especially with such a blemish in Ins face as that 
 
 1 Despatches of La Mothe Fenelor.. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 275 
 
 which had befallen monsieur d’Alen^on, they would despise her, and 
 deem her very ill-advised, ever) if she coidd show them a sufficient 
 counterpoise to atone for those great defects;” viz., his immature age 
 and the scars of the small-pox. She added, “ that she had, in the first 
 instance, charged her council to prepare a reply in her name to that 
 effect, the same day the proposal was made to her by monsieur de 
 Montmorenci, and she prayed his most Christian majesty to take it in 
 good part, and to continue to regard her as his own sister.?’ 1 
 
 The ambassador replied, with many compliments on her prudence, 
 and all the fine qualities which had rendered her reign so prosperous, 
 and assured her, “ that she would study the good of her subjects, by 
 accepting such a match as would increase her power, and that the king 
 of France offered her the same conditions with Alencon that had been 
 offered with monsieur, only that instead of Henry, she would take 
 Francis, who would be contented witli a less public exercise of the rites 
 prescribed by his religion, than the other, whose conscience would not 
 permit him to omit anything connected with it.” 
 
 He then begged permission to deliver to her majesty a letter which 
 he had in charge to present to her from the duke of Alencon. 2 She took 
 the letter, perused it with much satisfaction, and said, k ‘ that all he had 
 written corresponded with what she heard in his praise.” The ambas¬ 
 sador requested that she would permit the duke to write to her again, 
 to which she made no objection. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon, at the conclusion of the conference, noticed, that 
 the complexion-doctor had engaged to obliterate the disfiguring traces 
 of the small-pox from the face of the duke, and received her majesty’s 
 gracious permission to confer with the lords of the council, on the pre¬ 
 liminaries of the marriage, of which this cure appears to have been the 
 leading article. An envoy extraordinary, monsieur de la Mole, was sent 
 from the court of France, to assist in the treaty. He arrived in London 
 on the ‘27th of July, and La Mothe Fenelon sent an immediate notice of 
 this event to the queen, who had begun her summer progress to the 
 midland counties, and had advanced forty miles on her way to Warwick. 
 She requested the plenipotentiaries of France to meet her at Easton, the 
 scat of the valiant and hospitable sir George Pomfret. The excitement 
 of the chase, however, proved more interesting to Elizabeth than the dis¬ 
 cussions for her union with monsieur d’Alen^on, and she kept the pro¬ 
 curators waiting for her two days at Easton ; for,- having started a large 
 swift stag on the morning previous to that appointed for their audience, 
 she pursued it all the day, and till the middle of the night, and was so 
 greatly fatigued in consequence, that she was compelled to keep her 
 chamber all the next day. 3 After recovering herself a little, she pro- 
 1 ceeded on her journey, and gave monsieur de la Mole, who was pre¬ 
 sented in all due form, by monsieur de la Mothe, a gracious reception, 
 and invited them to accompany her to Kenilworth. 
 
 On the 12th of August, she made a public entry into Warwick, tra¬ 
 velling in her coach, attended by the countess of Warwick, and sur 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v. 
 
 2 Ibid- p. 70. 
 
 9 Ibid 
 
276 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 rounded by the greatest lords and ladies of her court. Iler majesty, on 
 account of the badness of the roads from heavy rains, was brought 
 through Chesterton pastures, and approached the town by Ford Mill 
 Hill, where the bailiff, recorder, and principal burgesses, were drawn up 
 in order, on their knees, to receive and welcome her. The queen 
 caused her carriage to be thrown open on every side, that all her sub- i 
 jects might behold her, and paused while the recorder addressed her, in | 
 a very long-winded and remarkably pedantic harangue, ending with a 
 humble request to her majesty, to accept a small present from the town, ' 
 which he compared to the widow’s mites, and the drop of water which 
 Alexander the Great condescended to accept of a poor soldier by the J 
 wayside.” Then Robert Philippes, the bailiff, rising from his knees, I 
 and coming to the side of the coach, or chariot, in which her majesty 
 sat, knelt down and offered to her a purse, very fairly wrought, and in 
 the purse twenty pounds, all in sovereigns, on which she put forth her 
 hand very graciously, and received it with a benign and smiling counte¬ 
 nance ; and, turning to the earl of Leicester, said, “My lord, this is con- ; 
 trary to your promisethen she made the following considerate reply 
 to the bailiff and corporation :'— 
 
 “ Bailiff, I thank you, one and all, for your good-wills, and 1 am very 
 loth to take anything at your hands now, because you, at the last time 
 of my being here, presented us, to our great liking and contentation, and 
 it is not the manner to be always presented with gifts, and I am the 
 more unwilling to take anything of you, because 1 know a mite at your 
 hands is as much as a thousand pounds from some: nevertheless, that 
 you may not think I inislike of your good-wills, I accept it with most 
 hearty thanks to you all, praying God that I may perform, as Mr. Re¬ 
 corder saith, such benefit as is hopedand therewithal she offered her 
 hand to the bailiff to kiss, and when he had done so, she returned his 
 mace to him, which he had surrendered to her majesty before the oration, 
 and which she had kept in her lap till it was ended. When she had 
 delivered the mace, she called Mr. Aglionby, the recorder, to her, and 
 offering her hand to him to kiss, she said to him, with a smile— 
 
 “ Come hither, little recorder : it was told me that you would be afraid 
 to look upon me, or to speak boldly, but you were not so afraid of me 
 as I was of you, and I now thank you for putting me in mind of my 
 duty, and what should be in me.” 1 2 And, showing a most gracious and | 
 favourable countenance to the spectators, she said again, “ I most 
 heartily thank you all, my good people,” and so was desirous to be 
 going, but Mr. Griffin, the preacher, approached her majesty, kneeled 
 down, and offered her a paper, to whom she said, “ If it be any matter 
 to be answered, we will look upon it, and give you our answer at my 
 lord of Warwick’s house.” The paper was, however, a quaint Latin 
 acrostic, in which her majesty was compared to Fallas, Astrea, Pene¬ 
 lope, and Debora; a great deal of time and trouble having been ex¬ 
 pended, to compel the first letter and the last of every line in the first 
 stanza to form the following compliment:— 
 
 1 From a MS. called the Black Book of Warwick Corporation, fols. 60—70. 
 
 a Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 277 
 
 “Tu Elisabeta viro nubis, O mater eris 
 
 These verses her majesty gave to the countess of Warwick, who was 
 m the coach with her. Then the bailiff, recorder, and burgesses, took 
 to their horses, and, marshalled by the heralds, rode two and two before 
 her majesty, till they brought her to the castle gate. The old Corpora¬ 
 tion Book, 1 from which these details are abstracted, does not omit to 
 record that the twelve principal burgesses were clad, on this occasion, 
 in gowns of puke colour, lined with satin and damask. The bailiff, in 
 a gown of scarlet, rode next her majesty, on the right hand of the lord 
 Compton, who was then high sheriff of the shire, and therefore would 
 have carried his rod up into the town, but was forbidden by the heralds 
 and gentlemen ushers, as contrary to etiquette on that occasion. 
 
 When her majesty reached the castle gate, they made a lane foi her 
 to pass through, who, viewing them w'ell, gave them thanks, and pro¬ 
 nounced them to be “a goodly and well-favoured company.” She re¬ 
 mained at Warwick from the Monday till the Wednesday, when she 
 commenced her journey to Kenilworth, leaving her household and train 
 at Warwick, and proceeded, by the north gate, through Mr. Thomas 
 Fisher’s grounds, and so by Woodloes, which is the fairest way to Kenil¬ 
 worth, where she remained from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, 
 as the guest of the earl of Leicester. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon, in his letters to his sovereign, speaks with great 
 satisfaction of the princely festivities with which he and his friend, La 
 Mole, were entertained by the earl at Kenilworth. The day after their 
 arrival, he and De la Mole had a private conference, of an hour and a 
 half, with the queen, on the subject of the proposal of the duke of 
 Alengon, in which she flattered them with deceitful hopes of consenting 
 to the marriage. After dinner, they all pursued the pastime of hunting 
 the hart, till night, in one of the parks. 
 
 On Saturday night, very late, Elizabeth returned to Warwick, and be¬ 
 cause she would see what cheer my lady of Warwick made, she entered 
 unexpectedly into Mr. Thomas Fisher’s house, where, finding them all 
 at supper, she sat down a little while, and, after a slight repast, rose 
 again, leaving the rest at supper, and went to visit the good man of the 
 house, Mr. Fisher, who was at that time grievously vexed with the gout, 
 but chose to be brought out of his chamber into the gallery, to pay his 
 duty to her majesty, and would have made an attempt to kneel to her, 
 but she prevented him, and comforted him with such gracious words, 
 that, forgetting his pain, he was on horseback to attend her majesty on 
 the following Monday, on her return to Kenilworth. 2 
 
 Meantime, however, she took up her abode in Warwick castle, where 
 it pleased her, on the Sunday, to have the country people come and 
 dance before her in the court of the castle, while she looked out from 
 her chamber window, which pleased them, and appeared to make her 
 very merry. On that day, the French ambassador and monsieur de la 
 Mole, having received despatches from their own court, with letters 
 from the royal family for her, came to wait upon her there. In her last 
 
 ‘MS. Black Book of Warwick. “Nichols’ Progresses 
 
 vol. vi. — 24 
 
27ft 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 letter, Elizabeth had intimated, that before the negotiations pioceeded 
 further, it was absolutely necessary that she should have a personal in¬ 
 terview with her youthful suitor, but the wily queen-mother — being 
 perfectly aware that unless Elizabeth could be induced to make a blind¬ 
 fold bargain, by plighting herself before she saw the prince, the match 
 would never take place—’opposed the projected meeting, as derogatory 
 to the dignity of her son, for him to come over to be looked at, at the 
 risk of being mocked wi h a rejection.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth, in reply to this objection, said, “she entreated that neither 
 the king of France, the queen-mother, nor the ambassador, would be¬ 
 lieve her to be capable of such baseness as to speak of an interview 
 with a prince of his high rank, if she were not disposed to marry him, 
 that it was long before she could overcome her reluctance to the wed¬ 
 ded state; and now she had gained that victory over herself, sh» was 
 disposed to use it for the purpose of strengthening the bonds of friend¬ 
 ship between the royal house of France and herself. That she desired 
 the said interview as much for the satisfaction of the duke, as for her 
 own; to the end, that he might not be compelled to espouse a woman 
 whom he could not love, and, on her own account, she wished to see 
 if she could be loved by him, and also if the disparity of his age, and 
 what had been reported of his face, were objections that might be over¬ 
 come, and if she could not have that satisfaction, then she must beg us 
 to tell the king and his mother, that the matter was at an end.” After 
 pronouncing these words, the queen remained silent and pensive. Then 
 the two subtle diplomatists endeavoured, by the following flattering 
 logic, to persuade her, “ that the disparity in age between herself and 
 their prince amounted to nothing, seeing that it was only the trifling 
 difference of nineteen years; and as her majesty, from her charms of 
 mind and person, appeared younger by ten years than she really was, 
 and monseigneur, the duke, in consequence of his fine manly figure and 
 good sense, had anticipated the other nine years in his age, and looked 
 full seven-and-twenty, they were placed on an equality .” 2 
 
 As for the interview, the king and queen of France were most anxious 
 that it should take place, if they could be certain of her majesty’s re¬ 
 maining in the mind to marry ; but as yet she had only given doubtful 
 and unsatisfactory answers, to the great discontent of the duke, and as 
 she had seen his portrait, and heard by many of her own people what 
 he was, it was necessary that she should return a more decided answer, 
 and, at any rate, that she would sanction another conference with the , 
 lords of her council on the subject. On this, she raised her head, and i 
 replied, with a more agreeable and cheerful countenance, “ that she was 
 content that the conference should take place, if only to prove to the 
 king of France how greatly she valued his friendship.” After insinuat¬ 
 ing that she felt more favourably disposed towards the marriage, “ she 
 withdrew,” says La Mothe, “ very gaily, to her chamber, telling Leices¬ 
 ter that we were to return and sup with her, and invited us herself. 
 When we came back, we found her playing on the spinet, and she con- 
 
 1 Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 a Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 279 
 
 tinned to play at our entreaty, and she played again to please the sieur 
 de la Mole. At supper, which was a sumptuous feast, she gave us, 
 before all the company, as many marks of favour as we could desire. 
 
 “ After she had drank to me, she sent the cup with what remained in 
 it to me, that 1 might pledge her, and wished much that she could ex¬ 
 change such agreeable messages with my lord the duke. She drank 
 also to the sieur de la Mole, with many other pleasant demonstrations 
 and courtesies, out of compliment to his master.' 
 
 “ When supper was concluded, at about nine in the evening, a for¬ 
 tress that was built up in a meadow, under the windows of the castle, 
 was assailed by a party of the youth of the court, and defended by an¬ 
 other party for a display of fireworks, which was a very fine spectacle; 
 and we remained with the said lady till about midnight to see the end 
 of it.” 
 
 There is a quaint and very elaborate description of this pageant in 
 the Black Book of the Warwick corporation, by which we learn that 
 there were two forts, of wood and canvass, erected on the temple ditch, 
 at convenient distances for assailing each other with squibs and fireballs, 
 one of the forts being manned by the towns-people, clad in such har¬ 
 ness as could be obtained by them, to maintain a warlike show ; the 
 other was defended by the earl of Oxford, with a band of the young 
 gentlemen of the court. And between the forts were planted twelve or 
 fourteen field-pieces, and as many mortars, which had been brought 
 from the Tower of London, at the expense of the earl of Warwick, 
 with which a most especial uproar was raised, in imitation of storming 
 a citadel. Then the earl of Oxford and his company, to the number of 
 two hundred, shot off calivers and arquebuses in return, and cast out 
 divers fires, ‘‘ terrible,” says the record, “ to those who have not been in 
 like experiences, valiant to such as delighted therein, and strange to 
 them that understood it not, for the wildfire falling into the river Avon, 
 would for a time lie still, and then again rise and fly abroad, casting 
 forth many flashes and flames, whereat the queen’s majesty took great 
 pleasure,” till she found her good town of Warwick was in some dan¬ 
 ger of being burned down, by this device for her honour and glory. 
 For at the last, a flying dragon, casting out huge flames and squibs, 
 lighted upon the fort and set fire to it, for its subversion ;■ it chanced 
 that a ball of fire fell on a house at the end of the bridge, and set fire 
 to the same, so that the good man and his wife, being both in bed and 
 asleep, were with great ado saved, but the house and everything in it 
 were consumed; and the flames spread to some of the adjoining dwell¬ 
 ings, which were with difficulty extinguished by the exertions of the 
 earl of Oxford, sir Fulk Greville, and others of the courtiers and towns¬ 
 people. 1 2 
 
 This combustion might be good pastime for the idle gallants of the 
 court, but it was no fun for the people of Warwick, who were in al¬ 
 most as much alarm and danger as if they had been bombarded by a 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v., p. 96. 
 
 a Black Book of Warwick. 
 
280 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 hostile army, with the fireballs flying about the town and falling on the 
 roofs of houses, and into their courts and back yards. Four houses 
 in the-town and suburbs were on fire at once, and it was next to a mira¬ 
 cle that no more mischief was done.' As La Mothe Fenelon does not 
 mention these accidents, it is probable that he might imagine the con¬ 
 flagrations were intended for a part of the show. 
 
 The next morning the queen sent for the poor old man and woman 
 whose house had been burned, and comforted them with many gracious 
 words ; and by her grace’s bounty and that of her courtiers, the sum 
 of twenty-five pounds twelve and sixpence was given towards the losses 
 of the sufferers, which, notwithstanding the relative value of money, 
 was rather a paltry subscription, considering the high rank of the par¬ 
 ties. 1 
 
 On the following day the subject of her majesty’s marriage was again 
 discussed, and she declared, “ that after having heard the opinions of 
 her council, she found herself in a greater perplexity than ever; for 
 though they all wished her to marry, they agreed with her, that it was 
 impossible to advance any further in the treaty till she should have seen 
 what manner of man the duke of Alenqon really was; and for herself, 
 she was determined not to judge of him by any other witness than that 
 of her own eyes; she was sure some ill would come of it if they mar¬ 
 ried without some previous affection, such as is usually acquired by 
 sight,” and she swore, “ by her Creator, that the doubts she felt made 
 her fear and repent of having gone so far .” 2 
 
 The following day, her majesty and the French envoys returned to 
 Kenilworth on horseback in company, “ sometimes as they went follow¬ 
 ing the chase, and between whiles pursuing the subject of the matrimo¬ 
 nial treaty, to our great satisfaction,” says the deluded La Mothe, who 
 appears, at that time, to have been actually persuaded by Elizabeth that 
 she was bent on marriage, and might be flattered into wedding the un¬ 
 suitable spouse they offered her. 
 
 He writes volumes to Charles IX. and the queen-mother, relating his 
 private conferences with Elizabeth, and the proceedings of her council 
 while at Kenilworth, on the subject of this alliance, assuring them, “ that 
 the queen is better disposed towards it than she has yet been.” He ex¬ 
 presses his satisfaction, in particular, for the good offices which he con¬ 
 siders have been rendered by the earl of Leicester in the negotiation, and 
 repeats his opinion that the latter should be rewarded with a wealthy 
 French heiress of the highest rank, in return for his services. 3 The 
 clear-headed Burleigh condensed the actual substance of all the frothy 
 compliments, affectations, and mystifications used by his royal mistress 
 in her discussions with the noble French diplomats, into the following 
 brief entry, which is inscribed by his own hand in his private diary:— 
 
 “August 2‘2d.—Answer given to La Mothe, at Kenilworth, when he 
 came to move marriage for Francis, duke of Alenqon, younger brother 
 to the French king: that there were two difficulties, one for difference 
 
 1 Black Book of Warwick. 
 
 ‘ Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 s Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 281 
 
 of religion, the other for their ages; but yet, that the articles moved in 
 his brother, the duke of Anjou’s case, might serve for him.” 
 
 Two days after this oracular sentence was inscribed by Burleigh, the 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew was perpetrated in Paris. The tidings of 
 this direful tragedy were received in England with feelings of generous 
 indignation, which rendered all ranks of the people ready to take up 
 arms, to avenge the murdered victims of the treacherous and profligate 
 Catherine de Medicis, and the abhorrent instruments of her atrocity. 
 The very name of a Frenchman was regarded with horror, and La Mothe 
 Fenelon, and his suite, felt themselves the objects of popular detestation, 1 
 though innocent of the slightest knowledge of the crime that had been 
 committed in the blood-stained metropolis of France. No one could be 
 more deeply mortified at the transaction than La Mothe himself, who 
 does not scruple to express, in plain terms, to his royal master his grief 
 and annoyance at what had taken place, and the disgraceful light in 
 which it had placed the monarch and people of France in the opinion of 
 the English. 
 
 Elizabeth at first declined giving audience to the luckless ambassador, 
 on whom the task devolved of making the most plausible story he could 
 in extenuation of this dreadful business. After taking three days to con¬ 
 sider whether she would see him or not, she at length decided on grant¬ 
 ing him an interview at Woodstock, where she was when the intelli¬ 
 gence reached her. She received him in her privy chamber, in the pre¬ 
 sence of the lords of the council, and the principal ladies of her court, 
 all of whom were, like herself, clad in the deepest mourning. A solemn 
 silence prevailed on his entrance, and after a brief pause, the queen ad¬ 
 vanced ten or twelve paces to receive him, with a grave, stern counte¬ 
 nance, but with her wonted courtesy; and leading him to a window, 
 apart from the rest, she said something apologetic for having delayed his 
 audience, and demanded of him, “ if it were possible that the strange 
 news she had heard of the prince whom she so much loved, honoured, 
 and confided in of all the world, could be true?” 2 
 
 La Mothe told her,that in truth he had come to lament with her 
 over the sad accident that had just occurred, to the infinite regret of the 
 king, who had been compelled, for the security of his life, and that of 
 the queen, his mother, and his two brothers, to put down the sedition 
 ind traitorous plots of those who had confederated against him many 
 vigil and horrible treasons, and that what he had done, was as painful to 
 tiin as if he had cut off one of his arms to preserve the rest of his 
 rodv.” 
 
 Elizabeth inquired, with eager curiosity, into the particulars; and 
 amented that the king had not proceeded against the admiral, and his 
 idherents, according to the laws which punish treason ; observing, “ that 
 ilthough she had been unable to accept his majesty for a husband, she 
 vould always love and revere him as if she were his wife; that she was 
 nfinitelv jealous of his honour, and believed that it was neither accord- 
 ng to his disposition, nor from any premeditation of his own that these 
 
 'Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v., p. 123. 
 
 24 * 
 
 2 Ibid., 123, 124 
 
232 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 murders had happened; but from some strange accident, which time 
 would elucidate.” 1 
 
 The convenient term “ accident” was afterwards adopted by Elizabeth 
 herself, on an occasion, when, as in the case of the royal culprits of St. 
 Bartholomew, it implied an equivocating denial of a crime too black to 
 be acknowledged or defended by the perpetrator. 
 
 The French ambassador, notwithstanding the trepidation with which 
 he had entered the presence of Elizabeth, and the chill which her first 
 reception had given him, took courage, before the audience ended, to 
 present her with a love-letter from the duke of Alenqon, and she re¬ 
 ceived it willingly, and read it witli apparent satisfaction. She said, 
 however, “that it had been her intention to send the most honourable 
 ambassador that had been seen in France for a long time, to show her 
 respect for the most Christian queen, on the occasion of the birth of her 
 first child, which was soon expected ; but that, now, she should take care 
 that neither Leicester nor Burleigh went, knowing how much their deaths 
 were desired by the persons who were the instigators of what had taken 
 place at Paris.” 
 
 On leaving the queen, La Mothe had to go over the same slippery 
 ground in explanations to the lords of her council, who were far from 
 taking the matter as easily as their mistress had done. They would not 
 hear of accidents or mistakes, but declared that the recent massacre was, 
 without doubt, the most enormous crime that had been committed since 
 the death of Jesus Christ, and loudly condemned the treachery and 
 cruelty of those by whom it had been planned and executed. 
 
 In a letter to the king his master, dated September 29th, La Mothe 
 describes the mortifying situation in which he and all his countrymen 
 were placed in England, and says, “ that no one will speak to him but 
 the queen, who treats him with her accustomed urbanity.” 2 
 
 Not more atrocious, however, was the ruthless fanaticism, which 
 prompted the butcher-work by which the day of St. Bartholomew was 
 for ever rendered a watchword of reproach against Catholics, than the 
 murderous spirit of cruelty and injustice which led the professors of the 
 reformed faith to clamour for the blood of the captive Mary Stuart, as a 
 victim to the manes of the slaughtered Protestants. Sandys, bishop of 
 London, in a letter to Burleigh, enclosed a paper of measures, which he 
 deemed expedient for the good of the realm, and the security of his 
 royal mistress at that crisis, beginning with this startling article, “Forth¬ 
 with to cut off the Scottish queen’s head.” 3 Burleigh endeavoured to 
 prevail on Elizabeth to follow this sanguinary counsel, telling her, “ that 
 it was the only means of preventing her own deposition and murder.” 
 It is easy at all times to persuade hatred that revenge is an act of 
 justice. 
 
 Elizabeth was beset by tempters of no common plausibility; men 
 who had always a scripture text in readiness, to quiet the divine witness 
 of conscience against crime. She had resisted their previous solicita- 
 
 1 Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v., pp. 127, 128. 
 
 a Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. 
 
 8 Ellis’ Royal Letters, 2d series, vol. iii., j>. 25. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 283 
 
 tions to take the life of her defenceless captive, and placed her refusal 
 on high and noble grounds; but her resolves, whether in good or evil, 
 wero easily shaken. Her passions were stronger than her principles, 
 and were excited without difficulty by persons of cooler temperaments 
 than herself. Sooner or later, the inflexible Burleigh always carried his 
 point with his stormy mistress. He had terrified her with plots and 
 tumours of plots, till he succeeded in convincing her that she was in the 
 utmost danger from the murderous machinations of Mary Stuart, and 
 that it would be desirable to deprive her enemies of a rallying point, by 
 putting that unfortunate lady to death. 
 
 Elizabeth shrunk from the idea of staining her hands with royal 
 blood; but, like many others, had no objection to sin by deputy. A 
 darker and more treacherous expedient than either a private or a judicial 
 murder, in her own realm, was concocted between Burleigh, Leicester, 
 and herself, as “ the most convenient method of ridding herself,” as Mr. 
 Tytler observes, “ of her hated and dangerous prisoner.” 1 The Scotch 
 had sold her fugitive rebel, the earl of Northumberland, into her hands, 
 that she might execute her vengeance upon him; and Elizabeth, in 
 return, proposed, not to sell, but to resign their injured sovereign into 
 the cruel hands of Morton and the regent Marr, to be dealt with in the 
 way of justice —words which were tantamount to Cromwell’s private 
 memorandum, “to send such and such persons to London, to be tried 
 and executed.” There was, indeed, to be the mockery of a trial, but 
 then the children or near kinsfolk of Morton and Marr, were to be put 
 into the hands of the English queen, as hostages, that, trial or not, the 
 execution of Mary was to take place within four hours after she was 
 given up to their tender mercies. 
 
 The details of this iniquitous pact, are clearly and succinctly related 
 by Mr. Tytler, and the actual documents may be seen in the State Paper 
 Office. 2 The instructions for Killigrew, to whom the arrangement of 
 “ the great matter ,” as it was significantly termed by the diplomatic ac¬ 
 complices, was committed, are in Burleigh’s own hand. 3 The muni¬ 
 ments of history afford not a more disgraceful document; nor has the 
 light of truth ever unveiled a blacker mass of evidence, than the cor¬ 
 respondence between Killigrew and Burleigh and Leicester, during the 
 negotiation. 
 
 Mary had, however, ceased to be an object of alarm to the rebel 
 lords; and even her deadly foe, Morton, the wily accomplice in Darn- 
 ley’s murder, would not undertake the office of the queen of England’s 
 hangman without a fee. Why should he and the regent Marr sell their 
 souls for nought? They demanded money of the parsimonious Eliza¬ 
 beth— a yearly stipend withal, no less than the amount of the sum it 
 cost her majesty for the safe-keeping of her royal prisoner. The dark 
 treaty was negotiated in the sick-chamber of the guilty Morton, with 
 the ardent approbation of the dying Knox; and, after nearly six weeks’ 
 lemur, the regent Marr gave consent, but was immediately stricken with 
 
 ’History of Scotland, vol. vii. M 3 Ibid., p. 310 
 
 •MS. State Papers, in September, October, November, December, 1572, and in 
 1573. 
 
‘284 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 a mortal illness, and died at the end of twenty-four hours. Morton in¬ 
 sisted on higher terms, and, more than that, an advantageous treaty, and 
 the presence of three thousand English troops, under the command of 
 the earls of Huntingdon, Essex, and Bedford, to assist at the execution, 
 otherwise he would not undertake it. 1 
 
 The last condition could not be conceded, for Elizabeth’s share in the 
 transaction was to be kept secret; and for the honour of the English 
 character, it is doubtful whether three thousand men could have been 
 found willing to assist at so revolting a tragedy. Eagerly as Burleigh 
 thirsted for the blood of Mary Stuart, he dared not venture the experi¬ 
 ment ; but, in his bitter disappointment at the failure of his project, he 
 wrote to Leicester that the queen must now fall back upon her last re¬ 
 source, for the safety of herself and kingdom:— 
 
 “ God send her majesty,” continues he, “ strength of spirit to preserve God’s 
 cause, her own life, and the lives of millions of good subjects, all which are most 
 manifestly in danger, and that only by her delays; and so consequently she shall 
 be the cause of the overthrow of a noble crown and realm,- which shall be a 
 prey to all that can invade it. God be merciful to us!” * * 8 
 
 Some natural doubts must be felt, by those who have traced the long- 
 hidden mysteries of these murderous intrigues, whether the person by 
 whom they were devised, could have believed in the existence of that 
 all-seeing Judge, whose name he so frequently repeats to his accom¬ 
 plice, in this cowardly design against the life of a persecuted and de¬ 
 fenceless woman. 
 
 The worthy Matthew Parker, archbishop of Canterbury, to whom 
 Elizabeth was very dear, not only as his sovereign, and the bulwark of 
 the Protestant church, but as the daughter of his unfortunate patroness, 
 Anne Boleyn, wrote to Burleigh a marvellous account of the sayings of 
 “a strange body,” as he called some insane foreign incendiary, whom 
 the mayor of Dover had apprehended and conducted to London, for 
 vising expressions touching the queen, Leicester, and Hatton, such as 
 Mr. Mayor durst not commit to paper, but was ready to whisper to the 
 premier, if he would give him the opportunity. The “ strange body” 
 had a brother in Calais, who had also said, “ that he trusted to hear of 
 as many throats cut in England, that winter, as had been in France, and 
 that, within the twelvemonth, he doubted not but Henry’s bones, and 
 maislres Elizabeth’s too, should be openly burned in Smilhfield.” 3 Not¬ 
 withstanding all this perilous talking, the “ strange body” had been dis¬ 
 charged, and allowed to return to his own friends, being in all proba¬ 
 bility a wandering lunatic, not worth the trouble of subjecting to the 
 torture. 
 
 The recent outrages on the Protestants in France, while they furnished 
 Elizabeth’s cabinet with an excuse for advocating the murder of Mary 
 Stuart, rendered the negotiations for the queen’s marriage with a Catholic 
 prince most distasteful to the people of England; but though apparently 
 at an end, they were still carried on, sub rosa , between Elizabeth and 
 
 1 Tytler’s ScotlaruUState Paper MSS. 
 
 3 MS. Brit. Mus.’*Caligula, e. in., fot. 386. 
 
 8 Wright's Elizabeth and her Times, vol. i 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 285 
 
 the court of France, through the agency of monsieur de la Mothe. On 
 the 11th of September, the queen-mother wrote to that statesman, ap¬ 
 parently in reply to his recommendation of the English quack, who had 
 undertaken to eradicate the traces of the small-pox, “ I have seen the 
 physician, Penna, but the visage of my son, Alengon, is much amended, 
 and does amend every day; but I must be well certified that the said 
 physician uses medicines such as I can see by writing what he does, so 
 
 that it is evident he will do no harm.The said doctor can easily 
 
 practise upon a page, and, if it does well, he can use his remedies on 
 my son.” Such were the private communications between England and 
 France, when Elizabeth seemed publicly indignant for the massacre of 
 St Bartholomew. 1 
 
 When La Mothe Fenelon communicated this interesting piece of in¬ 
 formation to Elizabeth, she said, “ that she was astonished, considering 
 the great love that Catherine had always shown for her children, that 
 she had not sooner endeavoured to remove so great a disfigurement as 
 the scars which marred the countenance of the duke of Aleriqon.” 
 
 Two or three days after this conversation, Elizabeth herself was 
 attacked with the same malady, which had left such frightful traces of 
 its ravages on the visage of her unlucky little suitor. The whole court 
 were in a state of alarm, and Leicester again took upon himself the 
 office of watching her sick-bed, 2 till the favourable nature of the symp¬ 
 toms relieved her ministers from the alarming apprehension of their 
 being deprived of their beloved sovereign, and the yet more painful con¬ 
 tingency of seeing her sceptre pass into the hands of Mary Stuart. The 
 disease, however, passed lightly over Elizabeth, and she thus describes 
 it in a letter to the earl of Shrewsbury, who, not without cause, had 
 expressed great anxiety to be certified of her majesty’s state :— 
 
 “Red spots began to appear in our face, like to be the small-pox ; but, thanks 
 be to Almighty God, the same vanished away.” 
 
 She concludes, in her own hand— 
 
 “ My faithful Shrewsbury, let not grief touch your heart for fear of my disease, 
 for I assure you, if my credit were not greater than my show, there is no beholder 
 would believe that I had been touched with such a malady. 
 
 “Your faithful sovereign, 
 
 “ Eliz. Reg.” 
 
 When Elizabeth gave audience to the French ambassador, she thanked 
 him for his attention during her late malady of the small-pox, and told 
 him, “ that the last time he was at WAndsor, she had the stomach-ache, 
 front taking a little mithridate, but she had given him permission to see 
 her now, because he would be able to give their majesties of France a 
 Setter account of her illness adding, playfully, “ that she believed that 
 when monseigneur, the duke, came to hear of it, he would wish that 
 she had had just enough of it left on her face to prevent them from re- 
 sroaching one another.” 
 
 ‘Letter of Catherine de Medicis, Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vii, 
 >. 340. 
 
 ’“Her majesty hath been very sick this night,” writes Sir Thomas Smith to 
 lurleigh, “so that my lord of Leicester did watch with her all night.” 
 
•286 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The complaisant ambassador replied in a high-flown strain of compli¬ 
 ment, “that the king of France, monseigneur, the duke, and all con¬ 
 nected with that crown, desired entirely the preservation of her surpass¬ 
 ing endowments, regarding her beauty no less than those which adorned 
 her greatness, and that they would have infinite pleasure in learning from 
 his next despatch that she was so perfectly cured of this malady, that it 
 ..had not left a vestige or trace on her countenance.” 1 
 
 His excellency added a piece of gratuitous flattery on his own account, 
 which, from its excessive grossness, would have been regarded by any 
 lady less vain than Elizabeth, as downright impertinence. “ That for 
 his own part, he rejoiced, no less at the accident than the cure, for it 
 was a sort of malady which showed that her youth was not yet passed, 
 nor ready to pass away for a long time, and that it had so greatly im¬ 
 proved her charms, that she could never be in a better plight for matri¬ 
 mony than at present, nor more likely to fulfil the hopes of the nation, 
 by continuing her illustrious line therefore, he besought her no longer 
 to delay her own happiness, but to come to a favourable decision on the 
 proposal of the duke. 2 
 
 She rejoined, with a smile, “ That she had not expected that his ex¬ 
 cellency had come to speak on that subject, just then; but rather to an¬ 
 nounce the accouchement of the most Christian queen, for already there 
 was a report in London that she had borne a fair son, and she prayed to 
 God that it might be so.” The report was unfounded, for the queen of 
 France brought forth a daughter on the 27th of October. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon waited on Elizabeth to announce to her the birth 
 of the little princess, to assure her of the continued devotion of the 
 duke of Alentjon, to inquire her intentions with regard to his proposal, 
 and to inform her of the sentence passed by the parliament of France 
 against the late admiral and his confederates, Briquemont and Cavagnes 
 The last two had been executed in the presence of the king, his mother, 
 brethren, and the king of Navarre, by torch-light, the same day that the 
 young queen of France had made the sanguinary monarch, Charles IX.. 
 the father of his first-born child. 
 
 Elizabeth was already well informed of a fact that had filled even 
 heart with horror and disgust; and in her reply to the ambassador, she 
 alluded to the circumstance with dignified and deserved censure. She 
 said, “ that his majesty could not have wished more for the safety of tin 
 queen, and her happy delivery, than she had done; that she could have 
 desired that his felicity had been rendered more complete by the bird 
 of a dauphin, but, nevertheless, the little princess would be very wel¬ 
 come in the world, and she prayed God to give her happiness equal t( 
 her illustrious rank and descent; and as she felt assured that she wouli 
 be fair and good, she regretted that her royal father should have pollute( 
 the day of her birth by so sad a spectacle, as that which his majesty 
 had gone to see in the Greve;” and called upon the ambassador for a> 
 explanation of that circumstance. 
 
 • Heartily ashamed of the conduct of his sovereign, and too honest t 
 
 ’ Dep£ches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v., p. 184. 
 
 ! Ibid., vol. v. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 287 
 
 defend it, La Mothe Fenelon only observed, “that the day had been 
 marked by some evil, as well as much happiness; and that his master 
 would not have assisted at such an act, if he had not had the example 
 of other great kings on similar occasions.” 1 
 
 In respect to the duke of Alengon, Elizabeth said “ that she had not 
 yet received a reply to the last proposition that had been made by her 
 ambassador, for which she had long waited; and that the picture of the 
 state of France, as represented by him, filled her with extreme horror, 
 for it seemed that everything was done against those of her own religion. 
 As for the condemnation of the admiral and the others, if their ruin 
 were the safety of the king of France, no one could be more glad than 
 herself that they were dead.” 
 
 On the 12th of November, Michel de Castelnau, sieur de Mauvissiere, 
 came over to solicit Elizabeth to accept the office of godmother to the 
 infant princess of France, in conjunction with the empress. She gave 
 him his first audience at Hampton Court; on which occasion lie was 
 presented by La Mothe Fenelon, and was most graciously received by 
 the queen. He was the bearer of five letters to her majesty—’from the 
 king, the queen, the queen-mother, monsieur, and the duke of Alengon. 
 The first four he delivered to her majesty after he had recited his cre¬ 
 dence, but reserved that from Alengon till after the business, on which 
 he came, had been discussed. The queen expressed her full apprecia¬ 
 tion of the compliment that was paid her on this occasion, and said, 
 “ that she took it as an especial mark of the king’s friendship, that he 
 should wish her to be his gossip (commere), for which she begged to 
 thank him, and the royal mother, grandmother, and uncles of the petite 
 madame , with much affection.” She then made particular inquiries, as 
 to what would be done by the empress on this occasion, and what 
 princess she would send as her representative to perform this office for 
 her; and went on to say, “ that, for herself, she was at a loss for a per¬ 
 son of sufficient rank to send on her part.” 
 
 The countess of Lenox, as her nearest relation, and the first lady of 
 the blood royal, would have been a proper substitute on this occasion; 
 out her immediate connexion with the queen of Scots, and the infant 
 iing James, deterred Elizabeth from allowing her to proceed to France; 
 ind to prevent the possibility of jealousy of any other lady of the 
 •ourt, whom she might have selected for this office, Elizabeth chose to 
 >e represented by a male proxy, at the baptism of the infant princess of 
 ‘’ranee. William Somerset, earl of Worcester, a Catholic, was the 
 lobleman despatched by her on this mission; and her godmother’s gift 
 vas a font of pure gold. 
 
 The queen kept her wily statesman, Walsingham, in France, as her 
 mbassador, while her absurd marriage treaty was negotiating. He was 
 ager for his recall, and his wife beset the queen, frequently with tears 
 nd lamentations, that she would permit him to come back. At last the 
 lerk of the council, sir Thomas Smith, obtained a promise to that 
 ffect, in a dialogue related by him, in which he gives a glimpse of 
 
 1 Dep6ches de la Mothe Fenelon, vol. v., p. 205, 206. 
 
288 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 queen Elizabeth at her council board, not in the formal discussion of 
 business, but in a little familiar chat, while official papers were receiving 
 her signature:— 
 
 “At the signing of her majesty’s letters to you,” writes he to Wal 
 singham, “ this morning, I said to the queen—• 
 
 “ 4 Madam, my lord ambassador looks now to have some word from 
 your majesty, respecting his return : it would comfort him very much.’ 
 
 “ 4 Well,’ said the queen, 4 he shall come.’ 
 
 “‘Yea,’ quoth 1, 4 but the poor gentleman is almost dismayed; your 
 majesty hath heard enough with what grief he doth tarry there.’ 
 
 44 4 Well,’ said the queen, 4 you may write to him that he shall come 
 home shortly—we think, with my lord of Worcester.’ 
 
 44 1 said, 4 indeed my lord’s train would be the more honourable, if he 
 had one ambassador to go with him, and another to return with him.’ 
 
 44 4 Yea,’ saith her majesty, 4 but there be some make excuses that they 
 would not go ; but their excuses shall not serve them.’ 
 
 44 1 thanked her majesty, and came my ways; for she hasted to 4 go 
 a-walking with her ladies, because it was a frost.’ It was in the plea- 
 sances of Hampton Court she was anxious to walk, that 4 frosty Decem¬ 
 ber morning.’ She hath appointed Mr. Carew, as the French ambassa- 
 bor, ‘but he maketh great labour to the contrary, by her ladies of the 
 privy chamber; yet, as 1 perceive by her last speech, he is to succeed 
 you.’ Yet, in the same letter, he says of the queen, 4 ye knowhow 
 long we be here a-resolving, and how easy to be altered.’ ” 1 
 
 Walsingham was still detained; Sir Thomas Smith, whom he had 
 urged to plead for the appointment of a substitute, writes thus to Bur¬ 
 leigh on the subject: 2 — 44 1 once again have moved the queen’s majest) 
 for Mr. Dale’s going, and still she saith, 4 there are other matters betweer 
 her highness and the duke (d’Alenqon), which it is not fit Dale shouh 
 be made privy unto.’ Howsoever the matter is, I know not the reason 
 but, I perceive,’as yet, neither his preparation, nor the loss which he r 
 like to sustain, nor the grief of Mr. Walsingham, can make her majest' 
 sign anything that appertaineth to his going.” Smith went on tell th 
 queen that he had expressed a wish to Burleigh, that he would return 
 44 Beshrew you,” said she, 44 why did you sena for him ?” 44 Marry,’ 
 
 replied the secretary, 44 madam, I did wish he were here at the departinj 
 of my lord of Worcester, to make perfect all things; first with France 
 and then with my lord of Desmond into Ireland.” 44 Why,” rejoine 
 the queen, 44 1 knew before, he would take physic at London, and the 
 recreate himself awhile at Tongs. 1 beshrew you, for sending for him. 
 
 44 There is no hurt done,” quoth the secretary, again ; 44 madam, I wi 
 send him word again this night, what your majesty doth say; and 
 think then he will not be hasty to come, although I wish he were hen 
 And then,” continued he, 44 1 had begun some instructions for my lor 
 of Worcester, if any such questions were asked of him; for such 
 nobleman may not seem to be dumb, or ignorant of your highness 
 
 1 Perfect Ambassador, by Sir D. Digges. Letter of Sir T. Smith to Walsinghar 
 p. 301, December 11, 1572. 
 
 s Smith’s Letter to Burleigh, in Wright, vol, i., p. 449. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 289 
 
 pleasure, in such things as may be asked. Otherwise, I think it be not 
 your majesty’s pleasure that he should meddle in those—'that is, for the 
 French that be here, the marriage, and the traffic.” All these her ma¬ 
 jesty liked well, but woman-like, said, “ that she would have the mar- 
 ■iage first.” After Smith had submitted to her majesty some other mat¬ 
 ers of business, she bade him tell Burleigh, “ that the count Montgomeri, 
 ind the vidame, had been with her, and urged her to send Hawkins, or 
 some other, with a supply of powder to Rochelle, for the besieged Hu¬ 
 guenots, under colour of its being driven there by stress of weather; 
 but,” she said, “ that she knew not how to do that, having been solicit¬ 
 ed by the French ambassador not to aid them.” “Her majesty,” adds 
 Smith, “ prays you to think of it, and devise how it may be done, for 
 she thinks it necessary; and if it were done, count Montgomeri possi- 
 jly would end his life there, being weary of this idle life here.” 1 
 In this brief detail of the consultation between Elizabeth and he: 
 secretary of state, given by himself, to his colleague, Burleigh, we have 
 i specimen of her manner of transacting business, with her ministers, 
 ind a proof of the twofold treachery of her political conduct. She could 
 lot send the supplies to the gallant Rochellers, without infringing her 
 iiendly treaty with the king of France; but she is desirous that Bur- 
 eigh should devise some underhand method of sending it; nevertheless, 
 lot from zeal to the cause of protestantism, but in the hope that she 
 nay, by that means, get rid of her inconvenient friend, the Huguenot 
 gitator, Montgomeri. 
 
 When the earl of Worcester, and the splendid ambassade she had 
 ominissioned to assist at the christening of the little princess of France, 
 ailed, the Huguenots, despairing of further encouragement from queen 
 Elizabeth, sent a squadron to sea, for the purpose of intercepting her 
 iivoy, and making spoil of the rich presents with which his ship was 
 ■eighted. They narrowly missed their object, but took and plundered 
 >vo of the attendant vessels, and killed some of the passengers. 2 
 Elizabeth was much exasperated at this outrage; but as it was at- 
 ibuted to pirates, she sent a fleet to clear the channel of all cruisers, 
 nd utterly refused to assist the brave Rochellers with further supplies, 
 lie was now on the most affectionate terms with those betcs noirs of 
 istory—Catherine de Medicis, and Charles IX., and appeared to regard 
 le hopeful boy, Alengon, as her future husband. She again discussed 
 le expediency of an interview, and received his letters with all due re- 
 ard. The reader will probably have no objection to see a specimen 
 the style in which Elizabeth was addressed at this period, by her 
 nail suitor:— 
 
 Francois, Duke of Alen$on, to Elizabeth, Queen of England. 
 
 “ Madame, 
 
 b Whatsoever I have seen or heard of the declaration yon have made of your 
 od affection towards our marriage, has given me extreme pleasure and con- 
 ttment, and also, that it lias pleased you to appoint an interview between you 
 d I, which is a thing that I have so much at heart, that I can think of nothing 
 t to do all that may be possible for me to enjoy, instantly, this satisfaction, as 
 
 Letter of Smith to Burleigh, in Wright. 
 VOL. VI.-25 T 
 
 Camden 
 
290 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 [ have had, for a length of time, the wish of offering very humble and agreeable 
 setvice, in order to participate in your good graces ; of this I have always as 
 sured you by my letters, but I desire to confirm it to you by word of mouth, if it 
 be the will of God that this interview should take place; the which I hope w>ll 
 be in such a manner, and so favourable, that it will not pass over without the 
 utmost pleasure to us both, as well as an advancement that will lead this nego¬ 
 tiation to a good conclusion. The sieur de la Mothe Fenelon, ambassador of the 
 king, my lord and brother, resident near you, has charge to inform you of some 
 particular matters; to him I remit them. 
 
 “I will not make this letter longer than to say, that I kiss your hands very 
 humbly, and to pray God, madame, that he will have you in his holy keeping. 
 
 “From St. Germain en Laye, the xx. of February. 
 
 “ Your very obedient brother, to do you service, 
 
 “ FRiXCOYS.” 1 
 
 The apparent earnestness of this and other letters, written by Alengon 
 to Elizabeth and her ministers, induced her, at length, to signify her 
 consent for him to come to England. Scarcely had she done so, when 
 the election of his brother Henry to the throne of Poland, caused a 
 sudden change in her purpose. When the French ambassador, La 
 Mothe, informed her of this event, she expressed the utmost amazement 
 at the news; and, after offering her congratulations, she asked many 
 questions, in a breath, on the subject, such as, “ whether the emperor 
 would take offence; whether the new king would make war against the 
 Turks, or against the Muscovites; if he intended to espouse the princess 
 of Poland; and if he would leave the siege of Rochelle to go there 
 This last, indeed, he did, in a manner inconsistent with his honour as a 
 general, and his duty to his royal brother. The young Alen^on suc¬ 
 ceeded to the command, but neither possessed his military talents, his 
 experience, nor the confidence of the army. 
 
 Alen^on wrote many love-letters to the queen, from the camp before 
 Rochelle, reiterating his desire to come and throw himself at her feet. 1 
 Elizabeth replied, “ that her people liked not the business in which he 
 was engaged, and if he came to woo her with his sword stained wit! 
 protestant blood, he would be regarded by her subjects with horror 
 that neither she nor they could forget the massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 which had been perpetrated at a marriage festival.” She ended by court 
 selling him to use his influence to mediate a peace between the contend 
 ing parties in France. Young as he was, Alentjon was already con 
 sidered a troublesome member of the royal house of France, and hai 
 acquired the jealousy and ill-will of his two elder brothers, who wen 
 most anxious to see him removed to England. It had been predicted t< 
 Catherine de Medicis, by a soothsayer, that all her children were bon 
 to become kings. Francis and Charles had successively worn the rega 
 garland of France; Henri was elected king of Poland,—what, then, re 
 mained to fulfil the augury, but the marriage of Alen$on with the quee 
 of England ? 
 
 From first to last, there was, however, a suspicion that Elizabeth' 
 
 1 I am indebted to the kindness of H. Symonds, Esq., of Exeter, for the con 
 munication of this curious royal love-letter, from the Rawlinson MSS. in Bodleia 
 Library, Oxford. 
 
 “ Depeches de la Mothe Fenelon. ’Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 291 
 
 preference for Leicester was the great obstacle whicn prevented her from 
 concluding the matrimonial treaty with the young French prince. Mau- 
 vissiere ventured to hint as much to the queen, during his embassy in 
 1573. “Tell your master,” replied Elizabeth, “that I will never con¬ 
 descend to marry my subject, or make him my companion.” The court 
 of France, after this right royal declaration, despatched a special envoy, 
 of high rank, Chateauneuf, to solicit the queen to grant a safe-cor.duct 
 for the royal youth to come and woo her in person, and the young gen¬ 
 tleman seconded the request with letters, which, to use Castelnau’s ex¬ 
 pression, “might have softened a frozen rock,”-—they only increased 
 the irresolution of Elizabeth. 1 
 
 The state of the maiden court, during the merry month of May, is 
 thus described by the gossiping pen of Gilbert Talbot, in a letter to the 
 earl of Shrewsbury, his father. It presents anything but a pleasing pic¬ 
 ture of the jealousies, intrigues, and malignant spirit of scandal then 
 subsisting among the gorgeous dames and statesmen, young and old, by 
 whom the last of the Tudor monarchs was surrounded :— 
 
 “ My lord of Leicester is very much with her majesty, and she shows 
 him the same great good affection she was wont; of late, he has en¬ 
 deavoured to please her more than heretofore. There are two sisters 
 now in the court that are very far in love with him, as they long have 
 been; my lady Sheffield 2 3 and Frances Howard, they (striving who shall 
 love him the best) are at great wars with each other, and the queen 
 thinketh not well of them, and not the better of him : for this reason 
 there are spies over him. My lord of Oxford is lately grown into great 
 credit, for the queen’s majesty delighteth more in his person, his danc¬ 
 ing, and his valiantness, than any other. I think the earl of Sussex 
 doth back him all he can, and were it not for his (Oxford’s) fickle head, 
 he would pass all of them shortly. My lady Burleigh has declared 
 herself, as it were, jealous. (My lady Burleigh’s daughter had married 
 Oxford, who used her cruelly ; she was, probably, jealous of the queen’s 
 coquetries with her daughter’s husband.) The queen has not been a 
 little offended with her, but now she is reconciled. At all these love 
 matters, my lord treasurer, Burleigh, winketh, and will not meddle any 
 way.” 
 
 “ Sir Christopher Hatton, vice-chamberlain,” pursues young Talbot, 
 “is sick still: it is thought he will hardly recover his disease; the queen 
 goeth almost every day to see how he doth. Now, there are devices 
 (chiefly by Leicester) to make Mr. Edward Dyer as great as ever was 
 Hatton : for now, in this time of Hatton’s sickness, the time is con¬ 
 venient. Dyer was lately sick of a consumption, in great danger, and 
 (as your lordship knows) has been in disgrace this two years. The 
 
 1 A curious specimen of the characteristic “ she would and she would not” of 
 this princess, appears in a recently discovered letter of instruction, written by 
 her on the subject of this safe-conduct for the duke d’Alenson, to Dr. Dale, one 
 of her resident ministers at Paris, for which we are indebted to the learned re¬ 
 
 search of Francis Worship, Esq.—Archoeologia, vol. xxviii., pp. 393—398. 
 
 3 Daughters of lord William Howard of F.ffingham. The secret marriage of 
 Leicester with lady Sheffield took place soon after 
 
292 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 queen was made to believe that his sickness came because of her dis¬ 
 pleasure towards him, so that unless she would forgive him, he was not 
 like to recover; and hereupon her majesty has forgiven him, and sent 
 unto him a very comfortable message. Now he has recovered again, 
 and this is the beginning of the device. These things I hear of such 
 young fellows as myself.” 
 
 AVe are told by Howes, in his edition of Stowe, that in the 15th year 
 of Elizabeth’s reign, Edward Vere, earl of Oxford, presented her with a 
 pair of gloves ornamented with four tufts of rose-coloured silk, and so 
 deliciously scented, that she called it “ the earl of Oxford’s perfume 
 and when she sat for her portrait invariably wore those favourite orna¬ 
 ments. This weak-minded young peer, presuming on the favour of the 
 queen, and his all-powerful position, as the son-in-law of Burleigh, 
 grossly insulted the accomplished sir Philip Sidney, before the French 
 ambassador, in the Tennis-court, by calling him a puppy. Sir Philip 
 retorted, with cutting scorn, “ that all the world knew that dogs were 
 the parents of puppies,” and added his defiance. Oxford had no incli¬ 
 nation to measure swords with the gallant Sidney, and the privy council 
 interfered to prevent the encounter, but, as Sidney insisted on an apolo¬ 
 gy, or personal satisfaction, her majesty was entreated to interpose. 
 
 Elizabeth sent for sir Philip, and told him “ that there was a great 
 difference in degree, between earls and private gentlemen, and that 
 princes were bound to support the nobility, and to insist on their being 
 treated with proper respect.” Sir Philip replied, with a noble spirit of 
 independence, “ that place was never intended to privilege wrong—wit¬ 
 ness herself, who, sovereign though she were, must be content to govern 
 by the laws.” In respect to his adversary’s superior station, he be¬ 
 sought her majesty to remember, “ that, although the earl were a great 
 lord, yet was he no lord over him, and that the difference of degrees 
 between free men entitled him of the highest rank to no other homage 
 than precedency.” He then reminded her of her father’s policy, in 
 giving the gentry free and safe appeal to the throne against the oppres¬ 
 sion of the grandees, finding it wisdom, by the stronger combination of 
 numbers, to keep down the greater in power. 
 
 Elizabeth testified no displeasure at the boldness of her intrepid young 
 courtier, yet he soon after retired into the country, where he employed 
 his leisure in the composition of his elegant romance, the “ Arcadia.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth left Greenwich, on the 14th of July, for her summer pro¬ 
 gress into Kent. Her first visit was to archbishop Parker, at Croydon, 
 where she spent a week, and then proceeded to Orpington, the seat of 
 
 1 The moral beauty of the sentiments set forth by the illustrious Sidney, in the 
 “Arcadia.” affords a noble contrast to the Machiavelian policy that ruled the 
 court and cabinet of Elizabeth. Two attractive little volumes, of exquisite max¬ 
 ims, have been culled, by the accomplished author of “ Thaddeus of AVarsaw,” 
 flora the writings of Sir Philip Sidney, enriched with her own editorial notes 
 and observations, and were, many years ago, published under the title of “The 
 Aphorisms of Sir Philip Sidney.” It is with great pleasure we learn, that Miss 
 Jane Porter is preparing a new edition of this beautiful work, with many addi¬ 
 tions, which will soon be forthcoming. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 293 
 
 sir Percival Hart. “ She was welcomed, at this mansion, by a nymph, 
 who personated the genius of the house, and was conducted through 
 several chambers, contrived to represent, by scenic effect, the panorama 
 of a sea fight, ‘ which,’ says the quaint topographer, by whom the inci¬ 
 dent is recorded, ‘ so much obliged the eye of this princess, with the 
 charms of delight, that, on leaving the house, she bestowed on its mas¬ 
 ter the soubriquet of ‘ Barque Hart,’ in allusion to the barques and ships 
 she had seen in his pageant.” 1 
 
 After praising the hospitality of the loyal squires of Kent, Elizabeth 
 entered Sussex, and, on the 9th of August, reached the house of Mr. 
 Guildford. The modern tourist will scarcely forbear from smiling at 
 the following marvellous description, from the pen of Burleigh, of the 
 perils of Elizabeth’s journey through these counties :—“ The queen had 
 a hard beginning of her progress in the wild of Kent, and, lately, in 
 some part of Sussex, where surely were more dangerous rocks and val¬ 
 leys, and much worse ground than in the peak.” 2 They were then 
 bending towards the Rye, on the way to Dover, which was to be the 
 next resting-place, and where the premier trusted to have amends for 
 their rugged pilgrimage. 
 
 Either at Mr. Guildford’s house, or at Dover, Elizabeth gave audience 
 to La Mothe Fenelon, who presented letters from the king of France, 
 and her former suitor, Henry of Valois, requesting her to grant the latter 
 free passage of the sea, on his voyage to take possession of his king¬ 
 dom. She replied, “ that to the persons of the king of Poland and his 
 train in ordinary, and his furniture and effects, she would willingly gua¬ 
 rantee her protection, either with, or without safe conduct, if the wind 
 threw them on her coast, and that they should be treated as well and 
 honourably as if they had landed on the coast of France, or in his own 
 dominions; but as to his men-at-arms, she would freely tell him that 
 she would not let them passand, with a bitter allusion to the affront 
 she had received in the late matrimonial negotiation, she added “ that 
 the king, and queen-mother of France, and even the prince, had un¬ 
 doubtedly had a great inclination for the marriage, but that the cardinal 
 af Lorraine, for the sake of the queen of Scots, his niece, had found 
 neans to break it, and if he had had sufficient credit to do that, he might 
 lave as much in things of less consequence, and would possibly attempt 
 ;ome enterprise in favour of his niece, if so many soldiers were allowed 
 o land in England.” 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon said, “her majesty must pardon him, if he re- 
 ninded her, that it was herself, and the people who were about her, who 
 lad interrupted and prevented her marriage with the king of Poland, and 
 lot the cardinal of Lorraine, who had always acted according to the 
 vishes of their most Christian majesties, and counselled them for the 
 dvancement of their honour and power to which that marriage would 
 lave conduced, and also he had hoped much from it for the relief of 
 
 1 Hasted's History of Kent. 
 
 a Burleigh's letter to the earl of Shrewsbury, in Strype. 
 
 25 
 
294 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the queen of Scotland, both personally, and in settling the affairs of her 
 realm.” 1 
 
 Among the amusing incidents connected with Elizabeth’s Kentish 
 progress is the circumstance of the learned and amiable archbishop Par¬ 
 ker considerately sending her premier, Burleigh, sundry tracts and trea¬ 
 tises, illustrative of the history and antiquities of the places on the road, 
 that he might be prepared to answer the questions, her majesty would 
 be sure to ask him, respecting every feature of the country; and as she 
 fancied he was a man possessed of the deepest knowledge and research 
 on all subjects, it would not be desirable for her to find him at a loss on 
 this. My lord-treasurer appears to have required, what the Eton boys 
 term, a good deal of cramming on this occasion, for the archbishop had 
 privately sent him before “Lambarde’s Topographical Discourse of 
 Kent,” and now in addition, “ the Jlntiquilates Britannicce , and the new 
 preface, intended by Lambarde to be added to his history of Kent, dedi¬ 
 cated to Mr. Thomas Wotton,” at whose house her majesty intended to 
 halt; therefore the archbishop prayed Burleigh not to let him know 
 that he had this preface in his possession. 2 He also sent him a curious 
 history of Dover. Parker had made notes in all these works for Bur¬ 
 leigh’s better instruction in his duty of antiquarian cicerone to their 
 royal mistress on the progress. To these Burleigh added his own cor¬ 
 rections, where his quick eye detected errors or oversights, and sent the 
 treatises back to the archbishop with his revise. 3 
 
 From Dover, the queen proceeded to Canterbury, where she arrived 
 September 3d. She was met at Folkestone by the archbishop Parker, 
 lord Cobham, and a gallant company of the chivalry of the county, who 
 conducted her to the city with great respect. One of her MS. wardrobe 
 books bears record of the following minor mishap that befel her majesty 
 on that day. 
 
 “ At Mr. Hawkes’s, lost from the queen’s majesty’s hat one small fish 
 of gold, with a diamond in it. 3d of September, anno 16.” 4 
 
 It is well known, that, out of compliment to her royal French suitor, 
 the due d’Alenqon, Elizabeth cherished the jewelled similitude of a frog 
 in her bosom, in the form of a brooch; but whether this petit poisson 
 of gold, with which she adorned her hat, was emblematical of any of 
 her numerous train of lovers, we presume not to decide. 
 
 Elizabeth was lodged in the ancient episcopal palace of St. Augustine, 
 where she and all her ladies, officers of state, and the members of her 
 council, were entertained at the sole expense of the archbishop. While 
 there, a new envoy from the court of France, Gondi, count de Retz, 
 arrived, for the purpose of informing her majesty that her juvenile suitor, 
 Alengon, was attacked with the measles, 5 which illness, his royal mamma 
 afterwards declared, had obliterated the traces of the small-pox from his 
 countenance. 6 
 
 De Retz, though a Catholic, accompanied the queen to hear the ser- 
 
 1 Depeches de Fenelon, vol. v., p. 389. 3 Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
 ’Nichols; Strype's Parker. 4 MSS. Phillipps. 
 
 6 Camden. 6 Despatches of Fenelon. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 295 
 
 vice of the church of England in the cathedral, and was sc enraptured 
 with the music, that, forgetful of time and place, he exclaimed aloud, 
 “0 God, I think no prince in Europe, not even our holy father the 
 pope, ever heard the like.” Unfortunately, this enthusiastic sally of the 
 musical ambassador struck a discordant chord on the ear of a student 
 standing near, who fiercely rejoined—■“ Ha! do you compare our queen 
 to the knave of Rome, and even prefer him to her ?” Our reader will 
 remember that defiances of the pope w.ere, at that time, even introduced 
 into the versions of David’s psalms, as in the following specimen of 
 Robin Wisdom’s paraphrases :— 
 
 “Defend us, Lord, by thy dear word ; 
 
 From Pope and Turk defend us, Lord! 1 ’ 
 
 But marshal de Retz, not being fully aware of the state of excited zeal 
 which then pervaded protestant England, took great umbrage at the in¬ 
 civility of the remark, and complained to some of her majesty’s coun¬ 
 cillors, who were present. These made light of it, entreating him “to 
 take it patiently ; for the boys,” said they, “ do call him so, and the 
 Roman Antichrist, too.” “He departed with a sad countenance,” says 
 bishop Parkhurst, by whom this characteristic trait of the spirit of the 
 sixteenth century is related. 1 
 
 Notwithstanding the afi’ront he had received in the cathedral, the am¬ 
 bassador dined at the archbishop’s palace with the queen. After dinner, 
 he had much discourse with her on matrimony and politics. 2 The 
 queen’s birth-day occurring while she was at Canterbury, was celebrated 
 with the greatest festivity by Parker, who gave a magnificent banquet, 
 on that occasion, to her majesty, and her court and council. The arch¬ 
 bishop feasted them in his great hall, which had been newly repaired 
 and decorated for the occasion. Her highness was seated in the midst, 
 in a marble chair, covered with cloth of gold, having two French am¬ 
 bassadors at one end of the table, and four ladies of honour at the other 
 end. “The queen was served by none but nobles, even to the washing 
 of her hands,” says Parker, “ her gentlemen and guard bringing her the 
 dishes.” So grand an assembly had not been seen since Henry VIII. 
 and the emperor Charles V. dined in that hall in the year 1519. 
 
 Elizabeth was so well pleased with the entertainment she received 
 from the munificent, learned, and hospitable archbishop, that she pro¬ 
 longed her stay at Canterbury a whole fortnight. She went to church 
 every Sunday in state, to hear both sermon and evensong, while she 
 stayed, being conducted under a canopy to her traverse by the commu¬ 
 nion board, as Parker then termed the altar. 
 
 Of Elizabeth, it is recorded that she never travelled on a Sunday, but 
 made a point of resting on that day, and attending divine service at the 
 parish church nearest to her lodging. A good and edifying custom; 
 but, unfortunately, her respect for the Sabbath was confined to the act 
 of joining in public worship, for the rest of the day was devoted to 
 sports unmeet for any Christian lady to witness, much less to provide 
 for the amusement of herself and court; but Elizabeth shared in the 
 
 1 Ill a letter to Gualter of Zurich. 
 
 a Strype, 
 
•296 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 boisterous glee with which they were greeted by the ruder portion of 
 the spectators. Bear and bull-baitings, tilts, tourneys, and wrestling, 
 were among the noon-day divertisements of the maiden majesty of Eng¬ 
 land—dancing, music, cards, and pageants brought up the rear of her 
 Sabbath amusements. These follies were justly censured by the more 
 rigid reformers. 
 
 In the days of Elizabeth, the harvest-home festival, in Berkshire, was 
 still celebrated by the farmers and peasants with rites in honour of 
 Ceres, whose effigy was carried on the top of the last load of corn. 1 A 
 custom derived from the Roman conquerors of the island. 
 
 On the last day of August, Elizabeth visited Sandwich, where her re¬ 
 ception, if less magnificent than in more wealthy towns, was most affec¬ 
 tionate, and arranged with exquisite taste. All the town was gravelled, 
 and strewn with rushes, flowers, flags, and the like; every house painted 
 black and white, and garlanded with vine branches, supported on cords 
 across the streets, interspersed with garlands of choice flowers, forming 
 a bowered arcade for her majesty to pass under to her lodgings—a fine 
 newly built house, adorned with her arms, and hung with tapestry.* 
 The town orator made her majesty an harangue, which she was gra¬ 
 ciously pleased to commend, observing “ that it was both eloquent and 
 well handled.” Then he presented her with a gold cup, worth a hun¬ 
 dred pounds, which she received from the mayor’s son. The orator, 
 who was a clergyman, presented the queen also with a Greek Testa¬ 
 ment, which she received very thankfully ; and it is to be noted, that, 
 even in this maritime town, verses were fixed upon every post and cor¬ 
 ner, the same as at Oxford; and at the entry to her lodgings, all these 
 verses were put in a tablet, and hung up. 
 
 The next day she was entertained with a variety of nautical combats 
 in boats, and the storming of a fort at Stonor, which had been built up 
 for that purpose. Tiie following day, Mrs. Mayoress and her sister, the 
 jurat’s wife, made her majesty a goodly banquet of one hundred and 
 fifty dishes, in the school-house, and the schoolmaster made her an ora¬ 
 tion, and presented her a cup of silver gilt, with a cover nearly a cubit 
 high, to whom Elizabeth answered, u Guadeo me in hoc natam esse , lit 
 vobis et ecclesia Dei prossim” 3 and so entered the school-house, where 
 she was very merry, and ate of divers dishes, without any assay; that 
 is, she showed her confidence in the affection of her loyal mayoress of 
 Sandwich, by dispensing with the usual ceremony of having the dishes 
 tasted first. So highly did she approve of the cookery withal, that she 
 caused some of the viands to be reserved for her private use, and orderea 
 them to be carried to her lodgings. 
 
 On the day of her departure, a hundred, or six score, children, Eng¬ 
 lish and Dutch, were exalted on a bank, built up of turf, and spun fine 
 baize yarn for the amusement of her majesty, 4 who was always well 
 pleased at exhibitions tending to the encouragement of the industrious 
 
 1 Hentzner's Travels. 2 Corporation of Sandwich Records, by Boys. 
 
 3 I am glad to have been born in this age, that I may aid you, and the church 
 
 of God. 
 
 4 Records of the Corporation of Sandwich, by W. Boys. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 297 
 
 classes. The improvement of manufactures, and the establishment of 
 crafts, which gave employment and prosperity to the great body of her 
 people, were always leading objects with Elizabeth, and to those ends 
 her progresses conduced. The royal eye, like sunshine, fostered the 
 seeds of useful enterprise, and it was the glory of the last of the Tudors, 
 that she manifested a truly maternal interest in beholding them spring 
 up and flourish. At her departure, Mr. Mayor presented a supplication 
 for the haven of Sandwich, which she took, and promised herself to 
 read. Burleigh, Leicester, Sussex, and the lord-admiral, also promised 
 their furtherance in the suit, touching the improvement of the haven. 
 
 Elizabeth visited Rochester on her homeward route, towards Green¬ 
 wich, for the purpose of surveying her dock-yards, and the progress of 
 her naval improvements at Chatham. She spent four or five days at the 
 Crown Inn, at Rochester, and attended divine service at the cathedral, 
 on the Sunday. She afterwards became the guest of a private gentle¬ 
 man of the name of Watts, at Bully-hill, and gave the name of Satis to 
 his mansion, as a gracious intimation that it was all-sufficient for her 
 comfort and contentment. 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Elizabeth’s talents as a peace-sovereign—Renews the treaty with Alen$on—Tlans 
 an interview with him—Her progresses—Her new-year's gifts—Receives three 
 night-caps from die queen of Scots—Elizabeth's anger at Henry III. s marriage 
 —Note to her godson—Anecdotes of her private life—Her costume—Presents 
 from her courtiers—Losses in her wardrobe—Her persecutions—Her visit to 
 Kenilworth—Offered the sovereignty of the Netherlands—Progress into Suf¬ 
 folk, &c.—Her letters of condolence—Her visit to Norwich—Harsh usage of 
 her host at Euston hall—Her favour to the envoy of Alen§on— She excites 
 Leicester's jealousy—Discovers Leicester's marriage—Her anger—Fancies she 
 is bewitched—Her council deliberate on her tooth-ache — Incognito visit of 
 Alenyon ( now Anjou )—The council oppose Elizabeth’s marriage with him— 
 Her irritation, anxiety, and demurs—Characteristics of Elizabeth—Hef habit 
 of swearing—Discrimination of character—Her patronage of Drake—Her letter 
 to Sir Edward Stafford—Second visit of Anjou to England—Elizabeth's loving 
 demeanour to him—Her ladies oppose the marriage—Elizabeth’s fondness for 
 Anjou—Accompanies him part of his journey homewards—Her love-verses— 
 Regrets for his loss — Her interview with Edmund Campian—Her letter to 
 Burleigh—Her maids of honour—Her illegitimate brother. Sir J. Perrot—His 
 insolent speeches regarding her—She refuses to sign his death-warrant—Her 
 cruel usage of Ireland. 
 
 Elizabeth’s real greatness was as a peace-sovereign; she was formed 
 and fitted for domestic government, and her admirable talents for sta 
 
298 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 tistics would have established a golden age in England, if she had been 
 contented to employ her energies wholly as a civilizer. Her foreign 
 wars were a series of expensive blunders, injurious to commerce, little 
 conducive to the military glory of the realm, and attended with a sacri¬ 
 fice of the flower of the English chivalry. If she had not interfered in 
 the quarrels between other sovereigns and their subjects, there would 
 have been no necessity for the imposition of repeated property-taxes on 
 her own, to defray the expenses of the needless wars in which her 
 crooked policy entangled her, and to pay the pensions of the Scotch 
 patriots, who devoured so large a portion of English gold, and beguiled 
 her into the ungracious office of jailor to their queen—an office which 
 entailed upwards of eighteen years of internal discord on her realm, 
 planted the first thorns in her own diadem, and sullied the brightness 
 of her annals with stains of indelible blackness. 
 
 Alas! that the biographer of Elizabeth should be compelled to turn 
 from the lovely picture of an enlightened female sovereign, smiling on 
 the labours of the children of her own subjects, blended with those of 
 the little Flemish refugees in the Sandwich school of industry, to depict 
 her presiding, like Atropos, over racks and gibbets, and all the horrible 
 panoply of religious and political tyranny. 
 
 Soon after Elizabeth’s return from her Kentish progress, the following 
 strange circumstance occurred : a crazy fanatic, named Peter Burchet, 
 having persuaded himself, by the misapplication of certain Scripture 
 texts, that it was lawful to kill all who opposed the gospel — that is to 
 say, those who took a different view of church government from the 
 furious sect to which he belonged — wounded the famous naval com¬ 
 mander, Hawkins, with his dagger, mistaking him for Sir Christopher 
 Hatton, whom he intended to despatch as an enemy of the Puritans. 
 The queen was so much incensed at this outrage, that she ordered jus¬ 
 tice to be done on Burchet, in the summary way of martial law,' and 
 directed her secretary to bring the commission to her after dinner for 
 her signature. Sussex, her lord chamberlain, wrote in great haste to 
 Burleigh, to apprise him of her majesty’s intention; and that he and all 
 her lords in waiting, were in consternation at the royal mandate. ‘“What 
 will become of this act after dinner,” says he, “your lordship shall hear 
 to-night.” 1 2 Her prudent counsellors succeeded, finally, in convincing 
 her majesty, that the ceremony of a trial was necessary before an Eng¬ 
 lishman could be executed for any offence whatsoever. It appears 
 almost incredible that Elizabeth, after reigning sixteen years, should re¬ 
 quire to be enlightened on this point; and to be informed that martial 
 law was only used in times of open rebellion. 3 
 
 The terror of the plague was always uppermost in the minds of all 
 persons in the sixteenth century, at every instance of sudden death. 
 One day in November, 1573, queen Elizabeth was conversing with her 
 
 1 Camden. “Ellis’ Royal Letters, second series, vol. iii. 
 
 “Burchet was tried, condemned, and hanged, having first killed one of his 
 keepers with a billet of wood, which he took out of a chimney. He had his 
 
 right hand stricken off at the gallows for this last outrage, and died, says the 
 chronicler, with a silent reluctancy. Camden; Ellis’ Royal Letters. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 299 
 
 ladies in her privy chamber, at Greenwich palace, when, on a sudden, 
 the mother of the maids was seized with illness, and expired directly in 
 her presence. Queen Elizabeth was so much alarmed at this circum¬ 
 stance, that in less than an hour she left her palace at Greenwich, and 
 went to Westminster, where she remained. 1 
 
 The year 1574 commenced with new efforts on the part of the court 
 of France, to conclude the matrimonial treaty between the duke of 
 Alenqon and Elizabeth. Mauvissiere arrived in January, to woo the 
 queen in his behalf, and to solicit that she would send him a safe con¬ 
 duct to visit her, and plead his own cause. In a recently discovered 
 letter, from Elizabeth to Dr. Dale, 2 on this subject, she exhibits her 
 usual caution and feminine vacillation. She says— 
 
 “The French ambassador, sithens the return of our servant Randolph, hath 
 sundry times had access unto us, requiring our answer, whether we could allow 
 of the coming over of the duke of Alenjon, upon the view of his portraiture, 
 brought over by our said servant.” 
 
 She goes on to state “ that she has had sundry conferences with her 
 council, and finds they were of opinion that it might impair the amity 
 between England and France, if, on coming, there should be no liking 
 between her and the duke; that she understood, moreover, that a fresh 
 enterprise against Rochelle was intended, and new jealousy and mis- 
 liking conceived in her subjects’ hearts against the match. That she 
 had represented these things to the French ambassador, but he persisted 
 in urging her to grant a public interview to the prince, which she had 
 declined—‘‘For that,” pursues her majesty— 
 
 “We can be put in no comfort by those that desire most our marriage, and are 
 well affected to the crown, who have seen the young gentleman, that there will 
 grow any satisfaction of our persons; and therefore you may say, that if it were 
 not to satisfy the earnest request of our good brother the king, and the queen, 
 his mother, (whose honourable dealing towards us, as well in seeking us himself, 
 a9 in offering unto us both his brethren, we cannot but esteem as an infallible 
 argument of their great good wills towards us,) we could in no case be induced 
 to allow of his coming, neither publicly nor privately; for that we fear, (notwith¬ 
 standing the great protestations he and his mother make to the contrary,) that if, 
 upon the interview, satisfaction follow not, there is likely to ensue, instead of 
 straighter amity, disdain and unkindness.” 
 
 Her majesty, however, goes on to say, “ that if none of these doubts, 
 that she has suggested, will deter monsieur le due from coming over in 
 some sort of disguise; then Dale is to tell the king from her,” that she 
 wishes that the gentleman in whose company he may come over, as 
 one of his followers, may not be a person of such high rank as the duke 
 de Montmorenci, nor accompanied with any great train ; “ for,” pursues 
 she, “ if there follow no liking between us after a view taken the one of 
 the other, the more secretly it be handled, the least touch will it be to 
 our honours.” Elizabeth concludes this amusing piece of diplomatic 
 coquetry, with a really kind request, to be preferred in her name to the 
 king of France and queen-mother, in behalf of a noble protestant lady, 
 a daughter of the due de Montpensier, then an exile for conscience’ 
 
 1 La Mothe Fenelon, vol. ii., p. 454. 
 
 a Communicated by Francis Worship, Esq., F. A. S. 
 
300 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sake, in Germany, that she may enjoy the benefit of the late edict. The 
 last paragraph does Elizabeth honour:— 
 
 “ You shall therefore say unto queen-mother from us, that we desire her to 
 join you in the furtherance of this suit to the king her son, our good brother, 
 who we hope, as well for our sakes, as that the gentlewoman is so near of blood 
 unto her children ; and that it is a natural virtue, incident to our sex, to be piti¬ 
 ful of those that are afflicted, will so tender her case, as by her good means, the 
 gentlewoman shall be relieved, and we gratified ; which we shall be ready to 
 requite, as the occasion shall serve us.'’ 1 
 
 The plan suggested by Elizabeth, for obtaining a private view of 
 Alencon, did not suit the policy of the royal family of France, whose 
 object it was to induce her to commit herself irrevocably in the negotia¬ 
 tion. Charles IX. offered to come to the opposite coast of Picardy, 
 ostensibly for the benefit of his health, bringing his brother in his train, 
 whom he would send over as a wooer, in grand state, to Dover, whither 
 queen Elizabeth should come to meet him. This plan Elizabeth affect¬ 
 edly declined, as too decided a step, towards a suitor, to be taken by a 
 maid. The truth was, she meant to receive personally, all the homage 
 and flatteries of a new lover, without in any way committing herself in 
 public opinion. To this end, she proposed that Alencon should slip 
 over from the coast of Picardy, to lord Cobham’s seat, near Gravesend, 
 from whence he was to take barge privately, and land at the water stairs 
 of Greenwich palace, where she would be ready to welcome him, with 
 all the delights her private household could afford. 2 
 
 This fine scheme was cut short by the discovery of a political con¬ 
 spiracy, of which the hopeful youth Alei^on was found to be the head. 
 The quartan ague of Charles IX. was, in reality, a fatal consumption; 
 and all his people perceived that he was dropping into the grave. Alen- 
 qon, seeing that the next heir, his brother, Henry, king of Poland, was 
 absent, began to intrigue with the protestant leaders to be placed on the 
 throne of France; which plot being discovered by his mother, he, with 
 Henry king of Navarre, were committed prisoners to the castle of Vincennes. 
 
 Alencon basely betrayed his allies, la Mole and Corconnas, 3 and the 
 whole protestant interest, to make peace with his own family. Some 
 suspicion existed that queen Elizabeth herself was at the bottom of the 
 plot. However this might be, its discovery entirely broke off the mar¬ 
 riage treaty between the mature queen, and the ill-conditioned imp, 
 Alencon, for Catherine de Medicis caused La Mothe to ask Elizabeth, 
 “ whether she had received so ill an impression of her son, that she 
 would not go on with the marriage treaty ?” 
 
 To which Elizabeth replied, “ I cannot be so ungrateful as to think ill 
 of a prince, who thinks so well of me, but I must tell you decisively, 
 that I will not take a husband with irons on his feet.” 4 
 
 1 Archteologia, vol. xxviii., p. 393—398. 
 
 * Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vi., p. 56, 83, 98. 
 
 •They were soon after executed, to the great displeasure of Elizabeth. 
 
 * All the Protestants despised Alen$on as an unprincipled betrayer, who had 
 only leagued with them to gain their secrets for the information of the royal 
 family; but he appears to have been in earnest when he desired, by their means, 
 to circumvent his elder brother, Henry. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 301 
 
 He was released on this hint, and used by Elizabeth as a ready tool 
 for embarrassing the government of his brother, as the head of a middle 
 party. 
 
 One of those dialogues, often narrated in ambassadors’ despatches at 
 that era, took place between the virgin queen and La Mothe, after the 
 death of Charles IX. The affairs of the new king, Henry III., then 
 absent in Poland, were in an awkward predicament; and his faithful 
 ambassador, fearful lest her majesty of England might retain some spite¬ 
 ful reminiscences of the uncivil mode in which Henry had, when duke 
 of Anjou, broken off his marriage with her, ventured to deprecate her 
 wrath, by saying, that “ a cloud had a little passed between his new 
 sovereign and her, which he hoped would not cast any blight on their 
 alliance.” 
 
 The queen, who wore mourning for her good brother, Charles IX., 
 and had not only “ composed her face very strongly to grief and dolour,” 
 but had let a tear fall on her black dress, answered this speech by throw¬ 
 ing out a hint, that another marriage proposal from him was not alto¬ 
 gether unexpected by her courtiers. “ The cloud you speak of,” she 
 said, to the ambassador, “ has wholly passed by, and many other things 
 have intervened, which have made me forget all the past; indeed, it was 
 but yesterday, that one of my people observed to me, ‘ that I had made 
 a difficulty of espousing Henry, because he was not a king; he was at 
 present doubly king, 1 therefore I ought to be content.’ I replied,” con¬ 
 tinued queen Elizabeth, “that Henry III. had always been right royal, 
 but that a matter more high than crowns had parted us; even religion, 
 whicli had often made crowned heads renounce the world altogether, in 
 order to follow God, and that neither I, nor the king ought to repine at 
 what they had done.” 2 
 
 This would have been a most respectable version of the affair, if it 
 had been true; but, of course, no one disputed the turn the queen chose 
 to give to the rupture of this absurd marriage treaty, which, notwith¬ 
 standing all she said regarding religion, she was desirous of renewing. 
 
 Whether from a spirit of mischief, or from a downright blundering 
 want of tact, inexcusable in a queen, who intermeddled so restlessly in 
 public affairs, Catherine de Medicis wrote to queen Elizabeth, a letter of 
 apology for her son’s former rudeness; and this forced the English 
 queen to remember most unwillingly all impertinences past, which she 
 had very prudently forgotten. The discussion of this malapropos apo¬ 
 logy, occurred in July, 1574, at a state audience, when the French am¬ 
 bassador delivered to the maiden majesty of England, the first credentials 
 addressed to her by Henry III., as king of France. Her demeanour, 
 when she took the packet, was a part got up with her usual study of 
 stage effect. 3 First, on opening it, she threw her eyes on the signa¬ 
 ture, and heaved an audible sigh, at finding Charles no longer; she 
 then observed very graciously, “ that it was now a Henry that she 
 found there;” and she read at length, very curiously, the said letter. 
 
 1 Of France by inheritance, and of Poland by election. He ran away from the 
 Poles when he succeeded to the French crown, to their infinite indignation. 
 
 a La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vi. pp. 159, 160. * Ibid., p. 190. 
 
 vol. vi. — 26 
 
302 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 What she found therein, is not stated, but her comments on its contents 
 were original enough. “ She was not,” she said, “ exactly a lioness; 
 yet she allowed she had the temperament, and was the issue of the lion, 
 and that accordingly as the king of France behaved placably to her, so 
 he should find her soft and tractable, as he could desire; but if he were 
 rough, she should take the trouble to be as rude and offensive as possible.” 
 
 This prelude was a little ominous, and Elizabeth began to give angry 
 hints of a circumstance, which would probably interrupt the harmony 
 between the two kingdoms; so saying, she put into the ambassador’s 
 hands, the letter she had lately received from queen Catherine, and de¬ 
 sired him to read it through. He declared he was thoroughly aghast, 
 and unable to guess what was coming; however, he began to read, 
 skipping over the ciphered portion, and read on till he came to the 
 paragraph, wherein Catherine apologised for her son’s giddiness, “ in 
 having miscalled her English majesty, and hoped that she would not 
 bear any enmity to him on that account.” The ambassador declared 
 “ that he stopped short,, and looked at queen Elizabeth, but he saw she 
 had not got her speech ready; and she bade him, ‘go on, and finish the 
 letter.’ ” At the end, the execution of the count de Montgomeri, the 
 Huguenot leader, was announced to Elizabeth — a circumstance likely 
 to enrage her, since she had long harboured him among the Channel 
 Islands, whence he had invaded France repeatedly. 1 
 
 Elizabetli took no notice of the catastrophe of her protege ; but com¬ 
 mented on the apology offered by Catherine de Medicis, by saying, “ that 
 if Henry III. had miscalled her, she either did not know, or had forgot¬ 
 ten it. Not that she had been well treated in the marriage proposal: for 
 when all was agreed upon, and she had arranged that he was to have 
 the exercise of his religion in private, and she had sent a councillor to 
 signify her compliance, it was found that Henry had taken a directly 
 contrary resolution. And though she could not justly blame him for 
 having averted a marriage with an old woman, 2 yet she must once again 
 repeat that her good affection and kind intentions deserved a more civil 
 return.” 
 
 The poor ambassador could only remind her, by way of reply, “ that 
 all the impediments had % proceeded from herself, and that if she had been 
 willing, his king had now been all her^own.” 
 
 This compliment was graciously takeg; and La Mothe felt assured, 
 as he expressly sent word to France, theNqueen of England’s end in the 
 whole conversation was, to induce a new proposal from the bachelor- 
 king of France, which would now certainly meet with a more prosper¬ 
 ous conclusion. 
 
 1 Catherine de Medicis had seized him, not without circumstances of treachery, 
 and hurried him to the block. This was the principal action which distinguished 
 her second regency, during the absence of her son Henry in Poland. She ex¬ 
 ulted in it, because the lance of Montgomeri had slain her husband at the tour¬ 
 nament; and, what was worse, after being set at liberty by the chivalric injunc¬ 
 tion of the dying king, he had for ten years led insurrections in France. 
 
 * This was one of the phrases for which Catherine de Medicis had apologized 
 so officiously. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 303 
 
 Elizabeth finished the discussion by calling Leicester; he came and 
 knelt before her, and soon after she rose and withdrew. Her expecta¬ 
 tion of a new offer from Henry III. was useless, that monarch had fallen 
 in love on his homeward journey from Poland, with Louise of Lorraine, 
 a pretty, but portionless princess of his own age, and he married her at 
 his coronation, in the ensuing February ; to the infinite indignation of 
 Elizabeth, which she displayed by a series of bickerings with the French 
 court. 
 
 Before the end of the year she flamed out into open anger, on a pro¬ 
 vocation which it little suited her dignity to notice. Lord North, the 
 ambassador whom she had sent to congratulate Henry III. on his acces¬ 
 sion, had transmitted home a series of reports, which particularly en¬ 
 raged her; affirming, “that she had been ridiculed by the buffoons of 
 the French court, at the instigation of the duke of Guise, the relative 
 of Louise of Lorraine, aided by the queen-mother, Catherine. They 
 had,” he declared, “ moreover, dressed up a buffoon in the English 
 fashion, and called him in derision, a milor of the north; but, in reality, 
 the buffoon represented king Henry VIII.” Queen Elizabeth repeated 
 all these stories to that flower of politesse, and conciliating compliment, 
 La Mothe, before hef whole court, to the great consternation of the poor 
 ambassador, who says, “ She raised her voice in great choler, and told 
 me so loud, that all her ladies and officers could hear her discourse; 
 adding, with very gross words, ‘ that the queen-mother should not have 
 spoken so dishonourably, and in derision of so illustrious a prince, as 
 her late father, king Henry; and that the said lord North ought to have 
 told those, who were mimicking him, how the tailors of France might 
 easily remember the fashion of the habiliments of this great king, since 
 he had crossed the sea more than once with warlike ensigns displayed, 
 and had some concern with the people there.” He had, she meant to 
 insinuate, taken Terrouenne and Boulogne by storm. 
 
 The ambassador declared “ he would maintain to the last sigh of his 
 life,” that milor North had neither seen nor heard anything of the kind : 
 for the queen-mother was far too courteous and well-behaved a princess, 
 and the duke of Guise too finished a chevalier to say, or cause to be 
 said, anything which reflected on the queen of England, the dignity of 
 her crown, or the honour of the late king Henry, her father, “ that milor 
 North had misunderstood the whole, and was, consequently, a bad 
 negotiator between princes.” 1 This brouillee had nearly occasioned a 
 declaration of war between England and France, for La Mothe allirmed, 
 “that her words were so high, that if the affairs of his master had per¬ 
 mitted it, he would have defied her to war, and returned home instantly.” 
 But all lord North’s budget was not communicated to him at once, for 
 in a subsequent private interview, Elizabeth told La Mothe, “how she 
 had heard that two female dwarfs had been dressed up in the chamber 
 of Catherine de Medicis, and that the queen and tier maids had excited 
 them to mimic her (queen Elizabeth), and ever and anon, thrown in in¬ 
 jurious words, to prompt the vile little buffoons to a vein of greater 
 derision and mockery.” 
 
 1 Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vi., p. J<it. 
 
304 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 La Mothe, in reply, assured her, “ that to his certain knowledge, the 
 queen-mother of France, had been unwearied in praising her English 
 majesty’s beauty and good qualities to her son, the king of France, 
 when he was duke of Anjou, and her suitor, and he roundly laid the 
 whole on milor North’s utter ignorance of the French language, which 
 had caused him to mistake the whole tenour of what he described.” 
 This apology had so good an effect on queen Elizabeth, that she forth¬ 
 with desired to be excused, “ if, out of ignorance of the French language, 
 she herself, had made use of any unbecoming phrases regarding Cathe¬ 
 rine de Medicis.” 
 
 The tribulation of the tormented ambassador, when describing these 
 embarrassing scenes with the offended majesty of England, is irresistibly 
 diverting; he slily remarks, however, “ that it was not the mockery of 
 her father, first mentioned, but of herself, which had really laid boiling 
 and swelling at the bottom of her heart.” Several interviews took 
 place before the adroit Frenchman succeeded in flattering Elizabeth into 
 a placable humour again. 
 
 This year, Elizabeth visited the archbishop of Canterbury at his sum¬ 
 mer palace at Croydon. The learned primate, his comptroller, secre¬ 
 taries, and chamberers, were at their wits’ ends, where and how to find 
 sleeping accommodation for her majesty, and her numerous train of 
 ladies and officers of state, on this occasion. There is a pitiful note, 
 signed J. Bowyer, appended to the list of these illustrious guests, for 
 whom suitable dormitories could not be assigned, in which he says:— 
 
 “For the queen’s waiters, I cannot find any convenient rooms to place them 
 in, but I will do the best I can to place them elsewhere; but if it will please 
 you, sir, that I do remove them, the grooms of the privy chamber, nor Mr. Drury, 
 have no other way to their chambers but to pass through that where my lady 
 Oxford should come. I cannot then tell where to place Mr. Hatton; and for 
 my lady Carewe, there is no place with a chimney for her, but that she must 
 lay abroad by Mrs. A. Parry and the rest of the privy chamber. For Mrs. Shel¬ 
 ton, there are no rooms with a chimney; I shall stay one chamber without for 
 her. Here is as much as I am able to do in this house. From Croydon." 1 
 
 Elizabeth and her court went in progress to Worcester, August 18th, 
 1574, and remained till the 20th. While there, she made a grant of 
 free-bench to the widows of the city, by which they were empowered 
 to a life interest in the property of their deceased husbands, in defiance 
 of creditors, or any other claimants. 2 On the day of her arrival, after 
 listening very graciously to the welcome of Mr. Bell, the town orator, 
 she checked her horse opposite St. Nicholas’ church, to look at the 
 structure; on which her loyal lieges shouted, “God save your grace!” i 
 and she, throwing up her cap, with a heartiness that did her honour, 
 responded, “And I say, God bless you all, my good people!” 3 
 
 From Worcester she proceeded to Bristol, where she was entertained i 
 with pageants of a martial and allegorical character, and inspired a great i 
 deal of adulatory poetry. On her way from Bristol, she honoured 
 Katharine Parr’s nephew, Henry earl of Pembroke, with a visit, and was 
 
 1 Sloane MS., 1—4, 160, n. 217. 
 
 ’Nash's Worcester. 
 
 ’ Green’s Worcester. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 305 
 
 magnificently entertained by him and his countess, the learned and 
 amiable sister of sir Philip Sidney, for several days at Wilton house. 
 While there, she hunted the deer in Clarendon park with greyhounds. 
 
 The same year, a piivate marriage was made between lord Charles 
 Lenox and the daughter of the countess of Shrewsbury. As the bride¬ 
 groom stood next to his mother, after Mary Stuart and her son, in the 
 natural order of the regal succession, Elizabeth was much offended at 
 his presuming to marry, and, as a token of her displeasure, committed 
 both the intriguing mothers, the countess of Lenox and her of Shrews¬ 
 bury, to prison. They made their peace by laying the blame of what 
 had happened on the captive queen of Scots. 
 
 Even Burleigh came in for a share of the irritation of temper, which 
 the jealousy of Elizabeth’s disposition induced at this crisis. He had 
 been to Buxton, which had just become a fashionable place of resort 
 for gouty and rheumatic sufferers, the queen of Scots having derived 
 some benefit from her visits to that place. Elizabeth took great offence 
 at her premier choosing to resort to the same place, although his mala¬ 
 dies were of the kind for which its waters were esteemed so efficacious, 
 lie writes, in a pitiful strain, to the earl of Shrewsbury, of the rating he 
 had received for this offence:—“ Her majesty did conceive that my 
 being there was by means of your lordship and lady Shrewsbury, to 
 ‘enter into intelligence with the queen of Scots; and at my return to her 
 majesty’s (Elizabeth) presence, I had very sharp reproofs for my going 
 to Buxton, with plain charging me for favouring the queen of Scots, and 
 that in so earnest a sort as I never looked for, knowing my integrity to 
 her majesty.” Thus all in turn drank of the poisoned chalice their 
 own injustice had brewed, and the captive was scarcely more wretched 
 than mutual doubts and recriminating suspicions made the powerful sove¬ 
 reign, her prime minister, and the great noble who played the gaoler to 
 the oppressed lady. 
 
 In the midst of all these heartburnings, one Corker, a malcontent 
 chaplain belonging to the lord Shrewsbury, ran away to court, and re¬ 
 peated, with many additions of his own, all the on dils he could gather 
 at Sheffield castle regarding queen Elizabeth, to her great indignation. 
 In the correspondence and controversy concerning these grievances, an 
 anecdote presents itself, which is illustrative of Elizabeth’s character. 
 It is related by Shrewsbury to Walsingham, in the course of his expla¬ 
 nations “touching that viper Corker.” “ It pleased the queen’s majesty 
 (Elizabeth) to send me word that she did not condemn me for anything, 
 saving for certain conversations her highness had vouchsafed unto me, 
 which I had disclosed to him. The truth is, it pleased her majesty 
 once, upon some occasion, to tell me how wonderfully God had pre¬ 
 served her from her enemies. Once on a time, having notice of a man 
 who had undertaken to execute mischief to her sacred person, his sta¬ 
 ture and some scars of his face being described to her, she happened, as 
 she was in progress, amongst a multitude of others, to discover that 
 nan; yet not being alarmed at the view of him, she called my lord of 
 Leicester, and showed that man to him ; he was apprehended, and found 
 ■o be the same. Now this wicked serpent, Corker, added, that after ri- 
 26 * u 
 
306 
 
 ELIZABETTI. 
 
 latmg this incident, I should infer and say, 4 that her majesty though! 
 herself a goddess, that could not be touched by the hand of man;’ 
 whereas 1 never uttered such a thing, neither a whit more than her ma¬ 
 jesty’s own sacred mouth pronounced to me; the which 1 uttered to 
 him as a proof of God’s merciful providence over her, and that false ad- . 
 dition proceeded only out of his most wicked head and perilous mven- ; 
 tion; and yet this did so sink into her majesty’s conceit against me, as * 
 1 verily think it hath been the cause of her indignation; but I humbly j 
 beseech her majesty to behold me with the sweet eyes of her compas¬ 
 sion, that I may either prove myself clear and guiltless, or else be for I 
 ever rejected as a castaway.” 1 
 
 The commencement of the year 1575 found Elizabeth in high good 
 humour; she received the congratulations and compliments of monsieur 
 de la Mothe on the new year’s day very graciously, attributing the re¬ 
 cent misunderstanding with the royal family of France to the mistakes 1 
 caused by lord North’s ignorance of the French language. She was 
 pleased to add, “that the trouble in which his excellency had remained 
 since their last conference, recalled to her mind the distress in which 
 she herself was plunged when the late queen, her sister, in consequence 
 of some misconceived words regarding her, had caused her to be ex¬ 
 amined in the Tower.” 2 Elizabeth was certainly fond of recurring to 
 that epoch of her life, but her allusions, as in the above instance, rather . 
 tend to mystify than elucidate the true cause of her imprisonment. 
 
 The ambassador, perceiving that this confidential remark was intended « 
 as an extension of the olive branch, adroitly took the opportunity of 
 presenting to Elizabeth, as a new year’s gift from the queen of Scots, a 
 very elegant head-dress of net-work, wrought by her own hand very de¬ 
 licately, likewise the collar, cuffs, and other little pieces cn suite; all 
 which queen Elizabeth received amiably, and admired exceedingly. In 
 the course of the spring. La Mothe brought her another gift of three 
 night-caps, worked by the hand of her prisoner; but a demur took 
 place regarding the night-caps, and they were for a time left on the 
 hands of the ambassador; for Elizabeth declared, “ that great commo¬ 
 tions and jealousies had taken place in the privy council, because she 
 had accepted the gifts of the queen of Scots.” Finally, she accepted 
 the night-caps, 3 with this characteristic speech to La Mothe:— 
 
 “Tell the queen of Scots that I am older than she is, and when peo¬ 
 ple arrive at my age, they take all they can get with both hands, and 
 only give with their little finger.” On this maxim, though jocosely ex¬ 
 pressed, Elizabeth seems to have acted all her life. 
 
 Her majesty incurred some personal danger, in consequence of a visit 
 she paid to the countess of Pembroke, who was dangerously ill this 
 
 'Lodge's Illustrations. 2 Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vi., p. 348. 
 
 8 The inimitable Cervantes makes Saticho lament the loss of “three night-caps, | 
 worth three royal cities.” Surely these night caps, worked by one queen reg¬ 
 nant, and presented for the wearing of another, the most renowned female sove¬ 
 reign in history, made the subject of national jealous.es in a privy council, and 
 <>f an ambassador’s negotiation and despatch to his king, could not be worth less 
 than those of Sancho, but as yet they have not been equally celebrated. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 307 
 
 winter. The queen went by the silent highway of the Thames to the 
 earl of Pembroke’s house in the Strand. The last time, it was ten at 
 night ere the royal guest departed, and that in so dense a fog, that divers 
 of the boats and barges in the royal cortege lost their way, and landed 
 at wrong places. 1 
 
 When queen Elizabeth heard of the marriage of Henry III. with 
 Louise of Lorraine, a revival of her anger regarding the affair of the two 
 dwarfs took place, and the unfortunate French ambassador was forced 
 to go over all the explanations, excuses, and compliments, with which 
 he had been so sorely troubled in the preceding autumn. At last, she 
 forced an autograph letter on this ridiculous subject from Henry III., 
 and then she condescended to observe, “ that, as to the two dwarfs, she 
 allowed the affair had been ill interpreted by lord North—indeed, she 
 had since been told, that they were very pretty ones, and very properly 
 dressed, and she should like of all things to see them ; and if the queen- 
 mother would send her one of them as a present, 2 she should receive it 
 as a great kindness.” How she would have welcomed and treated the 
 pert pigmy, who was suspected of mimicking her dress and manners, is 
 a point that cannot be ascertained, for Catherine sent her no such pre¬ 
 sent, and it is probable she spoke but in mockery, being secretly in a 
 bitter rage at certain intelligence, which had reached her of the royal 
 nuptials in France. 
 
 Henry III. had fully determined that Elizabeth should have no official 
 intimation of his nuptials till they had taken place, perhaps on account 
 of the indefatigable activity with which she marred all matches, within 
 the reach of her influence. La Mothe Fenelon was troubled in spirit 
 how the tidings were to be broken to her, for she was prepared to re¬ 
 sent as a high affront the silence of the royal family of France on the 
 subject. “ Sire,” wrote La Mothe, 3 “ in order that the queen of Eng¬ 
 land might not guess that you would not communicate the tidings of 
 your marriage, till after the event, I declared it was not your fault, 
 neither that of the queen your mother, but I laid all on the laziness of 
 the couriers. It was all,” he added, “ done in haste, and at the instiga¬ 
 tion of the queen your mother, to whose better judgment you had sub¬ 
 mitted your will, having previously known the princess oj" Lorraine, 
 and that both you and the queen-mother had carefully contemplated at 
 leisure her person, and the fine and excellent qualities with which God 
 had endowed her,—all which you preferred to any other kind of advan¬ 
 tage in marriage; and that you hoped her majesty of England would, 
 according to the devoir of a good and faithful ally, rejoice with you.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth interrupted a panegyric on the houses of Guise and 
 Lorraine, to which the new queen belonged, by suddenly observing, 
 “ that for many days, and much sooner than the ambassador, she had 
 heard all about the wedding; likewise, many comments that people 
 made on the match. Some of these were very curious, as to what had 
 moved the queen-mother to procure for herself siich a daughter-in-law. 
 
 1 Murdin’s State Papers. 
 
 ’Despatches of La Mothe Fenelon, vol. vi., p. 388. 
 
 3 Ibid., p. 390, &c. 
 
308 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Others talked very loudly of the favour this new queen meant to ask of 
 her husband, which was to make an enterprise for the liberation of the 
 queen of Scots, her relative; and notwithstanding all the perfections of 
 the newly married queen, she could not help wishing that the king of 
 France had made his election in some other family than that inimical 
 house of Guise, which had always made war on her, and molested her; 
 and, moreover, she knew well that this wedlock formed one of the 
 secret articles of cardinal de Lorraine’s will; and as the king of France 
 had not considered her satisfaction, in the alliances he made,‘neither 
 should she consider his interest in a like case.” 
 
 The French ambassador replied, “ that he was sure nothing had moved 
 his royal master to the marriage, excepting the instances of his mother, 
 and the contemplation of so beautiful and desirable an object as the 
 queen, now his bride; that a king of France was great enough to marry, 
 without going questing all over the world to make an interested match; 
 and, as for alliances, that of the triple house of Lorraine, Guise, and 
 Vaudemont strengthened him in his state more than any he could make. 
 As for all the intelligence she had heard, it came from those who, being 
 bad Frenchmen, could never become good or true Englishmen.” 
 
 Elizabeth, who seldom sustained a high tone, if answered with spirit, 
 assured the ambassador she had heard her tidings from Spaniards, and 
 she closed the conversation by apologising, provokingly, “ for the 
 thanksgivings the French Protestants had presumed to put up in their 
 church in London for the signal defeat marshal de Damville, the Hugue¬ 
 not leader, had given the new king of France in Languedoc, the royal 
 army having been cut to pieces, and all the artillery in that province 
 taken; but she had given them no leave to rejoice, and, if they did it 
 again, she would drive them all out;” and, with this gracious intima¬ 
 tion, the conference closed. 
 
 On the 8th of February, parliament met, and another tremendous pro¬ 
 perty tax was imposed on the people, although it was a year of dearth. 
 Elizabeth composed a long classical and metaphorical speech, or rather 
 essay, on the difficulties of her position as a female sovereign, to be de¬ 
 livered from the throne at the opening of the sessions; but she did not 
 open the house in person, and some doubts have been entertained 
 whether tlfis singular composition was used. She sent a copy of it to 
 her godson, Harrington, with this interesting note addressed to him¬ 
 self :— 
 
 “ Boy Jack,—I have made a clerk write fair my poor words for thine use, as 
 it cannot be such striplings have entrance into parliament as yet. Ponder them 
 in thy hours of leisure, and play with them, till they enter thine understanding; 
 so shalt thou hereafter, perchance, find some good fruits thereof, when thy god¬ 
 mother is out of remembrance; and I do this because thy father was ready to 
 serve and love us in trouble and thrall.'’ 1 
 
 Harrington’s delightful letters are full of characteristic records of his 
 royal godmother, whom he dearly loves, although he cannot resist re- 
 ating many whimsical traits, both of her violence, cunning, and vanity, 
 
 1 Nugae Antiquae, vol. i., pp. 127, 128. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 309 
 
 interspersed with many encomiums on her virtues, with now and then, 
 “ like angel visits, few and far between,” a fact illustrative of noble feel¬ 
 ing. “ Her highness,” says he, 44 was wont to sooth her rutiled temper 
 with reading every morning, when she had been stirred to passion at 
 the council, or other matters had overthrown her gracious disposition. 
 She did much admire Seneca’s wholesome advisings when the soul’s 
 quiet is flown away, and I saw much of her translating thereof. 
 
 “ Her wisest men and best counsellors were oft sore troubled to know 
 her will in matters of state, so covertly did she pass her judgment, as 
 seemed to leave all to their discreet management; and when the busi¬ 
 ness did turn to better advantage, she did most cunningly commit the 
 good issue to her own honour and understanding; but when aught fell 
 out contrary to her will and intent, the council were in great strait to 
 defend their own acting and not blemish the queen’s good judgment. 
 Herein, her wise men did oft lack more wisdom, and the lord treasurer 
 (Burleigh) would oft shed a plenty of tears on any miscarriage, well¬ 
 knowing the difficult part was not so much to mend the matter itself, 
 as his mistress’s humour, and yet did he most share her favour and 
 good-will, and to his opinion she would ofttime submit her own plea¬ 
 sure in great matters. She did keep him till late at night in discoursing 
 alone, and then call out another at his departure, and try the depth of 
 all around her sometime. 
 
 “ YValsingham had his turn, and each displayed his wit in private. 
 On the morrow, every one did come forth in her presence, and discourse 
 at large; and if any dissembled with her, or stood not well to her ad¬ 
 visings before, she did not let it go unheeded, and sometimes not un¬ 
 punished. Sir Christopher Hatton was wont to say, 4 the queen did fish 
 for men’s souls, and had so sweet a bait that no one could escape her 
 net-work.’ 
 
 44 In truth, I am sure her speech was such as none could refuse to 
 take delight in, when frowardness did not stand in the way. I have 
 seen her smile, in sooth, with great semblance of good liking to all 
 around, and cause every one to open his most inward thought* to her, 
 when on a sudden she would ponder in private on what had passed, 
 wriie down all their opinions, and draw them out as occasion required, 
 and sometime disprove to their faces what had been delivered a month 
 before. Hence, she knew every one’s part, and by thus ‘fishing,’ as 
 Hatton said, ‘ she caught many poor fish who little know what snare 
 was laid for them.’ 
 
 “ I will now tell you more of her majesty’s discretion and wonder¬ 
 working to those about her, touching their minds and opinions. She 
 did often ask the ladies around her chamber, 4 if they loved to think of 
 marriage ?’ and the wise ones did conceal well their liking thereto, know¬ 
 ing the queen’s judgment in this matter. 
 
 “Sir Matthew Arundel’s fair cousin, not knowing so deeply as her 
 fellows, was asked one day hereof, and simply said, 4 she had thought 
 much about marriage, if her father did consent to the man she loved.’ 
 ‘You seem honest, i’faith!’ said the queen ; 4 1 will sue for you to your 
 father;’ at which the damsel was well pleased; and when her father. 
 
310 
 
 ELIZAbETH. 
 
 sir Robert Arundel, came to court, the queen questioned him about his 
 daughter’s marriage, and pressed him to give consent, if the match were 
 discreet. Sir Robert, much astonished, said, ‘ he never had heard his 
 daughter had liking to any man, but he would give free consent to what 
 was most pleasing to her highness’s will and advice.’ ‘Then 1 will do 
 the rest,’ saith the queen. The lady was called in, and told by the 
 queen, ‘ that her father had given his free consent.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Then,’ replied the simple girl, ‘ I shall be happy, and please your 
 grace.’ 
 
 “ ‘ So thou shalt; but not to be a fool, and marry!’ said the queen ; 
 ‘ I have his consent given to me, and 1 vow thou shalt never get it in 
 thy possession. So, go to thy business; I see thou art a bold one to 
 own thy foolishness so readily.’ ” 1 
 
 Harrington studied the science of courtier-craft very deeply, and has 
 left the following amusing note on the method in which it was most 
 expedient to prefer a petition to queen Elizabeth: 
 
 “ I must go in an early hour, before her highness hath special matters 
 brought to counsel on. 1 must go before the breakfasting covers are 
 placed, and stand uncovered as her highness cometh forth her chamber; 
 then kneel, and say, ‘ God save your majesty ! 1 crave your ear at what 
 hour may suit for your servant to meet your blessed countenance?’ 
 Thus will I gain her favour to the auditory. 
 
 “ 1 Trust not a friend to do or say, 
 
 In that yourself can sue or pray.’ ” 
 
 Elizabeth was not always in the humour to receive petitions, even 
 from those who enjoyed her confidence and favour in the highest de¬ 
 gree. “ The queen (notes Harrington) seemed troubled to-day; Hatton 
 came out of her presence with an ill countenance; he pulled me aside 
 by the girdle, and said, in secret way, ‘If you have any suit to-day, I 
 pray you put it aside; the sun doth not shine.’ 
 
 “ ’Tis this accursed Spanish business, so I will not adventure her 
 highness’s choler , lest she should collar me also,” remarks our witty 
 author, which gives shrewd confirmation to the tale that Elizabeth, in a 
 fit of ungovernable passion, once collared sir Christopher Hatton ; 2 we 
 trust it was before his elevation to the wool-sack. A vice-chamberlain 
 to a maiden monarch might receive a personal indignity from his royal 
 mistress with some degree of humility, but a lord-chancellor could not, 
 for the honour of his office, as the highest law officer in England, have 
 submitted tamely to such an outrage from any sovereign whatsoever. 
 Elizabeth was undoubtedly a very excitable person, and allowed her 
 animal spirits to betray her into many undignified deeds, both in the way 
 of wrath and levity. 
 
 “ The queen,” observes Harrington, in another note, “ loveth to see 
 me in my last frieze jerkin, and saith, l, tis well enough cut .’ I will have 
 another made liken to it. I do remember she spat on sir Mathew’s 
 fringed cloth, and said, ‘the fool’s wit was gone to rags.’ Heaven spare 
 me from su ch jibing!” _ 
 
 1 Nugse Antiquae. vot. i., p,. 359, 3f>0. 
 
 2 Lingard's Hist, of England, fourth edition, vol. viii., p. 406. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 311 
 
 “On Sunday (April last),” pursues our courtly gossip, “ my lord of 
 London preached to the queen’s majesty, and seemed to touch on the 
 vanity of decking the body too finely. Her majesty told the ladies, 
 ‘that if the bishop held more discourse on such matters, she would fit 
 him for heaven, but he should walk thither without a staff, and leave 
 his mantle behind him.’ 1 Perchance, the bishop hath never sought 
 (seen) her highness’s wardrobe, or he would have chosen another text,” 
 shrewdly observes Harrington, by way of comment on this characteristic 
 anecdote of his royal godmother. 
 
 The general style of Elizabeth’s dress and ornaments may be ascer 
 tained by the new year’s gifts presented to her, as recorded in her elabo¬ 
 rate wardrobe rolls. Every imaginable article of dress and ornament 
 were brought by her courtiers and the persons of her household. All 
 met with acceptance, from the richest jewels to such articles as gloves, 
 pocket-handkerchiefs, night-rails (or night-dresses), and night-caps; of 
 the last article of attire, the following description remains. Mrs. Crop- 
 son’s gift was “a night coif of cambric, cut work and spangles, with 
 forehead-cloth, and a night border of cut work, edged with bone lace.” 
 Another present, offered by the wife of Julio, one of the court phy¬ 
 sicians, was “a cushion-cloth, and a pillow case of cambric, wrought 
 with black silk.” In the middle of Elizabeth’s reign, the favourite em¬ 
 broidery appears to have been of black silk on white cambric; a strange 
 freak of fashion, since it is difficult to imagine how the whiteness of the 
 cambric could be renewed without ruining the work. Mistress Twist, 
 court-laundress, made a singular present to her royal mistress, being 
 three handkerchiefs, of black Spanish work, edged with a bone lace of 
 Venice gold, and four tooth cloths of coarse Holland, wrought with black 
 silk, and edged with bone lace 2 of silver and black silk. 
 
 A present from Mrs. Amy Shelton, a kinswoman on the Boleyn side 
 of royalty, consisted of six handkerchiefs of cambric, edged with passa- 
 ment of gold and silver. Mrs. Montague, the silk woman, brought a 
 pair of sleeves, of cambric wrought with roses and buds of black silk. 
 Mrs. Huggins, six handkerchiefs of various sorts, one worked with 
 murry-coloured silk; the others, with silk of various colours. Sir 
 Philip Sidney, that darling of chivalry, presented to his liege lady a 
 smock, of cambric, the sleeves and collar wrought with black silk work, 
 and edged with a small bone lace of gold and silver, and a suite of ruffs 
 of cutwork, flourished with gold and silver, and set with spangles, con¬ 
 taining four ounces of gold. This garment seems to have been, in 
 reality, a species of gown, shaped like the ancient Saxon tunic, worn 
 still by wagoners aud Kentish peasants, called a smock-frock. Sir 
 Philip’s friend, Fulk Greville, presented the queen with another of these 
 robes, being “a smock made of cambric, wrought about the (foliar and 
 sleeves with Spanish work of roses and letters , and a night-coif, with a 
 forehead-cloth of the same work.” Probably this was meant altogether 
 
 'Nugs Antiquse, vol. i., pp. 170, 171. 
 
 a The bone lace of that clay was netting of very elaborate and delicate work, 
 made of variously coloured silks, and gold and silver twist, as well as of white 
 thread or black silk. 
 
312 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 as a night-dress, en suite ; but the gift of sir Philip Sidney, with its 
 spangles and ruffs, and heavy gold and silver work, could scarcely have 
 belonged to the queen’s toilet d coucher. Mrs. Wingfield presented a 
 “ night-rail of cambric, worked all over with black silk and Mrs. 
 Carre, “ one sheet of fine cambric, worked all over with sundry fowls, 
 beasts, and worms, in silks of divers colours.” The queen’s physicians 
 brought offerings somewhat assimilating to their vocations. Dr. Huick 
 presented a pot of green preserved ginger and orange-flowers; Julio, the 
 same. Dr. Bayley, a pot of green ginger, with rinds of lemons. The 
 royal cook, John Smithson, brought a gift to the queen of a fair march- 
 pane, with St. George in the midst; and the serjeant of the pastry, one 
 fair pie of quinces, oranged. There are in the same rolls several en¬ 
 tries, from noblemen and clergymen of rank, of ten pounds in gold coin, 
 and no offence taken by the virgin queen at this pecuniary donation.* 
 
 The history of royal costume, when interspersed with characteristic 
 traits of the times in which the antique fashions, which now survive 
 only on the pictured canvass, or illuminated vellum, were worn, has 
 been of late so popular a study with, the ladies, that, for the sake of that 
 gentle portion of the readers of the “ Lives of the Queens of England,” 
 a few more extracts from the wardrobe memorandums of queen Elizabeth 
 may, perhaps, be ventured without fear of displeasing antiquarian stu¬ 
 dents, since the source whence they are derived is only accessible 
 through the courtesy of the learned possessor of the MS. 
 
 “Lost from her majesty's back, the 14th of May, anno 21, one small acorn, 
 and one oaken leaf of gold, at Westminster. Lost by her majesty, in May, anno 
 23, two buttons of gold, like tortoises, wit^i pearls in them, and one pearl more, 
 lost, at the same time, from a tortoise. Lost, at Richmond, the 12th of February, 
 from her majesty's back, wearing the gown of purple cloth, of silver, one great 
 diamond, out of a clasp of gold, given by the earl of Leicester, parcel of die same 
 gown 17, anno 25." 3 
 
 The course of chronology is a little antedated by the quotation of the 
 last items, but not, perhaps, in vain, as the reader will be able to form, 
 meanwhile, a more lively idea of the stately Elizabeth agitating the em¬ 
 pires of Europe, and defying Spaniard and pope, y-clad in her purple 
 cloth of silver or gold, bestudded with golden aglets, buttons enamelled 
 in the form of tortoises, oak-leaves, and acorns, pearls and diamonds, 
 of which she always returned minus a portion, whenever she appeared 
 in public. Verily, her finer)- appears so entirely part and parcel of her¬ 
 self, that it is mixed up in the gravest details of her state policy. 
 
 She was never seen in deshabille by masculine eyes but on two occa¬ 
 sions. The first time was on a fair May morning, in 1578, when Gil¬ 
 bert Talbot, the earl of Shrewsbury’s son, happening to walk in the 
 tilt-yard,^bout eight o’clock, under the gallery where her majesty was 
 wont to stand, chanced to look up, and saw her at the window in her 
 night-cap. “My eye,” says he, “ was full towards her, and she showed 
 to be greatly ashamed thereof, for that she was unready, and in her 
 
 ’See the original rolls in the Lanstlowne Collections, and in those of Mr. Cra¬ 
 ven Old, quoted in Nichols’ Progresses, vol. iv. 
 
 2 Ex. MSS. Phillipps, Middle Hill Collection. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 313 
 
 night-stuff So, when she saw me after dinner, as she went to walk, 
 she gave me,”—pretty playfulness for a virgin queen of forty-five, — “a 
 great lilip on the forehead, and told my lord chamberlain, who was the 
 next to see her, ‘ how I had seen her that morning, and how much she 
 was ashamed thereof.’” 1 Twenty years later, the luckless Essex sur¬ 
 prised her in the hands of her tire-woman, and paid as severe a penalty 
 for his blunder, as the profane huntsman who incurred the vengeance 
 of Diana by his trespass. 
 
 Whether Elizabeth condescended to sell her influence in the courts 
 of law, where matters of property were at stake, seems almost an in¬ 
 jurious question for her biographers to ask, yet the family vice of the 
 Tudors, covetousness, led her to receive gifts from her courtiers, under 
 circumstances which excite suspicions derogatory to her character as a 
 gentlewoman, and degrading to her dignity as a sovereign. 
 
 “ J will adventure,” writes Harrington, in confidence to a friend, “ to 
 give her majesty five hundred pounds in money, 2 and some pretty jewel, 
 or garment, as you shall advise, only praying her majesty to further my 
 suit with some of her learned council, which I pray you to find some 
 proper time to move in. This, some hold as a dangerous adventure, 
 but live-and-twenty manors do well warrant my trying it.” 
 
 Whether the money was rejected we cannot ascertain, but that the 
 jewel was accepted, certainly appears in the record of the gifts pre¬ 
 sented to queen Elizabeth in the beginning of this year:—■ 
 
 “Item, a heart of gold garnished with sparks of rubies, and three small pearls, 
 and a little round pearl pendant, out of which heart goeth a branch of roses, red 
 and white, wherein are two small diamonds, three small rubies, two little 
 emeralds, anti two small pearls, three qtrs. di., and farthing gold weight, given 
 by Mr. John Harrington, Esq.” 8 
 
 Full of hopes and fears about the success of his suit, the accom¬ 
 plished courtier notes the following resolution in his diary: — “I will 
 attend to-morrow, and leave this little poesy behind her cushion at my 
 departing from her presence.” The little poesy was well calculated to 
 please a female monarch, who was, to the full, as eager to tax the wits 
 af her courtiers for compliments, as their purses for presents. Harring- 
 on was certainly the elder brother of Waller, in the art of graceful fiat- 
 .ery in verse. Observe how every line tells:— 
 
 To the Queen’s Majesty. 
 
 “For ever dear, for ever dreaded prince, 
 
 You read a verse of mine a little since, 
 
 And so pronounced each word, and every letter, 
 
 Your gracious reading graced my verse the better. 
 
 Sitli, then, your highness doth by gift exceeding, 
 
 Make what you read the better for your reading; 
 
 Let my poor muse, your pains thus far importune, 
 
 Like as you read my verse—so read my fortune. 
 
 “From your highness’s saucy godson.” 
 
 'Lodge’s Illustrations. a Harrington’s Nugte AntiqutE. 
 
 In Sloane MS. 814, quoted in Park’s edition of Nugte Antiques, by Sir John 
 larrington, from the notes of which we learn that Harrington presented his royal 
 VOL. VI. — 27 
 
314 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth affected to be displeased with Harrington’s satirical 
 writings, especially the “ Metamorphosis of Ajax,” in which some of 
 the leading men of the court were severely lashed. “But,” writes 
 Robert Markham, to the imprudent wit, “ though her highness signified 
 her displeasure in outward manner, yet did she like the marrow of your 
 book. * * * The queen is minded to take you to her 
 
 favour, but she sweareth, ‘ that she believes you will make epigrams, 
 and write Misacmos again on her, and all her court.’ * 1 She hath been 
 heard to say , 1 that merry poet, her godson, must not come to Green¬ 
 wich till he hath grown sober, and leaveth the ladies’ sports and frolics.’ 
 Site did conceive much disquiet on being told you had aimed a shaft at 
 Leicester. I wish you knew the author of that ill deed. I would not 
 be in his best jerkin for a thousand marks.” 
 
 On the 17th of May, died the venerable archbishop Parker, and, on 
 June 2‘2d, less than three weeks after his death, the horrible fact is re¬ 
 corded, by Stowe, that “two Dutchmen, anabaptists, were burnt in 
 Smithfield, who died in great horror, with roaring and crying.” Foxe, 
 the martyrologist, to his honour, wrote an eloquent letter to Elizabeth, 
 imploring her not to sully the annals of her reign, and the practice of 
 the reformed church, by burning for heterodoxy. His intercession was 
 unavailing to save the two wretched foreigners from the flames, but 
 Elizabeth’s persecutions were afterwards of a bloody and not a fiery 
 character. Unfortunately, the queen was an advocate for the use of 
 torture, though declared, by the high authority of Fortescue, and other 
 enlightened commentators on the constitution of England, to be con¬ 
 trary to the law. 2 
 
 The royal progresses, this summer, were through the midland coun¬ 
 ties. In June, Leicester writes to Burleigh, from some place, supposed 
 to be Grafton, as follows :— 
 
 “I will let your lordship understand such news as we have, which is only 
 and chiefly of her majesty's good health, which, God be thanked, is as good as 1 
 have long known it, and for her liking of this house, I think she never came to 
 place in her life she likes better, or commends more. And since her coming 
 hither, as oft as weather serves, she hath not been within doors. This house 
 likes her well, and her own lodgings especially. She thinks her cost well be¬ 
 stowed, she saith, if it hath been five times as much; but I would her majesty 
 would bestow but half as much more, and then I think she should have as 
 pleasant and commodious house as any in England ; I am sorry your lordship is 
 not here to see it. Even by and by, her majesty is going to the forest to kill some 
 bucks with her bow, as she hath done in the park this morning. God be thanked 
 she is very merry and well disposed now.” 3 
 
 The cause of the previous testiness, on the part of the queen, hert 
 alluded to, is related by the favourite with that quaint pomposity whicl 
 leads persons of small minds to place ludicrous importance on trifles 
 
 godmother with gifts, in 1574, 1577, and 1579; but she, in return, gave him plate 
 weighing 40 ounces. 
 
 1 Harrington's satire was written in epistles, purporting to be written by Misae 
 
 mos to his friend and cousin Philostilpnos. 
 
 3 Many horrible details will be found in Jardine’s Essay on the Use of Torture 
 3 Wright’s Elizabeth and her Times, vol. ii. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 315 
 
 4 But, at her (majesty’s) first coming,” pursues lie, “ being a marvellous 
 lot day at her coming hither, there was not one drop of good drink for 
 ler, so well was she provided for, notwithstanding her oft telling of her 
 toming hither. But we were fain to send forthwith to London, and to 
 Kenilworth, and divers other places, where ale was, her own here was 
 so strong as there was no man able to drink it; you had been as good 
 o have drank Malmsey, and yet was it laid in above three days before 
 ler majesty came. It did put me very far out of temper, and almost all 
 he company beside too, for none of us was able to drink ale or beer 
 lere; since, by chance, we have found drink for her to her liking, and 
 ihe is well again ; but I feared greatly, two or three days, some sickness 
 o have fallen by reason of this drink. God be thanked, she is now 
 lerfect well and merry, and, I think, upon Thursday, come se’nnight, 
 .vill take her journey to Kenilworth, where, I pray God, she may like 
 ill things no worse than she hath done here.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth, though not a tea-drinking queen, certainly belonged to the 
 emperance class, for she never took wine, unless mingled, in equal 
 tarts, with water, and then very sparingly, as a beverage with her 
 neals; and we find, from the above letter, that she was greatly offended 
 ind inconvenienced by the unwonted potency of the ale that had been 
 )rovided by her jolly purveyors, who, probably, judged the royal taste 
 ty their own. 
 
 The course of chronology has now led to that magnificent epoch in 
 he life of Elizabeth, which the genius of sir Walter Scott has made 
 amiliar. And, of course, the following narrative will, in some measure, 
 >e similar to the realities of the splendid romance 2 of Kenilworth, since 
 iir Walter Scott’s descriptions were drawn from the same sources. 
 
 'Wright’s Elizabeth and her Times, vol. ii. 
 
 ’It is. perhaps, desirable to point out the discrepancies between romance and 
 eality, in relation to the position of Leicester, at the crisis of the visit of queen 
 Slizabeth at Kenilworth. Amy Robsart, to whom he was publicly married at 
 lie court of Edward VI., had long been in her grave. Leicester’s path to a royal 
 narriage, we have shown in its place, had been cleared of her within two years 
 >f Elizabeth's accession, by the murder, or accident, at Cumnor Hall. Yet Lei¬ 
 cester was encumbered with a secret marriage, somewhat in the manner of Sir 
 Walter's splendid fiction, but with a high-born lady of the court, lady Douglas 
 Howard, the daughter of William, lord Howard, the queen's uncle ; she was the 
 foung widow of lord Sheffield. Leicester is supposed to have married her pri¬ 
 vately, in 1572, after being dismissed as a public suitor of the queen ; he had, 
 ay her, a very handsome and promising son, and a daughter. The son was one 
 tf the most brilliant geniuses of the succeeding century; and it is inexplicable 
 now Leicester dared to cast a stigma on the mother, whose birth-rank was so 
 much higher than his own, or brand this boy with illegitimacy, when he was 
 madly desirous of offspring, and at the same time doated on him. The scandal¬ 
 ous chronicles of that day declare Leicester had attempted the life of his second 
 unfortunate wife, by poison, about the time of the queen’s visit to Kenilworth, 
 because he had fallen in love with Lettice Knollys, another cousin of the queen, 
 wife to Walter Devereux, earl of Essex, and mother of the young earl of Essex, 
 afterwards Elizabeth’s favourite. This lady he married during the life of his 
 unfortunate second wife, lady Douglas Howard ; and the court used to call her 
 and her rival, the countess Lettice, Leicester's Old and New Testaments. It is 
 likewise said, that the words of that exquisite old melody— 
 
316 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 La Mothe Fenelon gave, in his despatches to his own court, a hint of 
 the causes that induced Leicester to incur this extravagant cost, which 
 were the extraordinary benefactions Elizabeth had that year showered 
 on him, for some important emoluments had fallen to her gift, which 
 she bestowed on him, to the amount of 50,000Z. Leicester, in return, 
 prepared this gorgeous entertainment at Kenilworth, “ where,” says La 
 Mothe, “ he lodged the queen and her ladies, forty earls, and seventy 
 other principal milords , all under the roof of his own castle, for the 
 space of twelve days. He personally invited me, but my health did not 
 permit me to join the court.” 
 
 The princely seat of Kenilworth was no inheritance of the suddenly- 
 raised family of Dudley, it had descended to Elizabeth, from some of 
 the most illustrious of her ancestors, and she had granted it to her 
 favourite, from the fifth year of her reign. 
 
 The queen was welcomed, on the 9th of July, at Long Ichington, a 
 town belonging to Leicester, about seven miles from Kenilworth. She 
 dined under an immense tent, and, as a diversion at the dessert, was 
 shown two of the rarities of the country—a fat boy, of six years old, 
 nearly five feet high, but very stupid ; and, to match this prodigy, a 
 monstrous sheep of the Leicestershire breed. In the afternoon, the 
 queen then followed the chase, and hunted towards Kenilworth; so far 
 a-field did her sport lead her, that it was eight in the evening before she 
 arrived at the park gates. A continual series of pageantry and masking, 
 welcomed her progress through the park, at various stations, to the 
 castle gate; where the porter, representing Hercules, “ tall of person, 
 big of limb, and stern of countenance, wrapt in a pall of silk, with a 
 club and keys, had a rough speech, ‘ full of passions in metre,’ aptly 
 made to the purpose, and, as her majesty came within his ward, he 
 burst out into a great pang of impatience :” * 1 * — 
 
 “What stir, what coil is here? come back, hold! whither now? 3 
 
 Not one so stout to stir—what harrying have we here ? 
 
 “ Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep; 
 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weep”— 
 
 were meant as the address of the forsaken lady Leicester to her boy. 
 
 Lady Sheffield survived Leicester, and endeavoured to prove her marriagf 
 with him, before the council in the Star-chamber, in the reign of James I., it 
 order to legitimate her son: her deposition states, “That she concealed her mar 
 riage, owing to the furious threats of the earl of Leicester, and that lie gave hei 
 poison to get rid of her, by which her hair all fell off;” another account says 
 “the virulence of the poison likewise deprived her of her nails.” She marriet 
 a third husband, Sir Edward Stafford. Leicester left Kenilworth, and a grea 
 landed property, to his son by this lady. Her Christian name was Douglas 
 which has often given rise to mistakes concerning her. See Howard's Memo 
 rials, p. S9. 
 
 1 Laneliam’s Kenilworth, p. S. That splendid description of the approach ol 
 Elizabeth, in Sir Walter Scott's Kenilworth, originates in the rich imagination ol 
 the poet, since she arrived in her hunting dress, after a devious chase by tin 
 
 way. Laneham's description must be accurate, since he was usher, or “liusher 
 «if the council-door. 
 
 3 Gascoigne's Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 317 
 
 My friends, a porter I, no puppet here am placed, 
 
 By leave, perhaps, else not, while club and limbs do last. 
 
 A garboil this, indeed! What yea, fair dames, what yea! 
 
 What dainty darlings here ? Oh, God ! a peerless pearl! 
 
 (He affects to see the queen for the first time.) 
 No worldly wight, I doubt—some sovereign goddess, sure ! 
 i In face, in hand, in eye, in other features all, 
 
 Yea, beauty, grace, and cheer—yea, port and majesty, 
 
 Shew all some heavenly peer with virtues all beset. 
 
 Come, come, most perfect paragon, pass on with joy and bliss; 
 
 Have here, have here, both club and keys, myself, my ward, I yield, 
 
 E'en gates and all, my lord himself, submit, and seek your shield.” 
 
 The queen and her train now passed through the gate kept by this 
 oetical porter, and arrived on the bridge, crossing the beautiful pool, 
 /hich served as a moat to one side of the castle; when a lady with 
 ivo nymphs came to her all across the pool, seeming as if she walked 
 n the water, or, according to Laneham, lloating on a movable illumi¬ 
 ned island, bright blazing with torches. This personage commenced 
 metrical description of the traditions of Kenilworth, written by one 
 f the first literati of that day, George Ferrers :— 
 
 “I am the lady of this pleasant lake, 
 
 Who since the time of great king Arthur’s reign, 
 
 That here with royal court abode did make, 
 
 Have led a lowering life in restless pain, 
 
 Till now that this your third arrival here, 
 
 Doth cause me come abroad and boldly thus appear. 
 
 For after him such storms this castle shook, 
 
 By swarming Saxons first who scourged this land, 
 
 As forth of this my Pool I ne'er durst look, 
 
 Though Kenelm, 1 king of Mercia, took in hand, 
 
 As sorrowing to see it in deface, 
 
 To rear the ruins up and fortify this place. 
 
 The earl sir Montfort’s 3 force gave me no heart, 
 
 Sir Edmund Crouchback’s state, the prince's son 
 Could not cause me out of my lake to start, 
 
 Nor Roger Mortimer’s ruffe who first begun, 
 
 (As Arthur's heir,) 3 to keep the table round, 
 
 Could not inspire my heart, or cause me come on ground. 
 
 Yet still I will attend while you’re abiding here, 
 
 Most peerless queen, and to your court resort; 
 
 And as my love to Arthur did appear, 
 
 It shall to you in earnest and in sport. 
 
 Pass on, madame, you need no longer stand, 
 
 The lake, the lodge, the lord, are yours for to command.” 
 
 It pleased the queen to thank this lady, and to add withal, u We had 
 ought the lake had been ours, and do you call it yours, now ? Well, 
 e will herein commune more with you hereafter.” 
 
 Kenilworth is supposed to derive its name from this Saxon saint and king. 
 Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester, who detained Henry III., his brother, 
 d his nephew, prisoners here. 
 
 By descent from Gladys, princess of Wales, representative of Roderic the 
 eat. Mortimer’s ruffe does not mean an accessory to his dress, but the great 
 owd and bustle cf his renowned tournament at Kenilworth. 
 
 27 * 
 
318 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The grand pageant of the welcome, was a temporary bridge over the 
 base court, reaching to the main building, twenty feet wide, and seventy, 
 long; seven pair of pillars were on this bridge, with mythological 
 deities standing by them, offering to the queen symbolical gifts, as she 
 rode between them; thus, on the tops of the first pair were large cages, 
 containing live bitterns, curlews, hernshaws, godwits, “and such dainty 
 birds, offered to her by Sylvanus, god of wood fowl.” The next paii 
 of pillars supported two great silver bowls, piled with apples, pears, 
 cherries, filberts, walnuts—all fresh on their branches, the gifts of Po¬ 
 mona. Wheat in ears, oats, and barley, waved in the next bowls. The 
 next pillar, bore a silver bowl, piled with red and white grapes ; and 
 opposite were two “great livery pots of white silver, filled with clarey 
 and while wine,” on which many in the queen’s train, fatigued with the 
 recent hunting party, in one of the hottest July evenings that ever oc¬ 
 curred in England, were observed to cast longing eyes. The next pai: 
 of pillars supported silver trays, filled with fresh grass, on which laic 
 the fish of the sea, and rivers, with a river god standing by; the nex 
 pillars supported the trophies of arms and arts, music and physic, while 
 a poet , in a cerulean garment, stood forth and explained the whole u 
 her learned majesty, in a string of Latin hexameters, which we have m 
 intention of inflicting on our readers. 
 
 So passing to the inner court, her majesty, “ that never rides bu 
 alone, there alighted from her palfrey,” and was conveyed up to he 
 chamber. At this instant all the clocks in the castle were stopped; and 
 by r a delicate attention, the hands continued to point at the moment o 
 her arrival, since no one was to take note of the time, during the roya 
 sojourn at Kenilworth. 
 
 When her majesty entered her chamber, peals of great guns wer 
 shot off, with a profusion of fireworks, which continued for two hour; 
 
 “ The noise and flame,” says Laneham, “ were heard and seen for twent; 
 miles round about.” This was on the Saturday night; and, it may b 
 surmised, that many an aching head must have longed for the repose o 
 the Sabbath, after such a lullaby to their repose; but small repose di 
 the sacred day bring. It is true, the queen and her court went to churc 
 in the morning, but in the afternoon was music and dancing of the lord 
 and ladies, with lively agility; and the Sabbath evening concluded wit 
 roaring discharges of fireworks and cannon, and though this time th 
 fireworks did not set a town on fire, “ yet,” says Laneham, “ they mad 
 me vetigeably afraid.” 
 
 “ Monday was so hot that her majesty kept within till five in th 
 evening; what time it pleased her to ride forth to hunt the hart of fors< 
 On her homeward way a masking-pageant met her in the chase. A sai 
 vage man, wreathed and girdled with oak leaves, having a young saplin 
 oak plucked up, by way of a walking staff, and who represented th 
 god Sylvanus, intercepted her majesty’s steed. He began to give uttei 
 ance to a speech so long-winded and tedious, that when he had arrive 
 at the first quarto page, her majesty put on her steed; but Sylvanu 
 who, savage as he might be deemed, seems to have made no slight ai 
 ranee in the modern art of boring, began to run by her side, reciting th 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 31U 
 
 rest of his speech with wonderful volubility. At last, out of pity, the 
 queen checked her horse to favour Sylvanus, who humbly besought 
 ‘ her majesty to go on; for if his rude speech did not offend her, he 
 could continue to run and speak it for twenty miles, protesting, he had 
 rather run as her majesty’s footman on earth than be a god on horse¬ 
 back in heaven.’ ” 1 
 
 At these words her majesty came by a close arbour, made all of holly; 
 and while Sylvanus pointed to the same, “ the principal bush shaked; 
 for therein were placed both sweet music, and one appointed to repre¬ 
 sent Deep Desire, who herewith stepped out of the holly bush,” and 
 recited a long speech to the queen, tediously stuffed with flattery, 
 i Then a concert of music sounded from the holly bower, while Deep 
 Desire sang a dismal ditty, full of such tropes, as “cramps of care,” and 
 “gripes of grief;” therefore its quotation may be very well spared here. 
 Sylvanus concluded the mask by breaking the oak sapling he used for a 
 staff asunder, and casting it up in the air; but, unfortunately, one end 
 almost fell on the head of the queen’s horse, which started violently, 
 an'd Sylvanus, who was no other than the poet Gascoigne, was terribly 
 alarmed at the consequences of his awkwardness. 
 
 “No hurt—no hurt!” exclaimed the queen, as she skilfully controlled 
 her horse; “ and this benignity of the sovereign,” continues Laneham, 
 “ we took to be the best part of the play;” and assuredly Elizabeth 
 showed both good nature and magnanimity in her reception of this ac- 
 , cident . 2 
 
 Towards night, on Tuesday, the queen chose to walk on foot over 
 the bridge, into the chase; at her return she stood on the bridge, and 
 listened to a delectable concert of music, from a barge on the pool. 
 The queen hunted the hart of forse on Wednesday, in the chase; the 
 hart took to the pool, where he was caught alive, and her majesty 
 granted him his life on condition that he “lost his ears” for a ransom. 
 
 This useless cruelty, aptly preceded the bear-baiting of the next day, 
 when the virgin queen had the satisfaction of seeing a great sort of ban¬ 
 dogs, which had been tied in the outer court, let loose on thirteen bears, 
 which were baited in the inner; “ where,” says Laneham, “ there was 
 plucking and tugging, scratching and biting, and such an expense of 
 blood and leather between them, as a month’s licking, I ween, will nor 
 recover.” This refined diversion took place in the daytime; but the 
 Thursday evening concluded with strange and sundry kind of fireworks, 
 and discharge of great guns for two hours; and during this din, her 
 majesty was entertained by an Italian tumbler of such extraordinary 
 agility in twistings and turnings, that the court considered him to be 
 more of a sprite than a man, and that his backbone must have been like 
 a lamprey, or made of a lute-string. 
 
 The drought and heat of the season was on the two succeeding days 
 seasonably refreshed by rain and moisture ; the queen, therefore, attended 
 
 1 Gascoigne's Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth. 
 
 2 Laneham’s Kenilworth. Gascoigne, who was the unlucky perpetrator of this 
 maladroit feat, takes care not to record it in his narrative of the Princely Plea¬ 
 sures of Kenilworth. 
 
320 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 none of the shows in the open air; until that time the weather had 
 been hot and blazing. The second Sunday of Elizabeth’s sojourn at 
 Kenilworth was Saint Kenelm’s day, the royal Saxon saint, who was 
 murdered at the foot of the neighbouring Clent hills, and whose patron¬ 
 age and influence was once supposed to extend far and wide over the 
 midland counties, especially round Kenilworth, his former palace. The 
 new ritual had not yet superseded the ancient regard of Warwickshire 
 for Saint Kenelm, and the whole district was astir, to do uproarious 
 honour, at once to him and his successor, queen Elizabeth. The 
 weather again set in gloriously bright, and every one attended her ma¬ 
 jesty to church, where they heard “ a fruitful sermon.” 
 
 In the afternoon, a comely quintain was set up, and a solemn bridal 
 of a proper couple was marshalled in procession in the tilt-yard. The 
 bride was thirty-five, “ very ugly, red-haired, foul, ill-favoured—of com¬ 
 plexion, a brown bay.” This amiable object was very anxious to be 
 married, because she had heard she should be called on to dance before 
 the queen.” She was, however, wholly disappointed; for her majesty, 
 who particularly disliked ugly persons, bestowed all her attention 
 on the Coventry play “ of the Slaughter of the Danes, at Hock tide, 
 wont to be played in that city yearly without ill example of papistry, 
 or any superstition.” A sport, representing a massacre, was so won¬ 
 derfully to the taste of the era, that the queen requested its repeti¬ 
 tion at the earliest opportunity; and to the infinite satisfaction of the 
 men of Coventry, she gave them the royal benefaction of two bucks, 
 and five marks. Captain Cox made his entry, at the Coventry play, on 
 his hobby-horse; but it is a point in doubt, whether he was a character 
 in the play, or a worthy flourishing at that time in Coventry . 1 An 
 “ ambrosial banquet,” and a gorgeous mask, concluded those Sunday di¬ 
 versions. 
 
 The heat of the next day caused the queen to keep within the castle 
 till five in the afternoon, when she hunted the hart in the chase; and, 
 on her return, beheld on the pool, from the bridge, one of those grand 
 water pageants, which the marriage of Henry III. had rendered fashion¬ 
 able in Europe. There was the lady of the lake on her illuminated 
 island, attended by a swimming mermaid, twenty-four feet in length; 
 besides Arion on a dolphin of equal vastness. When it came to Arion’s 
 turn to make a speech to the queen, he, who had been rather too power¬ 
 fully refreshed from the earl of Leicester’s cellar in order to qualify his 
 aquatic undertaking, forgot his part, and pulling oft his mask, swore, 
 “He was none of Arion, not he; but honest Harry Goldingham.” A 
 proceeding which pleased the queen more than all the rest of the per¬ 
 formance. Harry Goldingham had a fine voice, and was a poet who had 
 aided in composing some of the interludes; he sang very well from the 
 back of his dolphin, and concluded the pageant, to the universal satis¬ 
 faction of the beholders. 
 
 1 The list of the songs sung by captain Cox, of which only the first lines are 
 extant, raise a pleasant idea of old English lyrics; they were, “Broom, broom 
 on hill," “Bonny lass upon the green," “By a bank as I lay,” ‘ My bonny one 
 gave me a beck.” 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 321 
 
 Such was the general tone of the princely pleasures of Kenilworth, 
 during the queen’s visit, which lasted till July 27th. Laneham declares, 
 moreover, u that her majesty, with her accustomed charity and mercy, 
 cured nine persons of the painful disease called the ‘ king’s evil;’ which 
 the kings and queens of this realm without other medicine, but only by 
 touching and prayers, do cure.” 
 
 Among the dull metrical compliments offered in fatiguing profusion to 
 Elizabeth, at Kenilworth, there was one sufficiently absurd to be amus¬ 
 ing, especially as it contained an historical allusion to the queen’s rejec¬ 
 tion of Leicester’s addresses. It is part of a lengthy dialogue, in which 
 a salvage man, clad in ivy, questions Echo on the cause of the unusual 
 splendours then enlivening the chase and domains of Kenilworth. The 
 English language, between the two, was much tortured by various quaint 
 quips and quirks, as for instance, the salvage man demanded— 
 
 “And who gave all these gifts ? I pray thee, Echo, say,— 
 
 Was it not he who (but of late) this building here did lay? 
 
 Echo .—Dud 1 ey. 
 
 Salvage it lan. —O, Dudley! So methought; he gave himself, and all, 
 
 A worthy gift to be received, and so I trust it shall. 
 
 Echo .—It shall. 
 
 Salvage Man .—What meant the fiery flames that through the waters flew! 
 
 Can no cold answers quench desire—Is that experience true V’ 
 
 Elizabeth’s attention was soon after recalled, from the idle joyaunce 
 of progresses and pageants, by the important appeals that were made to 
 her by the oppressed Protestants in the Low Countries. St. Aldegonde, 
 the friend and confidant of the prince of Orange, with other deputies, 
 came over to England, to implore her to accept the sovereignty of their 
 states, as the descendant and representative of their ancient counts, 
 through her illustrious ancestress, Philippa of Hainault. This ambas- 
 sade, and its result, is briefly summed up in two lines by Collins, in his 
 Ode to Liberty :— 
 
 “Those whom the rod of Alva bruised, 
 
 Whose crown a British queen refused.” 
 
 Elizabeth was not prepared to contest this mighty adjunct to the 
 Spanish empire with Philip, and she replied evasively, offered publicly 
 to mediate between him and the states, and privately encouraged the 
 deputies to continue their resistance. They proposed to throw them¬ 
 selves on the protection of France, but from this step she earnestly dis¬ 
 suaded them, and privately supplied them with pecuniary aid. She, 
 ilso. by her intrigues with the duke of Alentjon, incited him to coalesce 
 with the king of Navarre and the Huguenot party in France, thus fur- 
 tishing Henry III. with sufficient employment at home to prevent him 
 rom interfering in the affairs of the states. 1 The details of these strug¬ 
 gles belong to general history. On the 7th of January, queen Elizabeth 
 inally concluded an alliance, offensive and defensive, with the states, 
 'iigaging to assist them with a loan of 100,000Z., with 5U00 foot sol- 
 liers, and 1000 horse. She soon after employed Casimir, the brother 
 >f the Elector Palatine, who proceeded as her lieutenant, with 12,000 
 
 1 Grotius ; Camden ; Strada 
 
 V 
 
322 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 German auxiliaries, to the low countries, at the expense of England. 1 
 The German mercenaries committed so many excesses, that the poor 
 Dutchmen found their friends even more intolerable than their foes, and 
 requested to be placed under the protection of the queen of England’s 
 suitor, Francis of Aleinjon, who had now assumed the title of duke of 
 Anjou, formerly borne by his brother, Henry III. 
 
 Elizabeth at first regarded this requisition with jealous suspicion as a 
 manceuvre of the king of France, but there was no love between the 
 brethren, and Anjou professed himself devoted to her interests. He was, 
 indeed, a convenient tool, ready to be employed in any service, whereby 
 his own personal advancement might be forwarded. This summer he 
 sent an envoy, of the name of Buchervdle, to prosecute his suit, who 
 was accompanied by Rambouillet, sent from the king, his brother, to 
 second his solicitations. 2 The French envoys found Elizabeth at Long 
 Melford hall, in Suffolk, the seat of sir William Cordall, her master of 
 the Rolls, being the first in that county who had the honour of feasting 
 the royal traveller, and who, to use the quaint language of old Church¬ 
 yard, the contemporary historian of the eastern progresses, “ did light 
 such a candle to the rest of the shire, that many were glad bountifully 
 and frankly to follow the same example, with such charges as the whole 
 train were in some sort pleased thereat.” The next morning she rode 
 from Melford to Lawshall hall, where she dined with sir William Drury. 
 The royal visit is recorded in the parish register, as occurring August 
 5th, in the twentieth year of her majesty’s reign, to the great rejoicing 
 of the parish, and all the country thereabouts. 
 
 Elizabeth appears to have been on very affectionate terms with lady 
 Drury, for, on the death of sir William Drury, who was slain ten years 
 later in France, she addressed to her the following friendly letter of con¬ 
 dolence, or rather, we may say, of kind expostulation, on the excess of 
 grief to which the widow had abandoned herself:— 
 
 ‘•Be well ware , my Besse, you strive not with Divine ordinance, nor grudge at 
 irremediable harms, lest you offend the highest Lord, and no whit amend your 
 marred hap. Heap not your harms where help there is none, but since you may 
 not that you would wish, that you can enjoy with comfort a King for his power, 
 and a queen for her love, who leaves not now to protect you when your case 
 requires care, and minds not to omit whatever may be best for you and yours. 
 
 “ Your most loving, careful sovereign.'’ 
 
 Of a similar character to this quaint consolation is the brief and pithy 
 letter of condolence, if such it may be called, addressed by Elizabeth 
 to her friend, lady Paget, on the death of her daughter, lady Crumpton, 
 which, in the brief space of a few lines, exhibits much good and honest 
 feeling. No one could come more tersely to the point than Elizabeth, 
 when she wrote under the strong impulse of anger or affection. What 
 can be more simply sweet and gracious than the following specimen 
 of familiar language from the generally Latinized pen of this learned 
 queen :— 
 
 “ Cali to your mind, good Kate, bow hardly we princes can brook the crossing 
 of our commands. How ireful will the highest Power be (may you be sure) 
 
 1 Strada; Camden ; Rapin. 
 
 2 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 323 
 
 wher. murmurs shall be made of his pleasing his will. Let nature, therefore, 
 not hurt herself, but give place to the Giver. Though this lesson be from a sely 
 vicar, 1 * yet it is sent from a loving soveraine.” 3 
 
 But to return to Elizabeth’s eastern progress: — Her majesty was 
 astonished at the gallant appearance and brave array of the comely Suf¬ 
 folk squires, who came to meet and welcome her into their county. 
 The bachelors, all gaily clad in white velvet, to the number of two hun¬ 
 dred, and those of graver years, in black velvet coats and fair chains, 
 with fifteen hundred serving men, all mounted on horseback — these 
 formed a volunteer guard of honour, under the command of the high 
 sheriff, sir William le Spring, of Lavenham, and attended her majesty in 
 her progress to the very confines of their county,—“ a comely troop,” 
 says Churchyard, “and a noble sight to behold.” 
 
 From Lawshall hall, in the evening, the queen came to Hawsted hall, 
 at present the seat of sir Thomas Cullum, where there are several me¬ 
 morials and traditions of her visit, where it is said, that she dropped a 
 silver-handled fan into the moat. 3 The fans used by Elizabeth were 
 made of feathers, set in a rich handle, and in form resembling a modern 
 hand-screen. The following is the description of one of those graceful 
 accessories to the royal toilet, which was presented to her majesty by 
 sir Francis Drake, as a new year’s gift:—“A fan of feathers, white and 
 red, enamelled with a half-moon of mother of pearls, within that a half¬ 
 moon garnished with sparks of diamonds, and a few seed-pearls on the 
 one side; having her majesty’s picture within it; and on the reverse a 
 device with a crow over it.” Her majesty spent ten days at various 
 seats in Suffolk, and having been received on the borders of Norfolk by 
 the cavaliers of the county, approached Norwich, as near as Brakenash, 
 on the 16th of August. 
 
 At the western boundary of the city of Norwich, which is a place 
 called Harford Bridge, the mayor received the queen with a long Latin 
 speech, which he recited in a manner that did great credit to the erudition 
 of mayors in general. The purpose of it was, however, to offer a fair 
 standing cup of silver, with a cover, containing 100/. in gold. Lifting 
 the cover, the mayor said to her majesty, “ Here is one hundred pounds, 
 pure gold.” 
 
 One of the queen’s footmen advanced to take it, when the queen said 
 to him, significantly, thinking he might not have understood the learned 
 mayor’s Latin, “ Look to it, there is a hundred pound.” 
 
 When the royal procession had advanced within a flight-shot of the 
 metropolis of the east of England, and in a spot commanding a good 
 view of the castle of Blanchefiower, which stands like a mural crown 
 above the city of Norwich, a pageant arrested the attention of the queen, 
 representing king Gurgunt, to whom tradition imputes the building of 
 the castle and the founding of Cambridge university. King Gurgutu 
 
 1 Meaning vicar of Christ, in allusion to her pontifical office of head of the 
 :hurch of England, which she, and the rest of her establishment, deemed the 
 ihurch universal : sely meant, in her day, harmless or innocent. 
 
 ’Sloane MS., vol. i., 4160. The original document is at Hagley. 
 
 ’History of Hawsted, by Sir John Cullum, Bart. 
 
324 
 
 . ELIZABETH. 
 
 having explained in verse his ancient doings in Norwich, another 
 pageant beset her by the way at St. Stephen’s gates, from whence,” 
 says the annals of the city, “ an enormous muck-hill had been recently 
 removed for the occasion.” We will pass over the allegories which 
 severally “ bestowed their tediousness” on the queen, to arrive at the 
 only pageant of real interest, some remnants of which are displayed at 
 Norwich elections, and other grand occasions, to this day. This was 
 called “ the Stranger’s Pageant,” being the show of queen Philippa’s in¬ 
 dustrious Flemish colony, even in that era of Elizabeth, a separate and 
 peculiar people in Norwich. There was a stage, with seven looms 
 actively at work with their separate weavers; over the first, was writ¬ 
 ten, the “ weaving of worsted over the second, the “ weaving of rus- 
 sels,” a sort of Norwich crape.' Among others, the weaving of lace, 
 and of fringe, and several other manufactures, which it would be vair, 
 to seek as Norwich produce at present. Upon the stage stood at ont 
 ead “eight small women-children” spinning worsted yarn; at the othei 
 end, as many knitting of worsted hose; “ and in the midst a pretty boy 
 stood forth,” and stayed her majesty’s progress with an address in verse 
 declaring, that in this “ small show, the city’s wealth was seen.” 
 
 “From combed wool we draw this slender thread; 
 
 (Shewing the spinners.) 
 
 From thence the looms have dealing with the same; 
 
 (Shewing the weaving in progress.) 
 And thence again, in order do proceed 
 These several works, which skilful art doth frame; 
 
 And all to drive dame Need into her cave, 
 
 Our heads and hands together laboured have. 
 
 We bought before, the things that now we sell, 
 
 These slender imps, their work doth pass the waves ; 
 
 (Shewing the women-children, spinners, and knitters.) 
 God’s peace and thine we hold, and prosper well, 
 
 Of every mouth, the hands, the charges saves. 
 
 Thus, through thy help and aid of power Divine, 
 
 Doth Norwich live, whose hearts and goods are thine.” 
 
 Elizabeth had the good sense to be particularly pleased with thi 
 pageant; she desired to examine the knitting and yarn of the u smal 
 women-children“ she perused the looms attentively,” and returnei 
 great thanks for this show. 
 
 “A grand pageant thwarted the entrance of the market-place from Si 
 Stephen’s street.” Here the queen was addressed by seven femal 
 worthies, among which were Debora, Judith, Esther, the city of Nor 
 wich, and queen Martia . 1 2 The last dame described herself thus:— 
 
 “ I am that Martia bright, who sometime ruled this land, 
 
 As queen, for thirty-three years space, gat licence at the hand 
 Of that Gurguntius king, my husband's father dear, 
 
 Who built this town and castle, both, to make our homage here ; 
 
 1 IVow, with some modifications, called Orleans cloth ; a pleasant winter dree: 
 if obtained of real Norwich manufacture. 
 
 a Tlie tiadition, regarding the ancient laws instituted by this British queen, i 
 mentioned in the Introduction to this work. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 325 
 
 • Which homage, mighty queen, accept,—the realm and right are thine; 
 
 The crown, the sceptre, and the sword, to thee we do resign.” 
 
 Thus Elizabeth was welcomed at various stations in Norwich till she 
 reached the cathedral, where she attended Te Deum ; and, finally, 
 irrived at the bishop’s palace; where she sojourned during her stay at 
 Norwich. 
 
 On the Monday morning, “ a very excellent boy,” representing Mer¬ 
 cury, was driven at full speed through the city in a fantastic car, painted 
 with birds and clouds, the horses being dressed out with wings; and 
 Mercury himself appeared in an azure satin jerkin, and a mantle of gold 
 'doth. He was driven into the “preaching green,” on the north side 
 bf the bishop’s palace, where the queen, looking out of her bed-chamber 
 window, beheld him jump off his car and approach the window in such 
 1 sort, that her majesty “was seen to smile at the boldness of the boy.” 
 He looked at the queen with courage and audacity, then bowed down 
 liis head, “ shaked his rod,” and commenced an unmercifully long 
 string of verses; but the gist of his message was, “ that if her highness 
 pleased to take the air that day, there were shows and devices to be 
 seen abroad.” Unfortunately, it rained hard, and the queen did not 
 venture out, but received a deputation from the Dutch church, with a 
 roblet of exquisitely wrought silver, worth fifty pounds, presented with 
 1 speech, which pathetically alluded to the cruel persecutions perpe- 
 ;rated by Philip II. and Alva, in the Netherlands. Norwich was then 
 crowded with protestant emigrants, whom this conduct, impolitic as it 
 was wicked, had expatriated, with their ingenious crafts and capital, 
 rom the Spanish dominions. 
 
 The next day, her majesty was engaged to hunt in sir Henry Jerning- 
 lam’s park at Cottessy; as she passed out of St. Bennet’s Gates, master 
 Mercury and all the heathen deities were stationed there with speeches, 
 iiul presents of small value. Among others, Jupiter gave her a riding 
 rod made of whale’s fin. Venus presented her with a white dove. The 
 little creature was so tame, that, when cast off, it made directly to the 
 ipieen, and sat before her all the time as quietly as if it listened to the 
 speeches. 
 
 The queen, and the French ambassadors who were in her train, 
 lined on Wednesday with the young earl of Surrey, heir of her victim 
 the beheaded duke of Norfolk. His residence was not at the famous 
 fuke’s palace, in Norwich, now utterly destroyed, but at a conventual 
 structure by the water-side, at present in good preservation; not very 
 arge, but suitable to the altered fortunes of the young heir of Howard. 1 
 
 The poet Churchyard, an old retainer of that family, was the person 
 who had arranged all the pageants on this occasion ; “ and when her 
 najesty took her barge at my lord Surrey’s back-door, he had prepared 
 t goodly mask of water-nymphs, but the place being small and the pas¬ 
 sages narrow, he removed all his nymphs to a spot lower down the 
 iver, where a deep hole had been dug in the earth by the water-side, 
 
 1 By tlie death of his grandfather, he soon after took the title of the earl of 
 
 Gundel. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 28 
 
326 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and covered with green canvas, which suddenly opening, as if the 
 ground gaped, “ first one nymph was devised to pop up, and make the 
 queen a speech, and then another; and a very complete concert was to 
 sound secretly and strangely out of the earth.” Unfortunately, at the 
 very moment when the queen passed in her coach, a thunder shower 
 came down like a water-spout, and almost drowned the water-nymphs, 
 while awful bursts of thunder silenced the underground concert. 
 “ Though some of us got to a boat, and stood up under a bridge (pro¬ 
 bably Bishop’s Bridge), we were all so splashed and washed, that it 
 was found greater pastime to see us all look like drowned rats, than to 
 behold the best of our shows.” As the water-nymphs were only great 
 boys, who may be considered in the eastern counties almost as aquatic 
 animals, our discomfited poet affords no commiseration for their sous¬ 
 ing. But on the subject of their dresses, and on the impolicy of plan¬ 
 ning masks in England, exposed to the caprices of the climate, he is 
 positively pathetic. “ What shall I say of the loss of the city in vel¬ 
 vets, silks, and cloth of gold ? Well, nothing but the old adage, ‘ Man 
 doth purpose, but God dispose.’ ” 
 
 He contrived, however, a successful “ mask of faeirie,” as the queen 
 left Norwich on the Friday, when she passed to sir Roger Wodehouse’s 
 mansion at Kimberley. Elizabeth bade an affectionate farewell to Nor¬ 
 wich ; she knighted the mayor, and told him “ she should never forget 
 his city.” “When on her journey, she looked back, and with the water 
 in her eyes, shaked her riding whip, and said, ‘Farewell, Norwich !’” * 1 
 
 The visits of Elizabeth to private individuals, during her progresses, 
 were often attended with great expense and inconvenience, and occa¬ 
 sionally with evil results to her hosts. In her homeward route from 
 her eastern progress this year, an incident occurred little to the credit 
 of the sovereign and her advisers, though it is related with base exulta¬ 
 tion by Richard Topclifle, in a letter to the earl of Shrewsbury . 2 
 
 Her majesty was pleased to pay one of her self-invited visits to Euston 
 Hall, in Suffolk, belonging to a young gentleman of the ancient house 
 of Rookwood, who had just come of age. Here she abode with her 
 suite a whole fortnight; and though much abuse is levelled at the youth¬ 
 ful owner of Euston Hall, it seems his religion was his only crime. 
 ‘‘This Rookwood,” says Topcliff'e, “is a papist newly crept out of his 
 wardship. Her majesty was lodged at his house at Euston — fitter for 
 the black-guard . 3 Nevertheless, this gentleman was brought into her 
 majesty’s presence by some device, and her excellent majesty gave 
 Rookwood ordinary (usual) thanks for his bad house, and her fair hand 
 to kiss; after which it was braved at,” whether the thanks or the hand, 
 it is difficult to divine. “ But my lord chamberlain, nobly and gravely 
 understanding that Rookwood was excommunicated for papistry, called 
 him before him, and demanded of him how he durst attempt her royal 
 presence — he, unfit to accompany any Christian person;” and adding. 
 
 1 Nichols' Progresses, vol. ii. 
 
 1 Lodge's Illustrations of Brit. History, vol. ii., pp. 119—121. 
 
 8 The lower functionaries of the palace, who did not wear uniforms or liveries 
 
ELIZABETH. 327 
 
 “ that he was fitter for a pair of stocks,—forthwith commanded him out 
 of the court, and yet to attend her council’s pleasure.” 
 
 This was a strange return for a fortnight’s hospitality; for if the 
 queen and her courtiers had not liked their entertainment, why did they 
 stay so long? but, alas, for poor Rookwood! his guests were not con¬ 
 tented with this curious specimen of their courtly manners. Their next 
 proceeding was to raise an outcry that some of their property had been 
 stolen ; and, to ransack his house and premises. Unfortunate man ! he 
 was in much the greatest danger of being robbed, as the sequel will 
 show ; but no words, excepting those of master Topcliffe, can do jus¬ 
 tice to this precious trait of the times: “And to decipher the gentleman 
 to the full, a piece of plate being missed in the house and searched for, 
 in his hay-house was found such an image of our lady, as for greatness, 
 for gayness, and workmanship, I did never see a match ; and after a sort 
 of country dance, ended in her majesty’s sight, the idol was set in sight 
 of the people, who avoided} Her majesty commanded it to the fire, 
 which, in her sight, by the country-folks, was quickly done to her con¬ 
 tent, and the unspeakable joy of every one, but some one or two who 
 had sucked the idol’s poisoned milk.” But the guests of the owner of 
 Euston Hall had not yet made Rookwood sufficient returns for his hos¬ 
 pitality, for the amiable inditer of the epistle says, “ The next good 
 news (but in account the highest) her majesty hath served God with 
 great zeal and comfortable examples, for by her council two notorious 
 papists, young Rookwood (the master of Euston Hall, where her ma¬ 
 jesty did lie on Sunday, now a fortnight) and one Downs, a gentleman, 
 were both committed—the one to the town prison at Norwich, and the 
 other to the county prison there, for obstinate papistry ; and seven more 
 gentlemen of worship, were committed to several houses in Norwich, 
 as prisoners.” 
 
 Such were our forefathers’ ideas of serving God with “great zeal and 
 comfortthe strangest part of this letter is, that a man could write 
 down a narrative of such conduct, without perceiving the hideousness 
 of the polemic spirit, that inspired his exultation in the incarceration of 
 an unoffending young gentleman among felons in a common jail, for no 
 greater crime than quiet adherence to the faitli in which he had been 
 educated. Such were the neglected state of prison regulations, too, at 
 that period, that only in the preceding year, “ when the prisoners were 
 brought into court for trial at Oxford, the noxious atmosphere that clave 
 to them slew the lord-chief-justice Bell, the principal law-officers pre¬ 
 sent, and most of the jury, as with a sudden blight.” Such are among 
 the records of the golden days of good queen Bess, although the privy 
 council appears more chargeable with this instance of persecution than 
 the sovereign; yet, as the deed was transacted under her very eye, she 
 cannot be acquitted of having sanctioned the cruel return that was made 
 to her unfortunate young host for her entertainment at Euston Hall, so 
 true it is, that, “ they who permit oppression share the crime.” 
 
 Another instance is recorded of the ill consequences that resulted 
 
 1 i. e., turned from it. 
 
328 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 from one of Elizabeth’s unwelcome visits, by Smith, in his Lives of the 
 Berkeleys, who states “ that she came in progress to Berkeley castle, 
 what time Henry lord Berkeley, the then possessor, had a stately game 
 of red deer in the park adjoining, called the Worthy, whereof Henry 
 Ligon was keeper ; during which time of her being there, such slaughter 
 was made, as twenty-seven stags were slain in the toils in one day, and 
 many others on that and the next stolen and havocked; whereof, when 
 this lord, being then at Callowden, was advertised, having much set his 
 delight in this game, he suddently and passionately disparked that 
 ground ; but in a few months after, he had secret friendly advertisement 
 from the court, that the queen was informed how the same was disparked 
 by him, on repining at her coming to his house (for, indeed, it was not 
 in her gestes '), and at the good sports she had had in the park, advising 
 this lord to carry a wary watch over his words and actions, lest that earl 
 (meaning Leicester) that had, contrary to her set justice, drawn her to 
 his castle, and purposely caused this slaughter of his deer, might have 
 a further plot against his head and that castle, whereto he had taken no 
 small liking, and affirmed to have good title to the same.” The reader 
 will scarcely wonder that, in many instances considerable alarm was ex¬ 
 perienced by some of her loyal lieges, at the idea of the expensive com¬ 
 pliment of a royal visit. The earl of Bedford writes thus to lord Bur¬ 
 leigh, on the subject—“ I trust your lordship will have in remembrance 
 to provide and help that her majesty’s tarrying be not above two nights 
 and a day; for so long time do I prepare. I pray God the rooms and 
 lodgings there may be to her majesty’s contentation for the time.” 
 
 It is not generally known that, expensive as these visits were to pri¬ 
 vate individuals, the cost of them to the public treasury was matter of 
 deep concern. Even Leicester, in a letter to his enemy Sussex, on this 
 subject, says, “We all do what we can to persuade her majesty from 
 any progress at all, only to keep at Windsor, or thereabouts; but it mis- 
 liketh her not to have change of air.” 2 It was one of her peculiarities, 
 too, that she gave very brief notice of the direction in which she meant 
 to bend her course. Consequently the nobility and gentry of the pro¬ 
 vinces must always have been in a slate of excitement and expectation 
 as to the royal movements, when her majesty gave indications of an in¬ 
 tention of quitting the metropolis. Lord Buckhurst, who had reason to 
 expect a visit from her majesty, at Lewes, in 1577, was so forestalled 
 with respect to provisions, by other nobles in Sussex, that he was 
 obliged to send for a supply from Flanders. 3 
 
 Soon after Elizabeth’s return from her eastern progress, the duke of 
 Anjou sent his favourite, monsieur Simiers, to plead his suit to her. 
 This envoy proved so agreeable to her majesty, that she invited him 
 thrice a week to her private parties, and never appeared so happy as in 
 his company. 4 The greatest jealousy was excited among her ministers 
 at the favour manifested by their royal mistress to the insinuating 
 foreigner. They even suspected that she confided to him her most 
 
 1 1 . e.. plan of progress. 
 ’Ellis's Letters. 
 
 ’Murdin s State Papers. 
 4 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3-29 
 
 secret thoughts. Leicester, infuriated at the attention her majesty be¬ 
 stowed on Simiers, attributed his influence to sorcery and other unhal¬ 
 lowed arts. It was quite apparent to every one that if Elizabeth had 
 ever cherished undue regard for Leicester, she had conquered her pas¬ 
 sion. Her quondam governess, Mrs. Ashley, who had not changed her 
 intriguing habits, though now in the vale of years, ventured to plead the 
 cause of Leicester to her royal mistress, and from the nature of the reply, 
 she must have recommended the queen to marry him. “What!” ex¬ 
 claimed Elizabeth, with tenfold of her father’s pride; “shall 1 so far 
 forget myself, as to prefer a poor servant of my own making, to the first 
 princes in Christendom.” 1 
 
 If it be true that Elizabeth actually gave a promise of marriage to 
 Leicester, in the presence of one of her ladies, Mrs. Ashley was proba¬ 
 bly the witness of the plight. Be this as it may, the declaration of her 
 present feelings on the subject was definitive. Leicester himself had 
 previously ventured to cross-question his royal mistress as to her inten¬ 
 tions on the French match, and being deceived by the subtlety of her 
 dealing into the idea that she really meant to wed the duke of Anjou, 
 considered his own ambitious hopes at an end, and privately married the 
 widowed countess of Essex, of whom he was deeply enamoured. Sim¬ 
 iers, having penetrated this secret, gave immediate information of it to 
 the queen, as he suspected that her regard for Leicester was the princi¬ 
 pal obstacle to her marriage with Anjou. 2 Elizabeth was so greatly of¬ 
 fended with Leicester, that she ordered him not to stir from Greenwich 
 castle, and would have sent him to the Tower, had she not been dis¬ 
 suaded by the earl of Sussex, from an action liable to constructions so 
 derogatory to her dignity as a female sovereign. 3 Leicester, who could 
 not forgive Simiers for his interference, has been accused of practising 
 against his life, because one day when Simiers was attending her ma¬ 
 jesty to her barge, not far from Greenwich, a gun was discharged from 
 a neighbouring boat, and one of the queen’s bargemen was shot through 
 both his arms within six feet of the queen’s person. Every one in the 
 barge were amazed, and the poor man bled profusely. Elizabeth did not 
 lose her presence of mind, though she believed the shot was aimed at 
 her life; she took off her scarf, and threw it to the bargeman to bind up 
 his wounds withal, telling him “ to be of good cheer, for that he should 
 never want, for the bullet was meant for her, though it bad hit him.” 
 All present admired her intrepidity, but her future conduct was still 
 more admirable, for finding when the man, Thomas Appletree, was put 
 upon his trial, that the piece had gone off by sheer accident, she not 
 only pardoned him, but interceded with his master to retain him in his 
 service. 4 
 
 It was on this occasion that Elizabeth made the following gracious 
 declaration, “ that she would not believe anything against her subjects 
 that loving parents would not believe of their children.” 3 She however, 
 took the precaution of declaring, by public proclamation, that the French 
 
 1 Murclin's State Papers; Camden. 
 ’ Sidney Papers; Camden. 
 
 28* 
 
 Speed, 1159. 
 
 2 Camden 
 6 Camden. 
 
328 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 from one of Elizabeth’s unwelcome visits, by Smith, in his Lives of the 
 Berkeleys, who states “ that she came in progress to Berkeley castle, 
 what time Henry lord Berkeley, the then possessor, had a stately game 
 of red deer in the park adjoining, called the Worthy, whereof Henry 
 Ligon was keeper ; during which time of her being there, such slaughter 
 was made, as twenty-seven stags were slain in the toils in one day, and 
 many others on that and the next stolen and havocked; whereof, when 
 this lord, being then at Callowden, was advertised, having much set his 
 delight in this game, he suddently and passionately disparked that 
 ground ; but in a few months after, he had secret friendly advertisement 
 from the court, that the queen was informed how the same was disparked 
 by him, on repining at her coming to his house (for, indeed, it was not 
 in her^estcs'), and at the good sports she had had in the park, advising 
 this lord to carry a wary watch over his words and actions, lest that earl 
 (meaning Leicester) that had, contrary to her set justice, drawn her to 
 his castle, and purposely caused this slaughter of his deer, might have 
 a further plot against his head and that castle, whereto he had taken no 
 small liking, and affirmed to have good title to the same.” The reader 
 will scarcely wonder that, in many instances considerable alarm was ex¬ 
 perienced by some of her loyal lieges, at the idea of the expensive com¬ 
 pliment of a royal visit. The earl of Bedford writes thus to lord Bur¬ 
 leigh, on the subject— u I trust your lordship will have in remembrance 
 to provide and help that her majesty’s tarrying be not above two nights 
 and a day; for so long time do I prepare. J pray God the rooms and 
 lodgings there may be to her majesty’s contentation for the time.” 
 
 It is not generally known that, expensive as these visits were to pri¬ 
 vate individuals, the cost of them to the public treasury was matter of 
 deep concern. Even Leicester, in a letter to his enemy Sussex, on this 
 subject, says, “We all do what we can to persuade her majesty from 
 any progress at all, only to keep at Windsor, or thereabouts; but it mis- 
 liketh her not to have change of air.” 2 It was one of her peculiarities, 
 too, that she gave very brief notice of the direction in which she meant 
 to bend her course. Consequently the nobility and gentry of the pro¬ 
 vinces must always have been in a state of excitement and expectation 
 as to the royal movements, when her majesty gave indications of an in¬ 
 tention of quitting the metropolis. Lord Buckhurst, who had reason to 
 expect a visit from her majesty, at Lewes, in 1577, was so forestalled 
 with respect to provisions, by other nobles in Sussex, that he was 
 obliged to send for a supply from Flanders. 3 
 
 Soon after Elizabeth’s return from her eastern progress, the duke of 
 Anjou sent his favourite, monsieur Simiers, to plead his suit to her. 
 This envoy proved so agreeable to her majesty, that she invited him 
 thrice a week to her private parties, and never appeared so happy as in 
 his company. 4 The greatest jealousy was excited among her ministers 
 at the favour manifested by their royal mistress to the insinuating 
 foreigner. They even suspected that she confided to him her most 
 
 1 1 . e.. plan of progress. 
 * Ellis's Letters. 
 
 s Murdtn s State Papers. 
 * Canulen. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3-29 
 
 secret thoughts. Leicester, infuriated at the attention her majesty be¬ 
 stowed on Simiers, attributed his influence to sorcery and other unhal¬ 
 lowed arts. It was quite apparent to every one that if Elizabeth had 
 ever cherished undue regard for Leicester, she had conquered her pas¬ 
 sion. Her quondam governess, Mrs. Ashley, who had not changed her 
 intriguing habits, though now in the vale of years, ventured to plead the 
 cause of Leicester to her royal mistress, and from the nature of the reply, 
 she must have recommended the queen to marry him. “What!” ex¬ 
 claimed Elizabeth, with tenfold of her father’s pride; “shall 1 so far 
 forget myself, as to prefer a poor servant of my own making, to the first 
 princes in Christendom.” 1 
 
 If it be true that Elizabeth actually gave a promise of marriage to 
 Leicester, in the presence of one of her ladies, Mrs. Ashley was proba¬ 
 bly the witness of the plight. Be this as it may, the declaration of her 
 present feelings on the subject was definitive. Leicester himself had 
 previously ventured to cross-question his royal mistress as to her inten¬ 
 tions on the French match, and being deceived by the subtlety of her 
 dealing into the idea that she really meant to wed the duke of Anjou, 
 considered his own ambitious hopes at an end, and privately married the 
 widowed countess of Essex, of whom lie was deeply enamoured. Sim- 
 iers, having penetrated this secret, gave immediate information of it to 
 the queen, as he suspected that her regard for Leicester was the princi¬ 
 pal obstacle to her marriage with Anjou. 2 Elizabeth was so greatly of¬ 
 fended with Leicester, that she ordered him not to stir from Greenwich 
 castle, and would have sent him to the Tower, had she not been dis¬ 
 suaded by the earl of Sussex, from an action liable to constructions so 
 derogatory to her dignity as a female sovereign. 3 Leicester, who could 
 not forgive Simiers for his interference, has been accused of practising 
 against his life, because one day when Simiers was attending her ma¬ 
 jesty to her barge, not far from Greenwich, a gun was discharged from 
 a neighbouring boat, and one of the queen’s bargemen was shot through 
 both his arms within six feet of the queen’s person. Every one in the 
 barge were amazed, and the poor man bled profusely. Elizabeth did not 
 lose her presence of mind, though she believed the shot was aimed at 
 her life; she took oil’her scarf, and threw it to the bargeman to bind up 
 his wounds withal, telling him “ to be of good cheer, for that he should 
 never want, for the bullet w r as meant for her, though it had hit him.” 
 All present admired her intrepidity, but her future conduct was still 
 more admirable, for finding when the man, Thomas Appletree, was put 
 upon his trial, that the piece had gone off by sheer accident, she not 
 only pardoned him, but interceded with his master to retain him in his 
 service." 1 
 
 It was on this occasjon that Elizabeth made the following gracious 
 declaration, “ that she would not believe anything against her subjects 
 that loving parents would not believe of their children.” 5 She however, 
 took the precaution of declaring, by public proclamation, that the French 
 
 1 Munlin's State Papers ; Camden. 2 Camden 
 
 ’Sidney Papers; Camden. ’Speed, 1159. 6 Camden. 
 
 28 * 
 
332 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Perils and Remedies. To say the truth, the non-contents have exceed¬ 
 ingly the best of the argument. Amongst these, the opinion of sir Ralph 
 Sadler is remarkable for its uncourtier-like bluntness. The oracular 
 sentences which he delivered, were as follows:—“ In years, the queen 
 might be his mother. Doubtfulness of issue, more than before — few 
 old maids escape .” 1 Sussex and Hunsdon advocated the marriage as a 
 measure of expediency for the security of the queen’s person and go¬ 
 vernment. Burleigh, in compliance with her commands, seconded their 
 reasons, but not honestly. Leicester and Hatton did the same at first, 
 but finally pretended to be converts to the strong arguments of Bromley, 
 Sadler, Mildmay, and Sidney against it. On the seventh, they waited 
 upon her majesty in a body, and requested “to be informed of her 
 pleasure on the subject, and they would endeavour to make themselves 
 conformable to it.” 
 
 The queen, who expected to have been furnished with a legitimate 
 excuse for following her own inclination, in the shape of a petition for 
 her to marry, was surprised and offended at their caution, and, bursting 
 into tears of anger and vexatioh, she reproached them for their long 
 disputations, “as if it were doubtful whether there would be more surety 
 for her and her realm, than if she were to marry and have a child of her 
 own to inherit, and so to continue the line of Henry VIII .” 2 In con¬ 
 clusion, she condemned her own simplicity in committing so delicate a 
 matter to them, for “ she had expected,” she said, “ that they would 
 have unanimously petitioned her to proceed with the marriage, rather 
 than have made doubt of it; and being much troubled, she requested 
 them to leave her till the afternoon .” 3 
 
 The afternoon found her majesty very ungraciously disposed; she 
 used passionate and bitter vituperation against those who had opposed 
 the match; she even endeavoured herself to refute the objections that 
 had been made to it in council, and she issued an edict, forbidding the 
 matter to be touched upon in the pulpit, by any preacher whatsoever. 
 Burleigh finding that the queen was not to be crossed, openly compelled 
 the council to assume a semblance of compliance with her wishes, by 
 discussing of the marriage articles with the duke of Anjou’s procurator, 
 Simiers . 4 Nothing could, however, be more unpopular in England than 
 the idea of such a marriage. Was the lawful heiress of the crown to be 
 immured and kept in hourly fear of death because she was a member of 
 the church of Rome, while the sovereign herself, the defender of the 
 protestant faith, wilfully endangered the stability of the newly-established 
 church, by entering into a matrimonial treaty with a Roman Catholic? 
 The inconsistency and want of moral justice involved in such a pro¬ 
 ceeding, was felt by the professors of every varying creed throughout 
 the realm. 
 
 The queen acknowledged, to a certain degree, the force of the objec¬ 
 tions of her subjects against the marriage, but was troubled with a per¬ 
 verse inclination to act according to her own pleasure in the matter. 
 
 1 Mur<lin's State Papers. 
 
 • Murilin; Lingard; Aikin. 
 
 3 Murdin. 
 
 4 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 333 
 
 Deeply offended at the demurs of her cabinet, she asked the advice of 
 the accomplished sir Philip Sidney, who at that time filled the office of 
 cup-bearer to her majesty, and from whom she probably expected to 
 receive counsel more agreeable to her apparent wishes on the subject. 
 Sir Philip Sidney, with all the graceful courtesy and elegance of a 
 finished gentleman, possessed a lofty spirit of independence. He never 
 condescended to practise the arts of courtier-craft; and when his sove¬ 
 reign asked him to give her his opinion without disguise, he addressed 
 to her a long and energetic letter, beginning : — “Most feared and be¬ 
 loved, most sweet and gracious sovereign .” 1 After which honeyed 
 words, he proceeds to tell her many bold truths on the impolicy of the 
 measure:— 
 
 “How the hearts of your people,” says he, “will be galled, if not aliened, 
 when they shall see you take a husband, a Frenchman and a papist, in whom 
 the very common people know this, that he is the son of the Jezabel of our age 
 —that his brother made oblation of his own sister's marriage, the easier to make 
 massacre of our brethren in religion. As long as he is monsieur in might, and 
 a papist in profession, he neither can nor will greatly shield you; and if he grow 
 to be king, his defence will be like Ajax’ shield, which rather weighed down 
 than defended those that bare it.” a 
 
 The queen having solicited the opinion of Sidney, and, respecting his 
 integrity, had the philosophy to take his remonstrance in good part; 
 but a terrible example of her vengeance had taken place, during the visit 
 of Anjou, on a luckless bencher of Lincoln’s Inn, named Stubbs, who 
 presumed to write and publish, at this crisis, a book with the following 
 quaint title:— 
 
 “ The discovery of a gaping gulf, wherein England is like to be swal¬ 
 lowed by another French marriage, if the Lord forbid not the banns, by 
 letting her see the sin and the punishment thereof.” 
 
 The work contained, as may be supposed, a series of fierce vitupera¬ 
 tions against the unsuitableness of the alliance, and the choler of the 
 writer was especially excited by the circumstance of monsieur having 
 paid her majesty a personal visit, incognito. This, Stubbs denounced 
 as “an unmanlike, unprince-like, French kind of wooing.” 
 
 “This man (the duke),” says he, “is a son of Henry II., whose family, ever 
 since he married with Catherine of Italy, is fatal, as it were, to resist the gospel, 
 and have been, every one after the other, as a Domitian after a Nero, &.e. Here 
 is, therefore, an imp of the crown of France to marry with the crowned nymph 
 of England.” 
 
 An expression by no means inelegant or uncomplimentary to the 
 maiden monarch, now well-stricken in years. 
 
 The book was prohibited, the whole impression seized and burned, 
 and the author, printer, and publisher, were all proceeded against on a 
 statute of Philip and Mary, although the lawyers stoutly contended such 
 statute was virtually null and void. Stubbs and his publisher had, 
 nevertheless, to endure the barbarous sentence of the loss of their right 
 hands, which were smitten off with a butcher’s knife and mallet in the 
 market-place at Westminster. The conduct of Stubbs, at the most bitter 
 
 1 Sidney Papers. 
 
 a Serinia Ceciliana. 
 
334 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 moment of this disgusting execution, proves that the subjects of Eliza¬ 
 beth, even when suffering from her vindictive spirit for contradicting her 
 will, assumed an extraordinary devotion of loyalty. “ I remember,” 
 says Camden, “standing by John Stubbs, who, as soon as his right hand 
 was off, took off his hat with his left, and cried aloud, ‘ God save the 
 queen.’ ” He fainted the next moment. A long and rigorous imprison¬ 
 ment in the Tower was, nevertheless, added to the miseries of this 
 brave, but unfortunate gentleman . 1 
 
 All this opposition, however, brought the marriage negotiation to a 
 pause. Elizabeth had felt the force of Sidney’s remonstrances, and even 
 the fulminations of the hapless Stubbs had probably created misgivings. 
 “ If her highness mean to marry,” writes Hatton to Walsingham, “ I 
 wonder she so delayeth it. If she do but temporize, and will leave it at 
 the last, what may we look for, then, but that the pope, with Spain and 
 France, will yoke themselves, in all ireful revenge, according to their 
 solemn combination so long ago concluded on against us.” The fact 
 was, that neither the French court, her ambassador there, nor her most 
 trusted servants at home, could discover what were her real intentions 
 in the matter. Whether she exactly knew them herself appears to be 
 doubtful. 
 
 “ The marriage is on book again,” writes Sir George Bowes to his 
 brother Robert, the treasurer of Berwick, “and her highness seemeth 
 now as forward as ever she hath been, at any time before, and yet Sir 
 William Drury, whom you well know to be a setter forth of that cause, 
 having occasion to ride unto the court on Thursday last, and using 
 some speeches upon that matter to her majesty, did, with great reverence, 
 inquire of her majesty’s disposition that way, who, giving him a great 
 clap of the shoulder with her hand, answered, ‘I will never marry; 
 but I will ever bear good will and favour to those who have liked and 
 furthered the same .’” 2 She meant those v/ho had advocated the mar¬ 
 riage. 
 
 Among the great events of this period, may be reckoned the death of 
 Elizabeth’s great minister, Sir Nicholas Bacon, generally distinguished 
 by the title of my lord keeper. It is recorded, that when the queen 
 visited him at his modest country residence, she was pleased to observe 
 that his house was too little for him. “ No, madame,” replied he, “you 
 have made me too big for my house.” He afterwards had the honour 
 of entertaining his royal mistress in his stately mansion of Gorhambury, 
 which he built, probably in consequence of her remark on his former 
 abode. Among the elaborate dainties which furnished forth the memorable 
 banquet for the maiden monarch and her court, was a hog roasted whole, 
 
 1 Wright, vol. ii. The death of this victim of Elizabeth's personal cruelty was 
 pitiable. His health was always languishing after the loss of his hand; he re¬ 
 tired to France, and died a little while afterwards. His bones rest somewhere 
 in the sand near Boulogne, a pitying friend having buried him at high-water 
 mark in the spot nearest the English shores. Stubbs died a rigid Calvinist; 
 burial in consecrated ground was neither desired by him, nor permitted by the 
 laws of France. 
 
 ’Bowes MSS 
 
ELIZABETH. 335 
 
 garnished with links of sausages, a queer culinary pun on the name of 
 the learned host. 
 
 Elizabeth one day asked Sir Nicholas Bacon, “ what he thought of a 
 monopoly license she had granted?” “Madam,” he said, “if I must 
 speak the truth, 1 will reply in the Latin proverb,—‘ Licentia omnes de- 
 teriores sumus’—we are all the w'orse for license.” 1 
 
 The splendid talents of his son, the learned and eloquent Francis Ba¬ 
 con, afterwards the great Lord Bacon of Verulam, early attracted the 
 notice of Queen Elizabeth, who was wont to call him playfully, “her 
 little lord keeper,” and predicted that he would one day become a dis¬ 
 tinguished man. He proved, it is well known, one of the brightest or¬ 
 naments of her reign, a diamond of unrivalled lustre, though not without 
 a flaw. His records of Elizabeth are among the most favourable that 
 contemporaries have preserved of her character. Eulogiums from such 
 a source are calculated to make a strong impression on every reader, 
 even when no supporting facts are given ; and there can be little doubt 
 that Elizabeth is indebted for much of her posthumous popularity to the 
 powerful pen of Bacon. Like his father, he was a great advocate for 
 the celibacy of his royal mistress. 
 
 “ Female reigns,” says he, “ are usually eclipsed by marriage, and all 
 the glory transferred to the husband ; while those queens, who live single 
 have none to share it with them. And this was more peculiarly the 
 case of queen Elizabeth, for she had no supporters of her government, 
 but those of her own making—no brother, no uncle, nor any other of 
 the royal family to partake her cares and assist her government. The 
 ministers whom she advanced to places of trust she kept so tight a rein 
 upon, and so dispensed her favours, that they were continually solici¬ 
 tous to please her, whilst she ever remained mistress of herself. 2 
 
 “ Like some of the most fortunate monarchs, as Alexander the Great, 
 Julius Caesar, and Trajan, she was childless, and left no successors of 
 her own issue, and it is a disputed point whether children auginen' 
 felicity. 
 
 “She had her outward embellishments—a tall stature, a graceful 
 shape, a most majestic aspect mixed with sweetness, and a happy state, 
 of health. Besides, she was strong and vigorous to the last, experien¬ 
 cing as little the miseries of old age as the reverses of fortune. To fill 
 up the measure of her felicity, she was happy not only in her own per¬ 
 son, but also, in the abilities and virtues of her ministers of state. If it 
 should be here objected, as Cicero did to Caesar, ‘ There is matter 
 enough to admire, but I would gladly see somewhat to praise,’ I answer 
 that true admiration is a superlative degree of praise. I shall, however, 
 add a few words not on the morals and virtues of this queen, but only 
 on such particulars as have occasioned some malicious tongues to tra¬ 
 duce her. As to her religion, she was pious, moderate, constant, and an 
 enemy to novelty. She was seldom absent from divine service and 
 other duties of religion, either in her chapel or closet. She was very 
 conversant in the Scriptures and writings of the fathers, especially St. 
 
 ’Bacon's Apothegms. 
 
 s Ibid, 
 
336 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Augustine. She composed certain prayers on emergent occasions. 
 When she mentioned the name of God, though in ordinary discourse, 
 she generally added the title Creator, and composed her eyes and coun¬ 
 tenance to an expression of humility and reverence, which I have myself 
 often observed.” This observation is evidently urged in contradistinc¬ 
 tion to Elizabeth’s well-known habit of profane swearing, in which she 
 outdid her father, bluff king Hal, from whom she probably acquired that 
 evil propensity. Her favourite expletive was, however, certainly derived 
 from her first lover, the lord admiral, with whom it was in fearfully fa¬ 
 miliar use, as those who have read the State Papers collected by Haynes, 
 and also by Tytler, must be aware; but expressions which startle us, 
 even from the lips of a bad man, appear to the last degree revolting 
 when used in common parlance by a female, especially a princess whose 
 piety is still a favourite theme with many writers. In illustration of Eli¬ 
 zabeth’s inconsiderate habit in this respect, we give the evidence of a 
 contemporary, who appears neither shocked nor surprised at the coarse 
 manners of the maiden monarch. 
 
 “ Curiosity,” says Lord Herbert of Cherbury, “ rather than ambition, 
 brought me to court, and as it was the manner of those times for all 
 men to kneel before the great queen Elizabeth, who then reigned, I was 
 likewise upon my knees, in the presence-chamber, when she passed by 
 to the chapel at Whitehall. As soon as she saw me she stopped, and 
 swearing her usual oath, demanded, 1 Who is this ?’ Everybody there 
 present looked upon me, but none knew me, till sir James Croft, a pen¬ 
 sioner, finding the queen stayed, returned back and told who I was, and 
 that I had married sir W. Herbert of St. Gillian’s daughter. The queen 
 looked attentively at me, and swearing again her ordinary oath, said, ‘ It 
 is pity he married so young,’ and thereupon gave me her hand to kiss 
 twice, both times gently patting my cheek.” 
 
 This license has been attributed to the grossness of the age. That 
 age produced the daughters and grandaughters of sir Thomas More, 
 Katharine Parr, lady Jane Grey, “ Sidney’s sister,” and many other spot¬ 
 less examples of female purity and refinement; and for the honour of 
 the ladies of the 16th century, it maybe presumed that the use of oaths 
 was a characteristic of Elizabeth, rather than of her times. 
 
 “As to what was reported,” continues lord Bacon, “ that she was al¬ 
 together so unmindful of mortality, as not to bear the mention of death 
 or old age, it is absolutely false; for several years before her death, she 
 would often facetiously call herself ‘ the old woman,’ and discourse 
 about what epitaph she would like, adding ‘ that she was no lover of 
 pompous titles, but only desired that her name might be recorded in a 
 line or two, which should briefly express her name, her virginity, the 
 years of her reign, the reformation of religion under it, and her preser¬ 
 vation of peace.’ It is true, that in the flower of her age, being impor¬ 
 tuned to declare her successor, she answered, ‘ that she could by no 
 means endure a shroud to be held before her eyes while she was living.’ 
 And yet some time before her death, when she was pensive, and proba¬ 
 bly meditating on her mortality, a person familiar with her, observing 
 that several great offices were vacant, and had been kept so too long, 
 
 I 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 337 
 
 she rose up hastily, and said, with unusual warmth—‘ That she was 
 sure her place would not long be vacant.’ She hated vice, and studied 
 to preserve an honourable fame. Thus, for example, having once or¬ 
 dered a despatch to be written to her ambassador, which he was to com¬ 
 municate privately to the queen-mother of France, Catherine de Medicis, 
 her secretary had inserted a compliment for the ambassador to use, im¬ 
 porting, ‘ That they were two queens, from whose experience in the arts 
 of government, no less was expected than of the greatest kings;’ queen 
 El izabeth could not bear the comparison, but forbade it to be sent, ob¬ 
 serving, k She used very different arts of government from the queen- 
 mother of France.’ The commendation that best pleased her was, if 
 any one declared that she would have been distinguished by her virtues 
 and abilities if her station had been in private life, so unwilling was she 
 to owe her distin tion merely to her royal station. To speak the truth,” 
 pursues this eloquent eulogist, “ the only proper encomiast of this prin¬ 
 cess is time, which, during the ages it has run, never produced her like 
 for the government of a kingdom.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth’s regnal talents were shown in the acuteness of her percep¬ 
 tive powers, and the unerring discrimination with which she selected 
 her ministers and great law officers, and in some instances converted 
 those into loyal servants who might have turned their abilities to her 
 annoyance. It is a tradition in the Egerton family, that she was once 
 in court when Thomas Egerton, a distinguished barrister, was pleading 
 against the crown side, in some action in the court of Queen’s Bench. 
 She was so much struck with his eloquence and professional skill, that 
 she exclaimed, “By my troth, he shall never plead against me again.” 
 She immediately appointed him queen’s counsel—in modern parlance, 
 gave him a silk gown ; he attained the dignities of solicitor-general and 
 lord-keeper in her reign. 2 
 
 In the spring of 1580, the queen thought proper to check the pre¬ 
 sumptuous disposition of her subjects to emulate the height and ampli¬ 
 tude of the royal ruff', which forms so characteristic a feature in her 
 costume, and an act was passed in parliament, empowering certain 
 officials to stand at corners of the streets, armed with shears, for the 
 purpose of clipping all ruffs that exceeded the size prescribed by this 
 droll sumptuary law, and also to shorten the rapiers of all gentlemen, 
 who persisted in wearing them of an unsuitable length. 
 
 During the progress of this forcible reformation in the dimensions of 
 ruffs and rapiers, the French ambassador, Mauvissiere, chancing to recreate 
 himself with a morning ride in Smithfield, was stopped at the Bars by 
 the officers who sat there to cut swords, who insisted on shortening his 
 rapier, which exceeded the limits prescribed by the recent statute. 3 To 
 impugn the taste of a Frenchman in any matter connected with his 
 dress, is attacking him on a point of peculiar importance; but for the 
 clownish officials of Smithfield Bars to presume to make a forcible alte¬ 
 ration in the costume of the man, who represented the whole majesty 
 
 ’Bacon's Apothegms. 2 Life of Egerton, by the Earl of Bridgewater. 
 
 •Lodge's Illustrations. 
 
 vol. vi. — 29 
 
 w 
 
338 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ol France, was an outrage not to be endured, even by the veteran states¬ 
 man, Mauvissiere de Castelnau. He drew his threatened rapier, instead 
 of surrendering it to the dishonouring shears of the officers, and sternly 
 stood on the defensive, and but for the seasonable interposition of lord 
 Henry Seymour, who luckily was likewise taking the air in Smithfield, 
 and hastened to rescue the insulted ambassador from the hands of the 
 executive powers, evil consequences might have followed. Mauvissiere 
 complained to the queen, and her majesty greatly censured the officers 
 for their want of discrimination, in attempting to clip so highly privi¬ 
 leged a person- 
 
 At the same time that Elizabeth was so actively employed in retrench¬ 
 ing any extraordinary deviations from good taste in her subjects, she 
 had a most singular purchase made for her at Mechlin, of six Hungarian 
 horses, to draw her coach. These creatures were of a light grey colour, 
 with their manes and tails dyed orange. 1 Perhaps the aggrieved parties, 
 whose sword points and ruffs had just been clipped, might have thought 
 that the flaming orange manes and tails of the queen’s coach horses, 
 were quite as outrageous in regard to taste, as long rapiers and high 
 frills. 
 
 This year the queen took the alarm at the rapid increase of her me¬ 
 tropolis, and prohibited any new dwelling-house to be built within three 
 thousand paces of the gates of London, upon pain of imprisonment, 
 and forfeiture of the materials brought for the erection of such edifice, 
 and forbade any one to have more than one family in a house. The 
 latter clause in this arbitrary and inconvenient regulation might have 
 been called, an act for the suppression of lodgings. 
 
 In November, the celebrated navigator, Francis Drake, returned from 
 his great voyage of discovery round the globe; and, itvthe following 
 spring, the queen did him the honour of going on board his ship at 
 Deptford, where she partook of a collation, knighted him, and consented 
 to share the golden fruits of his succeeding adventures. As some of 
 Drake’s enterprises were of a decidedly piratical character, and attended 
 with circumstances of plunder and cruelty to the infant colonies of 
 Spain, the policy of Elizabeth, in sanctioning his deeds, is doubtful; in 
 a moral point of view, it appears unjustifiable. The English nobles, to 
 whom Drake offered costly presents of gold and silver plate, refused to 
 accept them ; “ which,” says Camden, “ angered him exceedingly, as it 
 implied an intimation that they had not been honourably acquired.” 
 The Spanish court demanded restitution of the spoils, but in vain. 
 Drake commenced his career in life as the apprentice to a pilot at Up- 
 nor, who finally bequeathed to him his little barque, which proved the 
 foundation of his fortunes. 
 
 After he had received the honour of knighthood from his sovereign, 
 he assumed the heraldic device of three wiverns, the family coat of sir 
 Bernard Drake, the representative of an ancient house of that name. 
 Sir Bernard Drake, who disclaimed all affinity with the crestless stock 
 from which his valiant namesake sprang, considered this a great piece 
 
 ’ Wright. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 339 
 
 of impertinence, and, the first time he met him, gave him a box on the 
 ears, and demanded, “ by what right lie had presumed to assume his 
 family arms?” Sir Francis took the blow patiently, and explained that 
 he had assumed the wiverns as the general device of the name of 
 Drake. Sir Bernard fiercely rejoined, “ that he was the only Drake 
 who had a right to bear the wiverns,” adding a contemptuous allusion 
 to the origin of the new knight, and his folly in pretending to any 
 arms. 
 
 Sir Francis appealed to the queen, who told him, “ that he had earned 
 better arms for himself, which he should bear by her especial favour.” 
 She accordingly gave him an elaborate shield, charged, among other de¬ 
 vices, with a ship, in the shrouds of which a wivern was hanging up by 
 the heels, intended as a retaliation of the indignity which had been 
 offered to him by his proud namesake. The next time they encountered, 
 sir Francis Drake asked his adversary, “ what he thought of the arms’ 
 the queen had given him?” “The queen,” rejoined the sturdy old 
 knight, “ may have given you finer arms than mine, but she neither has 
 given you, nor could give you, a right to bear the three wiverns, the 
 cognizance of my ancient house.” 
 
 Elizabeth sometimes punned and played on words. When the arch¬ 
 duke raised his siege from a place called the Grave, in the Low Coun¬ 
 tries, the queen received early private intelligence of the fact, and, when 
 her secretary came to transact business, she addressed him with these 
 words:—“Wot you what? The archduke is risen from the grave.” 
 He answered, “An’ please your majesty, without the trumpet of the 
 archangel.” The queen replied, “Yea, without sound of trumpet.” 1 
 
 But for the delusive matrimonial treaty between Elizabeth and the 
 worthless heir-presumptive of France, the Netherlands would have been 
 at this crisis the theatre of a three-fold contention between Spain, Eng¬ 
 land, and France. The object of the States was to obtain the united 
 protection of the two last named powers against their legitimate op¬ 
 pressor, Philip. They deemed they should secure this by conferring the 
 sovereignty on the duke of Anjou, whom they and half the world re¬ 
 garded as the husband elect of the maiden monarch of England; and, 
 by this measure, they trusted to secure the friendship of both Elizabeth 
 and Henry III. Their calculation was, in the end, a sagacious one, but 
 the suspicious temper of Elizabeth led her to take the alarm, in the first 
 instance, at not having been consulted by Anjou ere he presumed to ac¬ 
 cept the preferment that was thus flatteringly offered to him. Under an 
 evident excitement of feeling, she addressed the following eloquent let¬ 
 ter to sir Edward Stafford, her ambassador at Paris :— 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Sin Edward Stafford. 
 
 Supposed date, August, 1581. 
 
 “Stafford,— As I greatly regard your poor man’s diligence , 2 so I will not 
 leave him unrewarded. 
 
 “For the charge I have written to Monsieur (her lover Anjou), what I have 
 given in to you, this it is. First, for the commissioner's authorities I have good 
 
 1 Bacon's Apothegms. 
 
 ’The messenger who brought the letter to which this is an answer. 
 
340 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 reason to require that they may be as I desired, both for present mislikes, as well 
 as for after mishaps. It happened in queen Mary’s day, that when a solemn 
 ambassade of five or six at the least, were sent from the emperor and king of 
 Spain, even after the articles were signed, sealed, and the matter divulged, the 
 danger was so near the queen’s chamber door, that it was high time for those 
 messengers to depart without leave taking, and bequeathing themselves to the 
 speed of the river-stream, by water passed with all possible haste to Gravesend, 
 and so away. I speak not this, that I fear the like ; but when I make collection 
 of sundry kinds of discontentments, all tied in a bundle, I suppose the fagot will 
 be harder altogether to be broken. 
 
 “There is even now another accident fallen out, of no small consequence to 
 this realm. I am sure the States have accorded to the demands of Monsieur 
 (Anjou), and do present him the sovereignty of all the Low Countries. Sup¬ 
 pose, now, how this may make our people think well of him, and of me to 
 bring them to the possession of such neighbours? Oh, Stafford, I think not my¬ 
 self well used, and so tell monsieur, that I am made a stranger to myself, who 
 must he be, if this matter take place ? In my name, show him how impertinent 
 it is for this season, ( probably meaning their matrimonial treaty ) to bring to the 
 ears of our people so untimely news. God forbid that the banes' of our nuptial 
 feast should be savoured with the sauce of our subjects’ wealth! Oh, what may 
 they think of me that for any glory of mine own would procure the ruin of my 
 land ? Hitherto they have though me no fool; let me not live the longer the 
 worse. The end crowneth the work ! 
 
 “ I am sorry that common posts of London can afford me surer news than the 
 inhabitants of towns will yield me. Let it please Monsieur to suspend his 
 answer unto them * * 3 till he send some unto me of quality and trust, (i. e. some of 
 the leading men of the Low Countries,) to communicate and concur with that 
 I may think good for both our honours; for, I assure him, it shall (will) too 
 much blot his fame if he deal otherwise, not only in my sight, to whom it hath 
 pleased him to promise more than that, but especially to all the world, that be 
 overseers of his actions. Let him never procure her harm, whose love he seeks 
 to win. My mortal foe can no ways wish me a greater harm than England's 
 hate ; neither should death be less welcome unto me than such a mishap betide 
 me. 
 
 “ You see how nearly this matter wringeth me ; use it accordingly. If it * * * 
 him, the deputies (i. e. from the Low Countries) may have the charge of this 
 matter joined with the other two, that were afore-mentioned. I dare not assure 
 monsieur how this great matter (i. e. their wedlock ) will end, until I be assured 
 what way he will take with the Low Countries; for rather will I never meddle 
 with marriage, than have such a bad covenant added to my part. Shall it be 
 ever found true that queen Elizabeth hath solemnized the perpetual harm of 
 England under the glorious title of marriage with Francis, heir of France ? No, 
 no, it shall never be. 
 
 “ Monsieur, may fortune ask you, 3 Why should not the Low Countries be 
 governed by the in-dwellers of that country as they were wont, and yet under 
 my superiority, as that of the king of Spain? I answer, The case is too far dif¬ 
 ferent ; since the one is far off by seas’ distance, and the other neat upon the 
 continent. 
 
 “ We willingly will not repose our whole trust so far on the French nation, as 
 we will give them in pawn all our fortune, and afterwards stand to their discre¬ 
 tion. I hope I shall not live to see that hour. 
 
 ‘The meaning of this expression is not very apparent, whether her majesty 
 means it for a pun on banes (harms, or ills), and marriage banns, or the bones 
 of the meats and viands, it is altogether a very queer metaphor. 
 
 ’Probably to the Dutch and Flemings, who had offered him their sovereignty, 
 which had raised so much displeasure in Elizabeth's mind. 
 
 3 i. e. may happen to ask you. 
 
ELIZABETH. 341 
 
 “ Farewell, with my assurance that you will serve with faith and diligence. 
 In haste, “ Your sovereign, 
 
 “ Elizabeth.” 
 
 The gist of this letter seems to be, that Elizabeth was provoked at the 
 unexpected occurrence of her lover, Francis, duke of Anjou, being 
 elected sovereign of the Low Countries. She says that she considers 
 the step as “ untimely,” or premature; deeming that the intrigues of 
 France had outwitted her therein. Her reasons may be deduced from 
 the document, because as the heir of France was elected sovereign of 
 the Low Countries before his union with her, these valuable provinces 
 would in consequence go with his inheritance, in case she should have 
 no offspring by him; and thus would the Flemish trade and alliance, 
 which had been the main object of English policy for five centuries, be 
 for ever lost to England, and gained by France. While, on the con¬ 
 trary, if Anjou, as her husband, had been elected sovereign of the Low 
 Countries, she would have contrived to have had the best share of the 
 power and dignity; and England might have contended successfully the 
 right of keeping them as appendages to the crown. Thus viewed, the 
 letter is one of the best specimens of Elizabeth’s love and care of her 
 country, and of a grand and far-sighted policy in anticipating the evils 
 that might arise to England, after death had removed her from the scene. 
 
 Elizabeth’s displeasure was, however, quickly mollified. She not 
 only acquiesced in the election of duke Francis of Anjou to the sove¬ 
 reignty of the Low Countries, but assisted him with the subsidy of one 
 hundred thousand crowns; and added a hint of her favourable disposi¬ 
 tion towards their marriage.' An embassy extraordinary was imme¬ 
 diately sent from the court of France; of which the prince dauphin of 
 Auvergne was the principal. They were received in the Thames with 
 the greatest honours by Elizabeth’s command, and landed at the Tower 
 under a salvo of artillery. They were conducted by the young Philip, 
 earl of Arundel, the representative of the unfortunate duke of Norfolk, 
 sir Philip Sidney, Fulk Greville, and lord Windsor, who were esteemed 
 four of the most honourable gentlemen of the court, to a new banquet- 
 ing-house, which had been erected for their reception at Westminster, 
 where they were entertained in the most sumptuous manner.* Among 
 the pageants, sports, and princely recreations that had been prepared in 
 honour of these distinguished foreigners, a tournament had been in con¬ 
 templation; but such was the distaste manifested by the great body of 
 her people against the French marriage, that the queen, apprehending 
 serious tumults from any public collision with the noble foreigners, 
 issued a proclamation, that none of her subjects should either strike, or 
 draw weapon within four miles of London, or the court. 3 
 
 Although the matrimonial negotiations had been renewed, in compli 
 ance with Elizabeth’s insinuated wish, she was no sooner pressed to 
 conclude the treaty, than she started fresh objections, and proposed, in 
 lieu, one of perpetual alliance between the crowns of England and 
 France. The king of France replied, “that he was ready to sign such 
 
 1 Lingard. 
 
 29* 
 
 3 Camden; Stowe. 
 
 3 Sidney Papers. 
 
342 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 a league, as soon as the queen of England should have fulfilled her pro¬ 
 mise to his brother.” At length, it was mutually agreed, that “ the 
 duke, his associates, and servants, being no English subjects, should 
 have liberty to use their own religion, in their own houses, without 
 molestation. The duke of Anjou and the queen of England, within six 
 weeks after the ratification of the articles specified, shall personally con¬ 
 tract marriage in England.” 1 
 
 It was stipulated that, as soon as the marriage was completed, the 
 duke should assume the title of king, but the question of his being 
 crowned should be referred to the consideration of parliament. In the 
 event of his succeeding to the crown of France, his eldest son, by 
 queen Elizabeth, was to inherit that realm, and the second that of 
 England. 
 
 When it is remembered that her majesty was in her forty-ninth year, 
 the contingency of two sovereigns proceeding from her marriage with 
 the youthful heir of France, appears somewhat visionary. It was, how¬ 
 ever, further provided, that, in the event of the queen dying before the 
 duke, he was to have the tuition of all their children, till the sons should 
 attain the age of eighteen, and the daughters fifteen. He was to settle 
 upon the queen, in dowry, 40,000 crowns per annum, out of his lands 
 at JBerri, and the queen was, by act of parliament, to secure to him, for 
 his life, such a pension as she might please to appoint. 2 In other mat¬ 
 ters, the treaty was framed according to the marriage articles between 
 the late queen Mary and Philip of Spain. 
 
 Before the six weeks, stipulated for the fulfilment of this treaty, had 
 expired, Elizabeth faltered in her resolution, and attempted to evade her 
 engagement. Yet she professed to bear a most sovereign love to her 
 betrothed, and that her demurs only proceeded from her doubts how her 
 subjects stood affected towards her marriage with him. 3 
 
 The duke, who, whatever were his faults as a politician and a man, 
 was an accomplished wooer, resolved to take no refusal from any one 
 but the queen herself. He had had the good fortune to achieve a suc¬ 
 cessful military enterprise in compelling the prince of Parma to raise 
 the siege of Cambray, and, crossing the seas, hastened to plead his 
 own cause to his august lady-love. He arrived early in November, 
 1582. 
 
 Elizabeth gave him, not only an honourable, but a most loving recep¬ 
 tion, and, for a time, appeared to abandon herself to the intoxication of 
 an ardent passion. She declared, “ that he was the most deserving and 
 constant of all her lovers,” and even made political engagements with 
 him, without consulting her ministers. 4 On the anniversary of her coro¬ 
 nation, which was, as usual, celebrated with great pomp, she, in the 
 presence of the foreign ambassadors, and her whole court, placed a ring 
 on his finger, which was regarded, by all present, as a pledge of her in¬ 
 tention to become his wife; and, from that time, the prince was looked 
 upon as her betrothed husband. 5 Her conduct, at this time, was either 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 * Memoires de Nevers, i. 545. 
 
 J Ibid. 
 
 6 Camden. 
 
 8 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 343 
 
 that of the most enamoured of women, or the most unblushing of 
 coquettes. Her gift of the ring was duly reported by the French anc 
 Dutch envoys; bonfires, and salvos of artillery, manifested the satisfac 
 tion of these countries at the prospect of so glorious an alliance. 
 
 Her own people took the matter differently. Leicester, Hatton, and 
 Walsingham, were determined to prevent the marriage, and laid then 
 plans accordingly. They were among the commissioners, whom the 
 qu.een had commanded to prepare the articles, and also a paper, pre¬ 
 scribing the rites for the celebration of the nuptials. 1 This paper was 
 actually drawn up and subscribed, but, the same evening, as soon as she 
 returned to her chamber, all her ladies, who had received their lesson 
 from the anti-matrimonial cabal, got up a concert of weeping and wail¬ 
 ing, they surrounded their royal mistress, and, throwing themselves at 
 her feet, implored her to pause ere she took so fatal a step as contract¬ 
 ing marriage, at her time of life, with a youthful husband, by whom she 
 would, probably, be despised and forsaken. They represented all her 
 sister had suffered from her joyless union with Philip of Spain, and en¬ 
 treated her, “ not to share her power and glory with a foreign spouse, 
 or to sully her fair fame as a protestant queen, by vowing obedience to 
 a catholic husband.” 2 
 
 Elizabeth passed the night without sleep. In the morning, she sent 
 for the duke. He found her pale and in tears. “ Two more nights 
 such as the last,” she told him, “ would bring her to the grave.” She 
 described the conflict of feeling between love and duty, in which it had 
 been passed by her, and told him, “ that although her affection for him 
 was undiminished, she had, after an agonizing struggle, determined to 
 sacrifice her own happiness to the welfare of her people.” Anjou would 
 have remonstrated, but Hatton, who was present, acted as spokesman 
 for the agitated queen, and, with statesmanlike coldness, stated the ob¬ 
 jections to the marriage, in terms which proved that they were regarded 
 by the council as insuperable. 3 
 
 The duke retired, in great disorder, to his own apartment, and, pluck¬ 
 ing the ring from his finger, flung it passionately on the ground, ex¬ 
 claiming, at the same time, “ that the women of England were as change¬ 
 able and capricious as their own climate, or the waves that encircled 
 their island.” 4 
 
 He then demanded leave to depart, but Elizabeth implored him to re¬ 
 main, for “that it was her intention to marry him at a more auspicious 
 moment, but. at present, she was compelled to do violence to her own 
 feelings.” The credulous prince believed, and tarried three months, 
 waiting the auspicious moment, which was destined never to arrive- 
 Elizabeth, meantime, lavished the most flattering attentions upon him, 
 and, like Calypso, omitted no device that was likely to retain this ill- 
 favoured Telemachus spell-bound in her enchanted isle. She danced 
 frequently, and had many tragedies and comedies acted, with masks, and 
 all sorts of entertainments for his delight. On the new year’s day, he 
 
 1 Memoires de Nevers. 
 
 s Daniel; Memoires de Nevers. 
 
 s Camden. 
 
 4 Ibid ; Camden ; Lingard. 
 
344 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 tilted before her, at a tournament given in honour of his visit. He had 
 chosen the following verse for his device :— 
 
 “Serviet eeternum, dulcis torquet Eliza.” 
 
 The moment the course was over, the queen hastened to him, and if 
 we may believe the report of the duke de Nevers, who was present in 
 the royal lover’s suite, she saluted him repeatedly, and perceiving that 
 he was fatigued, took him by the hand, and led him to his own cham¬ 
 ber, that he might repose himself. The next morning she paid him a 
 visit before he rose. 1 Many reports, even more derogatory to the dig¬ 
 nity and delicacy of the queen, were in circulation, but these, we trust, 
 were the profane inventions of her foes, since they are chiefly founded 
 on the malign gossip of the countess of Shrewsbury, or the persons 
 who forged the coarse letter pretended to have been written by Mary, 
 queen of Scots, to queen Elizabeth. But, to return to facts. The states 
 of Belgium grew impatient of the protracted absence of their sovereign, 
 and demanded his return. 
 
 The prince himself was weary of the absurd thraldom in which he 
 was held, and finding it impossible to bring his wary inamorata to the 
 desired point, determined to be kept no longer as the puppet of her way¬ 
 ward will. He announced to her the day of his departure—she remon¬ 
 strated ; he explained the necessity of his return to his new subjects. 
 She called them “ villains,” 2 and would only consent to his departure, 
 on condition of his promising to return in a month, and insisted, in 
 spite of his avowed reluctance, on accompanying him part of his journey 
 to the coast. He certainly had no wish for this tender attention, and 
 did all he could to dissuade her majesty from leaving London, telling 
 her, “ that the journey would be painful to her, and that, as the weather 
 was fair, and win 1 favourable, he was loth to loose the opportunity of 
 performing his voyage with all speed.” Elizabeth was, however, reso¬ 
 lute, and on the 1st of February, she and all her court, accompanied 
 the prince on his journey as far as Rochester, where they passed the 
 night. * 
 
 The next day her majesty showed him her mighty ships-of-war, lying 
 at Chatham, and after they had been on board several of them, the prince 
 and all the great lords of France who were in attendance, expressed their 
 admiration of all they saw, and declared, “ that it was not without good 
 reason that the queen of England was reported to be Ladye of the 
 Seas .” 3 
 
 The queen told the prince that “ all these ships and their furniture 
 were ready to do him service when it should be requisite,” for which 
 he most humbly thanked her majesty, and after a great discharge of the 
 ordnance, they returned again to Rochester. The third day they went 
 to Sittingbourne, where, dining in company, the queen was served, after 
 the English manner, by the greatest ladies of her court, and the mon¬ 
 sieur (as he is styled by our authority), after the French fashion, by the 
 gentlemen of his train, which ladies and gentlemen — a pleasant party, 
 
 1 Nevers, 555—557. 
 
 3 Contemporary document in Nichols, vol. iii., p. 146. 
 
 3 Nevers; Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 345 
 
 no doubt — dined afterwards together. Anjou’s impatience to be gone 
 exceeded the bounds of civility. Ilis highness besought her majesty 
 again to go no further, declaring unto her “ that the fair weather passed 
 away.” But, notwithstanding his entreaties, the queen went on still to 
 Canterbury. There, after the queen had feasted the French nobles, she 
 parted from the prince, mournfully, and in tears. 1 In the Ashmolean 
 collection, the royal autograph verses u On Mount Zeur’s departure,” 
 signed “ Eliza Regina,” are still preserved. This little poem, though a 
 decided imitation, if not a plagiarism from Petrarca, is certainly the 
 most elegant of all Elizabeth’s poetical compositions:— 
 
 i. 
 
 “I grieve, yet dare not shew my discontent; 
 
 I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate; 
 
 I dote, but dare not what I ever meant; 
 
 I seem stark mute, yet inwardly doe prate; 
 
 I am, and am not—freeze, and yet I burn ; 
 
 Since from myself, my other self I turn, 
 n. 
 
 “My care is like my shadow in the sun,— 
 
 Follows me flying—flies when I pursue it 
 Stands and lives by me—does what I have done; 
 
 This too familiar care doth make me rue it. 
 
 No means I find to rid him from my breast, 
 
 Till by the end of things it be suppressed, 
 in. 
 
 “Some gentler passion steal into my mind, 
 
 (For I am soft, and made of melting snow;) 
 
 Or be more cruel, love, or be more kind; 
 
 Or let me float or sink, be high or low ; 
 
 Or let me live with some more sweet content, 
 
 Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.” 
 
 After the quotation of this amatory effusion, it would perhaps be dif¬ 
 ficult to make out a case of perfect indifference in behalf of the royal 
 spinster, or to impute all the marks of fondness she manifested for her 
 last French suitor to political coquetry alone. If we may judge from 
 outward signs and tokens, the struggle was really severe between duty 
 ind passion in the bosom of the queen. During Anjou’s journey to 
 Sandwich, she sent repeated messages of inquiry after his health, and 
 sven when he was on ship-board, Sussex brought him an urgent invita¬ 
 tion to return to the queen, but he was obdurate. Her ministers would 
 tot permit her to sully her glory by becoming his wife. He would not 
 lermit himself to be played with any longer. Attended by the earl of 
 ^eicesler, lord Hunsdon, lord C. Howard, one hundred gentlemen, and 
 in escort of three hundred men, he sailed on the 8th of February for 
 dolland, promising to return to Elizabeth in March, but she never saw 
 tim again. 2 
 
 ’Contemporary document in Nicho's, vol iii., p. 146. 
 
 a He landed at Flushing, February 10th, where he was received with great 
 onour by the patriot prince of Orange. He was conducted to Antwerp, and 
 laugurated with great pomp, as duke of Brabant, with very limited powers of 
 'overeignty. His career as the head of a protestant people, was a troubled and 
 
 
346 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 If we may credit the report of the gossiping heir of Shrewsbury, Eliza¬ 
 beth was scarcely less afflicted for the loss of Anjou than Dido for that 
 of jEneas. She refused to return to Whitehall, because it was likely to 
 bring too lively a remembrance to her mind of him with whom she so 
 unwillingly parted. She might, nevertheless, have retained this precious 
 charmer at the price of marriage; but her fame, her power, and her 
 popularity, were dearer to Elizabeth than idle dreams of love, and she 
 was blessed with a happy degree of fickleness, whidh, in due time, ena¬ 
 bled her to find a fresh and more agreeable source of amusement than 
 cherishing the image of a lost lover. 
 
 It would not only be a painful task, but incompatible with the plan 
 of this work, to enter into the details of the persecutions on the score 
 of non-conformity, which stain the annals of this period of Elizabeth’s 
 life and reign. Suffice it to say, that the unsparing use of the rack, the 
 gibbet, and the quartering knife, failed either to silence the zeal of the 
 puritans, or to deter the seminary priests from performing their perilous 
 missions as teachers of their proscribed doctrines. The natural result 
 of these severities was, to provoke a spirit of enmity against the queen 
 —a spirit that animated the professors of these opposing creeds to dan 
 the sternest inflictions of the secular power unshrinkingly, for con¬ 
 science’ sake, even as the protestant martyrs had done in the reigns of 
 Henry VIII. and Mary. 
 
 Elizabeth had been personally interested by the learning, eloquence 
 and ardent loyalty of the celebrated Edmund Campian, before the possi¬ 
 bility was imagined of that star of the university of Oxford 1 forsaking 
 
 brief one. His contempt for his own religion did not make him a good protest 
 ant, as was vainly hoped. His sister, Marguerite, queen of Navarre, said of hire 
 “ If all infidelity were banished from the face of the earth, he alone could suppl; 
 the void.” Even his own attendants could not help expressing their scorn o 
 his character to himself. 
 
 “ If I were the duke of Alen$on,” said Bussy d’Amboise, his favourite, “ am 
 you were Bussy, I would not have you even for a lacquey.” 
 
 “ That is too much, Bussy,” replied the duke. 
 
 “ He has so little courage,” said Henry the Great, his brother-in-law, am 
 sometime political ally, “and is as double-minded and malicious as he is il 
 formed in body.” 
 
 It would, indeed, be difficult to quote a saying in favour of this hopeful suito 
 of Elizabeth. He was soon involved in a labyrinth of difficulties in the Lnv 
 Countries, owing to his intrigues to obtain more power than he had agreed for 
 and after many plots of intrigue and assassination for and against him, he d( 
 camped from his Brabant dukedom, and fled to France, where he died at hi 
 castle of Chateau Thierry, June 10, 1584, some say by poison. 
 
 1 Edmund Campian was the first great scholar produced by Christ's Churc 
 Hospital as a protestant foundation. At thirteen, he pronounced a Latin oratio 
 to queen Mary on her accession. He became Master of Arts at Oxford, in 156< 
 where his beautiful Latin address to queen Elizabeth, when she visited that cit; 
 was never forgotten. He went to Ireland, to convert the Irish to the doctrinr | 
 of the church of England, and wrote an excellent history of that country. Ri 
 volted and disgusted with the horrors exercised in Ireland by the governmei | 
 of his royal mistress, he became an ardent proselyte to the church of Rome. H 
 was admitted into the Order of the Jesuits in 1573, returned to England as 
 zealous missionary, and was executed, August, 1581. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 347 
 
 the reformed religion, by law established in England, for the proscribed 
 doctrines of the church of Rome. After he had been tortured repeat- 
 ;dly, for the purpose of extorting from him the particulars of some 
 secret plot against the queen, in which he was suspected of being an 
 igent, Elizabeth determined to see and confer with Campian herself, and 
 ry her order he was secretly brought one evening from the Tower, and 
 ntroduced to her, at the house of the earl of Leicester, in the presence 
 )f that nobleman, the earl of Bedford, and the two secretaries of state. 
 ‘She asked him if he acknowledged her for queen.” lie replied, “Not 
 snly for queen, but for my lawful queen.” She demanded, “If he con¬ 
 sidered that the pope could excommunicate her lawfully.” He replied, 
 ivasivety, “ that it was not for him to decide in a controversy between 
 ier majesty and the pope. By the pope’s ordinary power, he could not 
 ixcommunicate princes. Whether he could by that power, which he 
 sometimes exercised in extraordinary emergencies, was a difficult and 
 loubtful question.” 1 
 
 Such an answer was not likely to prove satisfactory to so subtle a 
 irincess as Elizabeth, and she left him to the decision of her judges, 
 fe and twelve other catholic priests were arraigned for treason, found 
 ruilty, and sentenced to the usual horrible death awarded to traitors. 
 This occurred while the duke of Anjou was at the court of Elizabeth, 
 ind it was observed by some of the members of the council, that the 
 execution of so many catholic priests would disgust the future consort 
 >f their sovereign. Burleigh represented the necessity of the execution, 
 is a measure of expediency, to allay the apprehensions of the protestants 
 t that peculiar crisis. 2 Campian, with two others, asserted their inno- 
 :ence of any offence against the government, and praying, with their 
 ast breath, for queen Elizabeth. 3 Anjou took the matter as calmly as 
 iallio, “ caring for none of those things.” His creed was evidently 
 imilar to that of the cynical citizen of London in 1788, who sought to 
 ^reserve his house from the attacks of the No-popery rabble, in the 
 iots, led by lord George Gordon, by chalking on his door, “No reli- 
 ilON AT ALL.” 
 
 All ranks of her people hailed her rejection of Anjou with enthusiastic 
 feelings of applause. Shakspeare has celebrated her triumph over the 
 mares of love in the following elegant lines:— 
 
 “That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), 
 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 
 Cupid, all armed! A certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west, 
 
 And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: 
 
 But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft 
 Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
 
 And the imperial votress passed on, 
 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free.” 
 
 So much, however, had Anjou contrived to endear himself to the fair 
 'estal, that the news of his danger in his last illness gave her such pain, 
 
 ‘Bartoli; Lingard ; Howel's State Trials. a Ibid. 3 Ibid. Camden. 
 
348 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 that she refused to believe it, accused her ambassador, sir Edward Staf 
 ford, of wishing for his death, and reprimanded him in such seven, 
 terms, that when that event actually occurred, he was afraid of inform 
 ing her, for fear, as he said, “ of ministering cause to her grief.” 1 
 
 Henry III., in a letter to Mauvissiere, his ambassador, directs him t< 
 communicate this event “ to the queen of England, his good sister, who 
 1 am sure,” says he, “ will share in my great regret, for he grcatl) 
 honoured her.” 2 * 
 
 So ended the last matrimonial negotiation in which Elizabeth con¬ 
 descended to engage. From that time, she appears to have regardec 
 herself entirely as the spouse of the nation. 
 
 “The queen,” says sir John Harrington, “did once ask my wife, it 
 merry sort, ‘ how she kept my good-will and love.’ My Moll, in wist 
 and discreet manner, told her highness ‘she had confidence in her hus¬ 
 band’s understanding and courage, well-founded on her own steadfast- , 
 ness not to offend or thwart, but to cherish and obey; hereby did sh< 
 persuade her husband of her own affection, and in so doing did com¬ 
 mand his.’ ” 
 
 “Go to—go to ! mistress,” saith the queen. “ You are wisely bent 
 I find ; after such sort do I keep the good-will of all my husbands—mj 
 good people — for if they did not rest assured of some special lovt 
 towards them, they would not readily yield me such good obedience.’” 
 
 In the same year (1583), the czar, Ivan Basilovitch, applied to Eliza 
 beth to negotiate a peace between him and John, king of Sweden, anc 
 was so well pleased with her good offices, that, imagining she mighi 
 stand his friend in a matter more interesting to his personal happiness 
 he made humble suit to her majesty, to send him a wife out of England 
 Elizabeth made choice of a young lady of royal Plantagenet descent 
 Anne, sister to the earl of Huntingdon; but when she discovered that 
 the barbarous laws of Muscovy allowed the sovereign to put away his 
 czarina as soon as he was tired of her, and wished for something new 
 in the conjugal department, she excused her fair subject from accepting 
 the proffered honour, by causing his imperial majesty to be informed 
 “that the young lady’s health was too delicate for such a change of 
 climate, and her mother was too tenderly attached to endure the absenct 
 of her daughter; and above all, the laws of England would not permit 
 her to give away the daughters of her subjects in marriage without the 
 consent of her parents.” The czar was dissatisfied, and did not long 
 survive his disappointment. 4 
 
 Some years after, one of his successors, the czar Boris Godonouf 
 made a request to her to send an English consort for one of his sons 
 and by the following passages in a letter from his imperial majesty tc 
 her, it should seem that Elizabeth had either outlived her forme; 
 scruples, or found some noble family willing to obtain the perilous pre 
 
 1 Murdin’s State Papers, 397. Castelnau also bears testimony to her extremt 
 giief ami trouble at his death. 
 
 a Bethune MS., No. 8S08. Bibliotheque du Hoi. 
 
 •Nutue Antique?, vol. i.. pp. 177, 178. 
 
 ‘Camden's Annals. MS. Cotton. Nero, b. xi., p. 392. 
 
 t 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 349 
 
 ferment for one of the daughters, and that the royal Muscovite enter- 
 ained a suspicion that some trickery was intended in the matter, for lie 
 nanifests prudential caution in his inquiries as to the young lady’s de¬ 
 cent, person, and qualifications. 
 
 “ Concerning the argument of your princely letters,” he says, “ it cannot but 
 ;ive us an extraordinary contentment, we finding therein your majesty’s love 
 ind affection towards us and our children, carefully endeavouring the matching 
 tnd bestowing of them in your own line and race. By which your letters your 
 lighness made known unto us, that, amongst others, you have made choice of a 
 roung lady being a pure maiden, nobly descended by father and mother, adorned 
 vith graces and extraordinary gifts of nature, about eleven years of age. of whom 
 ou made an offer to us. * * * But your majesty hath not particularly writ- 
 
 en unto us of that worthy lady, what she is; whether she be of your highness’s 
 ilood, descended of your royal race, by your father or mother, or from some other 
 'rchduke or duke, whereof we are desirous of being resolved.” 
 
 This year died Elizabeth’s faithful kinsman and servant, the earl of 
 Sussex. He retained his contempt of his old adversary, Leicester, to 
 he last. “ I am now passing into another world,” said he, to the friends, 
 vho surrounded his death-bed, “and I must leave you to your fortunes 
 nd the queen’s grace and goodness, but beware of the gipsy, or he will 
 e too hard for you all; you know not the nature of the beast as well 
 !s I do.” 1 Leicester, however, never regained his influence with his 
 oyal mistress after his marriage with her cousin, Lettice Knollys, the 
 fidow of the earl of Essex, though he retained his place in the cabinet, 
 Ind was, with Burleigh and Hatton, mainly instrumental in traversing 
 er marriage with the duke of Anjou. 
 
 1 Elizabeth’s temper became more irritable than usual, after she was de¬ 
 rived of the amusement of coquetting with the princes and envoys of 
 'ranee over her last matrimonial treaty, and Burleigh often shed bitter 
 bars in private, in consequence of the life she led him. At length, worn 
 ut with these vexations, and disgusted with the treatment he received 
 lom a growing party that was beginning to divide the council against 
 im, he requested permission to withdraw from the turmoils of the 
 ourt, and end his days in retirement at Theobalds; on which the queen, 
 'ho knew his value too well to be content to part with him, wrote the 
 allowing lively letter to the discontented minister:— 
 
 11 Sir Spirit, 
 
 “1 doubt 1 do nick-name you. For those of your kind (they say) have no sense 
 reeling). But I have lately seen an ecce signum , that if an ass kick you, you feel 
 too soon. I will recant you from being spirit, if ever I perceive that you dis- 
 lin not such a feeling. Serve God, fear the king, and be a good fellow to the 
 st. Let never care appear in you for such a rumour, but let them well know 
 at you desire the righting of such wrong, by making known their error, than 
 hi to be so silly a soul as to fore slow what you ought to do, or not freely de- 
 /er what you think meetest, and pass of no man so much as not to regard her 
 .ist who putteth it in you. 
 
 “ God Bless you, and long may you last. 
 
 “ Omnino. E. R.” 
 
 The queen likewise wrote a facetious address to him, by the title of 
 r Eremite, of Tyball (Theobalds), a rhapsody, which, in affectation 
 
 1 Naunton’s Fragmenta Regalia. 
 
 VOL. VI. — 30 
 
 
350 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 surpasses all the euphuism of that era. Queen Elizabeth loved now and 
 then quietly to circumvent Burleigh. On one of her visits to Theobalds, 
 she had promised to make seven knights; he chose and arranged the 
 candidates for that honour, so that some gentlemen of ancient lineage 
 stood at the lower part of his hall, meaning that the parvenus should be 
 knighted first as the queen passed — and thus as the elder knights take 
 precedence ever after of their better-born neighbours. The queen was 
 informed of this scheme, but said nothing. As she went through the 
 hall where the candidates for knighthood were placed, according tc 
 Burleigh’s policy, she passed all by, till she came to the screen, when 
 she turned about, and said, “ I had almost forgot what I had promised, 
 and beginning with the lowest-placed gentlemen, knighted all in rotatior 
 as they stood. Stanhope, a gentleman of her privy chamber, observed 
 to her, “Your majesty was too fine for my lord Burleigh.” 
 
 “Nay,” replied Elizabeth, “I have but fulfilled the Scripture, ‘the i 
 first shall be last, and the last first.’ ” 1 
 
 Elizabeth’s ladies, and courtiers were universally malcontent at the 
 idea of a visit to Theobalds, where strict economy and precision of 
 manners always prevailed, and no amusements were provided for theii 
 recreation. 
 
 Elizabeth’s maids of honour were regarded with a jealous eye by hei 1 
 cabinet, as the purveyors of the abundant stores of gossip with which 
 her majesty was constantly supplied. Yet they had little influence ir 
 obtaining her favour for any applicant, which made sir Walter Raleigf 
 declare, “that they were like witches, capable of doing great harm, bu 
 no good.” Sir Fulk Greville, who had often access to the queen, belt 
 long private conversations with her, and though he had both the powei 
 and inclination to do good, which he often used for the benefit of thos< 
 who had fallen into disgrace, the queen’s maids declared, “ he brough 
 her all the tales she heard,” which made him say merrily of himself 
 “ That he was like Robin Goodfellow, for when the dairy-maids upse 
 the milk-pans, or made a romping and racket, they laid it all on Robin 
 so whatever gossip tales the queen’s ladies told her, or whatever bat 
 turns they did to the courtiers, they laid all upon him.” 
 
 Indeed, there seems to have been an incipient warfare for ever goin< 
 on between Elizabeth’s maids of honour and the gentlemen of her house 
 hold. Her kinsman, sir Francis Knollys, a learned old mililaire, whost 
 office brought his apartment in close contiguity to the dormitory of th< 
 maids of honour, declared “ that they used, when retired for the night 
 to frisk and hey about, so that it was in vain for him to attempt sleej 
 or study.” One night, when the fair bevy were more than usually ob 
 streperous, he marched irtto their apartment in dishabille, and with hi 
 book in his hand, and an enormous pair of spectacles on his nose 
 walked up and down, declaiming in Latin: some of the young ladie 
 fled, half-dressed, others entreated his absence, but he said “ he wouli 
 not leave them in quiet possession of their dormitory, without they per 
 milted him to rest in his apartment.” 
 
 Bacon’s Apothegms. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 351 
 
 But these lively ladies, like the rest of Elizabeth’s household, some¬ 
 times felt, in their turn, the effects of her caprice. “ I could relate,” 
 says Harrington, “ many pleasant tales of her majesty’s outwitting the 
 wittiest ones, for few knew how to aim their shafts against her cunning. 
 1 will tell a story that fell out when I was a boy. She did love rich 
 clothing, but often chid those that bought more finery than became their 
 state. It happened that lady Mary Howard was possessed of a rich 
 oordpr, powdered with gold and pearls, and a velvet suit belonging 
 thereto, which moved many to envy, nor did it please the queen, who 
 .hought it exceeded her own. One day, the queen did send privately, 
 ind got the lady’s rich vesture, which she put on herself, and came forth 
 'he chamber among her ladies, the kirtle and border being far too short 
 for her majesty’s height; she asked everyone “ how they liked her new 
 ancied suit ?” At length, she asked the owner herself, “ if it w'ere not 
 nade too short and ill-becoming ?” to which the poor lady agreed. 
 
 “ Why then,” rejoined the queen, “ if it become not me, as being too 
 >hort, it shall never become thee, as being too fine.” 
 
 This sharp rebuke abashed the lady, and the vestment was laid up till 
 ifter the queen’s death. 1 
 
 As a proof that Elizabeth possessed the rare faculty of dividing her 
 ittention among a variety of subjects at the same time, Harrington re- 
 ;ords the fact, that she wrote one letter while she dictated another to 
 ter amanuensis, and listened to a tale, to which she made suitable re 7 
 dies, all at the same time. He has preserved the letters, which were 
 bund in a MS., entitled, “A precious Token of her highness’s great 
 ivit and marvellous understanding.” 
 
 In one of these letters, queen Elizabeth defines friendship u to be the 
 •iniform consent of two minds, such as virtue links, and nought but 
 leath can part. Therefore,” says the royal metaphysician, “ I conclude 
 !he house which shrinketh from its foundation shall down for me.” 
 tVith consummate knowledge of the human heart, she goes on to ob- 
 erve, “ that where minds differ, and opinions swerve, there is scant a 
 riend in that company.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth gave her half-brother, sir John Perrot, the command 
 >f a fleet to intercept a meditated invasion of Ireland by Philip II. And 
 ir John prepared for the voyage, taking with him for his personal band 
 ifty gentlemen of good family, dressed in orange-coloured cloaks. As 
 his party lay to, in his barge off Greenwich palace, where the queen 
 ept her court, sir John sent one of these orange-men on shore with a 
 iamond, as a token to his mistress, Blanche Parry, 2 willing him to tell 
 >er “that a diamond coming unlooked-for did always bring good luck 
 nth itwhich the queen overhearing, sent sir John a fair jewel hanged 
 
 : 'Lady Mary Howard appears to have incurred the queen's ill-will by he un- 
 isguised flirtations with the young earl of Essex, who was beginning, at this 
 eriod, to attract the favour of her majesty.—Nugre Antiquae. 
 a Blanche Parry, the queen's old maid of honour, was one of the learned women 
 f the day. She was born in 1508, died blind in 1589. She was an alchymist, 
 strologer, antiquary, and herald. She was a great crony of Dr. Dee, the conjn 
 nr, and, it is probable, kept up his connexion with the queen.—Ballard. 
 
352 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 by a white cypress (a white love-ribbon), signifying withal, “ that a? 
 long as he wore that for her sake, she did believe, with God’s help, he 
 should have no harm.” 
 
 This message and jewel, sir John received right joyfully, and returned 
 answer to the queen— 
 
 “ That he would wear it for his sovereign’s sake, and he doubted not, 
 with God’s favour, to restore her ships in safety, and either to bring 
 back the Spaniards prisoners, if they came in his way, or to sink them 
 in the deep sea.’ 
 
 ‘•So, as sir J 01..1 passed in his barge, the queen, looking out of a 
 window at Greenwich palace, shaked her fan at him, and put out her 
 hand towards him. Whereupon he, making a low obeisance, put the 
 scarf and jewel round his neck.” Sir John encountered no enemy but 
 a dreadful storm. 
 
 Perrot was soon after appointed by the queen to the highest military 
 command in Ireland, where, while he exercised the most despotic cruelty 
 on the insurgents, he manifested the strongest inclination to act inde¬ 
 pendently of her majesty, whose birth he considered not a whit better 
 than his own. The speeches he made on various occasions to this 
 effect, were carefully registered against him. It was his pleasure to sup¬ 
 press the cathedral of St. Patrick; the queen forbade this proceeding, 
 when he thus undutifully addressed the council:—“ Stick not so much 
 on the queen’s letters of commandment, for she may command what she 
 will, but we will do what we like.” The queen appointed Mr. Erring- 
 ton clerk of the exchequer, on which sir John exclaimed, ‘ l This fiddling 
 woman troubles me out of measure. God’s, dear lady, he shall not have 
 the office! I will give it to sir Thomas Williams.” This was proved 
 by the oath of his secretary, Philip Williams, who, when he was brought 
 to trial for disobedience and contempt of the queen, was the principal 
 witness against him. Sir John earnestly requested his secretary might 
 be confronted with him; but, with the infamous injustice with which 
 such trials were carried on in the sixteenth century, Pophain, the queen’s 
 attorney-general, forbade this reasonable request. One of the deposi¬ 
 tions of this man touched Elizabeth on tender ground; at the time of 
 the Spanish invasion, sir John, by his report, said, “Ah, silly woman, 
 now she shall not curb me! now she shall not rule me! Now, God’s 
 dear lady, I shall be her white boy againadding, that when sir John 
 Garland brought him letter from the queen, he said, with violent execra¬ 
 tions, “This it is, to serve a base-born woman! Had I served any 
 prince in Christendom, I had not been thus dealt withal.” 1 He was ac¬ 
 cused of treasonable communication with Spain, but nothing was proved 
 excepting foolish speeches. 
 
 He attributed his disgrace chiefly to the malice of his old enemy, sir 
 Christopher Hatton, whom he despised as a carpet knight; who had 
 danced his way into Elizabeth’s good graces. When sir John Perrot 
 was told he must die, he exclaimed, “ God’s death! will my sister sacri¬ 
 fice her brother to his frisking adversaries?” 2 
 
 1 State Trials, vol. vii., p. 30. 
 
 a Fragmenta Regalia. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 353 
 
 When Elizabeth heard this truly Tudor-like remonstrance, she paused 
 from signing his death-warrant, saying, “They were all knaves that con 
 demned him.” 
 
 His furious antipathy to sir Christopher Hatton, and his sneers at hi* 
 dancing, will remind the reader of Gray’s celebrated lines— 
 
 “ My lord high-keeper led the brawls, 
 
 The seals and maces danced before him.” 
 
 Sir John Perrot was not executed, but pined himself to death, like a 
 prisoned eagle, in confinement in the Tower. 
 
 The greatest contradiction ever offered to queen Elizabeth proceeded 
 from men of her own blood. One afternoon, when she was at cards, 
 she turned to her young kinsman, Robert Carey, who stood at her 
 elbow, and asked him when his father, lord Ilunsdon, meant to depart 
 to his government at Berwick? he replied, “after Whitsuntide.” This 
 information put her majesty into a great rage; “God’s wounds!” she 
 exclaimed, “1 will set him by the feet, and send another in his place, if 
 he dallies thus.” Robert Carey replied, that the delay was but to make 
 provision. She declared that Hunsdon had been going from Christmas 
 to Easter, and from Easter to Whitsuntide; and if he was not off 
 directly, she would put another in his place, and so she commanded , 
 Carey to tell him. But Hunsdon came of her own lineage, and shared 
 her own indomitable spirit. Bv way of reply, he told his mind very 
 freely to Burleigh. The threat of laying him by the feet, he could not 
 digest, and alluded to it in these high spirited words:—“Any imprison¬ 
 ment she may put me to shall redound to her dishonour; because J 
 neither have nor will I deserve it.” 1 
 
 The queen’s conduct to this faithful kinsman is characteristic of hei 
 liggardliness. He had a double claim on the earldom of Wiltshire. 
 Elizabeth withheld it through his life, but when he was on his death- 
 red, she sent the robes and patent to his bed-side. Whereupon he, who 
 rould dissemble neither in life nor death, sent them back with these 
 words, “Tell the queen, that if I was unworthy these honours living, 
 
 1 am unworthy of them dying.” 
 
 It will be allowed that a narrative, wholly devoted to the personal 
 riography of Elizabeth, can afford but a few words as a retrospect of 
 rer regal sway over the sister island. “ Ireland,” says Naunton, “ cost 
 ter more vexation than anything else. The expense of it pinched her; 
 he ill success of her offices wearied her; and in that service she grew 
 lard to please.” The barbarity with which she caused that country to 
 >e devastated, is unprecedented, excepting in the extermination of the 
 ?aribs by the Spaniards. 
 
 Henry VIII. had given himself little concern with the state of religion 
 
 I Ireland; it remained virtually a catholic country; the monasteries 
 nd their inhabitants were not uprooted, as in England; and the whole 
 ountrv incipiently acknowledged the supremacy of the pope, through 
 
 II the Tudor reigns, till Elizabeth ascended the throne. The false step 
 iken by the pope at Elizabeth’s accession, by mooting the point of her 
 
 1 Life of Sir Robert Carey, p. 231—233. 
 
 X 
 
 30 
 
354 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 reign de juro , instead of considering it de facto , forced her into ch«* 
 measure of insisting that all Ireland should renounce the catholic reli- . 
 gion, and become protestant; and this she enforced under the severest i 
 penal laws. Ireland, which had acknowledged the English monarchs as 
 suzerains, or lords paramount over their petty kings and chiefs, for 
 several centuries, had scarcely allowed them as kings of Ireland for a 
 score of years, now flamed out into rebellion against the English lord- 
 deputy ; and this functionary, by the queen’s orders, governed despotic¬ 
 ally, by mere orders of council; and endeavoured to dispense with the 
 Irish parliament. The taxes were forthwith cessed at the will of the 
 lord-deputy. The earl of Desmond, the head of the Fitzgeralds, and 
 possessed at that time of an estate of six hundred thousand acres, aided 
 by lord Baltinglas, head of the Eustaces, whose family had for four 
 generations filled the office of lords-treasurer, or lords-deputy, and were 
 ever closely allied with the Geraldines, resisted the payment of this 
 illegal tax, and required that a parliament might be called, as usual, to 
 fix the demands on the subject; for which measure, these gallant pre- i 
 cursors of Hampden were forthwith immured in a tower of Dublin castle. 
 They sent messengers to Elizabeth, to complain of the conduct of her 
 lord-deputy; for which presumption, as she called it, she transferred 
 them to the more alarming prison of the Tower of London. The Eng¬ 
 lish parliament, however, finding their sole crime was the vindication of 
 the existence of a parliament in Ireland, were inclined to view the case 
 as bearing on their own. Elizabeth, therefore, postponed her vengeance 
 on Desmond and Baltinglas, and ordered their liberation. 
 
 Philip of Spain, then, in revenge for the assistance given by Elizabeth 
 to his protestant subjects in the Low Countries, proffered aid to the 
 Irish; the Geraldines and Eustaces flew to arms, and for many years 
 sustained a contest with the English lord-deputy. At length, the vene¬ 
 rable earl of Desmond, crushed by overwhelming numbers, became a 
 fugitive, and after wandering about in glens and forests for three years, 
 was surprised in a lonely hut by a party of his enemies. Kelly of Mo- 
 riarty struck off his head, and conveyed it, as an acceptable present, to 
 queen Elizabeth, by whose order it was fixed on London Bridge. 1 
 
 The lord-deputy Montjoy (the Irish say by the advice of Spenser, the 
 poet), the commander of the English forces, commenced that horrid war 
 of extermination which natives call “ the hag’s wars.” The houses and 
 standing corn of the wretched natives were burnt, and the cattle killed ! 
 wherever the English came, which starved the people into temporary 1 
 submission. When some of the horrors of the case were represented tc • 
 the queen, and she found the state to which the sister island was re¬ 
 duced. she was heard to exclaim, “ that*!he found she had sent wolves 
 not shepherds, to govern Ireland, for they had left nothing but ashe: 
 and carcasses for her to reign over!” 
 
 This deprecatory speech did not, however, save the lives of th< 
 patriots who had resisted the extinction of the Irish parliaments. Lori 
 Baltinglas was beheaded, and a peculiar act passed, called the Statute o 
 
 'Camden; Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 355 
 
 Baltinglas, which confiscated the estates granted to the Eustaces in Ire- 
 and, although the young brother of lord Baltinglas had taken no part 
 u the rebellion. 1 
 
 The latter days of Elizabeth were certainly impoverished and embit- 
 ered by the long strife in Ireland; and if her sister declared, “ that, 
 vhen dead, Calais would be found written on her heart,” Elizabeth had 
 is much reason to affirm, that the burning cares connected with the 
 late of Ireland had wasted her lamp of life. 
 
 1 See the important document in Egerton Papers, published by the Camden 
 Society, headed, “ Royal Prerogative.” The Rev. Charles Eustace, of Kildare, 
 s the representative of this family, and the claimant of the Baltinglas peerage. 
 The illegal attainder, by which the last lord Baltinglas suffered, could not, in 
 ioint of law or justice, affect the descendants of his brother, who never forfeited 
 lis allegiance. The restoration, by George IV., of the forfeited peerages to the 
 lescendants of some of the noblemen who suffered for their devotion to the cause 
 ■f Stuart, was not only a generous but a politic measure, as it healed all ancient 
 vottnds, and for ever quenched the spirit of hereditary disaffection to the reign- 
 ng family in many a noble heart, which, from that hour, glowed with loyal affec- 
 ion to the sovereign, in grateful acknowledgment of the royal act of grace. Surely 
 he services which the father and brothers of the venerable claimant of the Bal- 
 inglas peerage have performed for England, have been sufficient to obliterate 
 he offence of their collateral ancestor, the unfortunate but patriotic victim of the 
 .nconstitutional government of Elizabeth in Ireland. 
 
 
ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Evil consequences to Elizabeth from the detention of Mary, queen of Scots—Rea! 
 and pretended plots against Elizabeth's life—Her parsimony—Walsingham’f 
 letter of expostulation—Altercation between Elizabeth and the archbishop ol 
 St. Andrew's and other Scotch ambassadors—Hard treatment of the earls ol 
 Northumberland and Arundel—Her enmity to lady Arundel—Takes offenct 
 with Leicester—Her angry speeches of him, and stern letter to him—Quarrels 
 with Burleigh—Leicester's jealousy of Raleigh-^First notice of Essex—Charlei 
 Blount attracts Elizabeth's notice—Scandals respecting her regard for him— 
 Essex's jealousyMorgan and Babington's conspiracy — Elizabeth's peril— 
 Queen of Scots implicated—Her removal to Fotheringay—Elizabeth’s lette' 
 to Paulet — Proceedings against Mary — Elizabeth's irritation — Her levity— 
 Angry reply to the French ambassador—Petitioned by parliament to put Mar; 
 to death—Her speech—Subsequent irresolution—She hints at a secret murde 
 — Leicester suggests poison — Remonstrances of the king of France — Storm; 
 scenes between Elizabeth and French ambassadors — Mary's sentence pub 
 lished—Her letter to Elizabeth, and its effects—Remonstrances of Bellievre it 
 behalf of Mary—Elizabeth's haughty letter to the king of France—Her scorn 
 ful treatment of the Scotch ambassadors — Crooked policy of her ministers— 
 Pretended plot against her life—Excited state of her mind—Her irresolution- 
 Scenes between her and Davison—She signs Mary’s death-warrant—Her jes 
 on the subject—Her demurs—Earnest desire of Mary’s assassination—Com I 
 mands Davison to propose it to Paulet— Her dream—Her anger at Paulet 
 scruples — Dark hints of employing an agent of her own — Manner in whic 
 she receives the news of Mary's execution—She rates her ministers and cour 
 cil—Disgrace of Davison—Queen's excuses to the French ambassador—Charge 
 the blame on her ministers—Hypocritical letter to the king of Scots—She bring 
 lady Arabella Stuart into notice — Pope Sixtus V. commends her spirit, bt 
 proclaims a crusade against her. 
 
 The unjust detention of Mary, Queen of Scots, in an English prison 
 Had for fifteen years proved a source of personal misery to Elizabeth 
 and a perpetual incentive to crime. The worst passions of the huma 
 heart—jealousy, hatred, and revenge—were kept in a constant state o 
 excitement by the confederacies that were formed in her dominions, i 
 behalf of the captive heiress of the crown. Her ministers pursued 
 systematic course of espionage and treachery, in order to discover th 
 friends of the unfortunate Mary ; and when discovered, omitted no mean; 
 however base, by which they might be brought under the penalty o 
 treason . 1 The sacrifice of human life was appalling; the violation of a j 
 
 1 S *e Camden ; Bishop Goodman ; Howel s State Trials. 
 
 (356) 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 357 
 
 noral and divine restrictions of conscience more melancholy still. 1 
 Scaffolds streamed with blood ; the pestilential gaols were crowded with 
 ictims, the greater portion of whom died of fever or famine, unpitied 
 nd unrecorded, save in the annals of private families. 
 
 Among the features of this agitating period, was the circumstance of 
 iersons of disordered intellects accusing themselves of designs against 
 he life of their sovereign, and denouncing others as their accomplices. 
 >uch was the case with regard to Somerville, an insane catholic geutle- 
 lan, who attacked two persons with a drawn sword, and declared that 
 e would murder every protestant in England, and the queen, as their 
 ead. Somerville had, unfortunately, married the daughter of Edward 
 irden, a high-spirited gentleman of ancient descent, in Warwickshire, 
 nd a kinsman of Shakspeare’s mother. Arden had incurred the deadly 
 lalice of Leicester, not only for refusing to wear his livery, like the 
 eighbouring squires, to swell his pomp during queen Elizabeth’s visit 
 a Kenilworth, “ but chiefly,” says Dugdale, “ for galling him by certain 
 trong expressions, touching his private addresses to the countess of 
 Issex before she was his wife.” These offences had been duly noted 
 own for vengeance; and the unfortunate turn which the madness of 
 le lunatic son-in-law had taken, formed a ready pretext for the arrest 
 f Arden, his wife, daughters, sister, and a missionary priest named 
 all. 
 
 Arden and Hall were subjected to the torture, and Hall admitted that 
 rden had once been heard to wish “ that the queen were in heaven.” 
 his was sufficient to procure the condemnation and execution of Arden, 
 imerville was found strangled in his cell at Newgate. Hall and the 
 ■ dies were pardoned. As the insanity of Somerville was notorious, it 
 as generally considered that Arden fell a victim to the malice of Lei- 
 :ster, who parcelled out his lands among his dependants. 2 But while 
 ots, real and pretended, threatening the life of the queen, agitated the 
 iblic mind from day to day, it had become customary for groups of the 
 opulace to throw themselves on their knees in the dirt by the wayside, 
 henever she rode out, and pray for her preservation, invoking bless- 
 gs on her head, and confusion to the papists, with the utmost power 
 their voices. A scene of this kind once interrupted an important 
 rlitical dialogue, the maiden queen held with the ambassador Mauvis- 
 ere, as he rode by her side, from Hampton Court to London, in No- 
 ■mber, 1583. She was in the act of discussing the plots of the Jesuits, 
 when,” says Mauvissiere, 3 “just at this moment many people, in large 
 impanies, met her by the way, and kneeling on the ground, with divers 
 
 ; On the 17th of November, 1577, the attorney-general was directed to examine 
 lomas Sherwood on the rack, and orders were given to place him in the dun- 
 on among the rats. This horrible place was a den in the Tower, below high- 
 iter mark, entirely dark, and the resort of innumerable rats, which had been 
 town to wound and maim the limbs of the wretched denizens of this dungeon ; 
 it Shatwood’s constancy and courage were not subdued by the horrors of this 
 11 . 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 1 Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. ii., p. 29, published by Mr. Colburn, 1842 
 
358 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 sorts of prayers, wished her a thousand blessings, and that the evil-dis¬ 
 posed who meant to harm her might be discovered, and punished as 
 they deserved. She frequently stopped to thank them, for the affection 
 
 they manifested for her. She and I being alone, amidst her retinue, 
 
 mounted on goodly horses, she observed to me, ‘that she saw clearly 
 that she was not disliked by all.’ ” 
 
 It is not very difficult to perceive, by the dry manner of Mauvissiere, 
 
 that he deemed this scene was got up for the purpose. Indeed, such 
 
 public displays of fervency are by no means in unison with the English 
 national character. 
 
 The parsimony of Elizabeth in all affairs of state policy, where a cer¬ 
 tain expenditure was required, often embarrassed her ministers, and tra¬ 
 versed the arrangements they had made, or were desirous of making, in 
 her name, with foreign princes. Walsingham was, on one occasion, so 
 greatly annoyed by her majesty’s teasing minuteness and provoking in¬ 
 terference in regard to money matters, that he took the liberty of penning 
 a long letter of remonstrance to her, amounting to an absolute lecture 
 on the subject. 
 
 “Sometimes,” says he, “ when your majesty doth behold in what doubtful 
 terms you stand with foreign princes, then do you wish, with great affection, 
 that opportunities offered had not been slipped. But when they are offered to 
 you (if they be accompanied with charges), they are altogether neglected. Com¬ 
 mon experience teacheth, that it is as hard in a politic body to prevent any mis¬ 
 chief without charges, as in a natural body, diseased, to cure the same without 
 pain. Remember, I humbly beseech your majesty, the respect of charges hath 
 lost Scotland, and I would to God I had no cause to think that it might put your 
 highness in peril of the loss of England. I see it, and they stick not to say it, 
 that the only cause that maketh them here (in France) not to weigh your ma¬ 
 jesty's friendship, is, that they see your majesty doth fly charges, otherwise than 
 by doing them underhand. It is strange, considering in what state your majesty 
 standeth, that in all directions that we have here received, we have special 
 charge not to yield to anything that may be accompanied with charges. 
 
 “The general league must he without any certain charges; the particulat 
 league, with a voluntary and no certain charge; as also that which is to be 
 attempted in favour of don Antonio. The best is, that if they were (as they art 
 not) inclined to deal in any of these points, then they were like to receive bui 
 small comfort for anything that we have direction to assent unto. Heretofore 
 your majesty's predecessors, in matters of peril, did never look into charges 
 though their treasure was neither so great as your majesty’s is, nor their subject- 
 so wealthy, nor so willing to contribute. A person that is diseased, if he look 
 only upon the medicine, without regard of the pain he sustaineth, cannot ir 
 reason and nature but abhor the same; if, therefore, no peril, why then’t is vair 
 to be at charges, but if there be peril, it is hard that charges should be preferred 
 before peril. I pray God that the abatement of the charges towards that noble 
 man, that hath the custody of the bosom serpent (meaning Mary , Queen of Scott) 
 hath not lessened his care in keeping of her. To think that in a man of hi: 
 birth and quality, after twelve years' travail, in charge of such weight, to have 
 an abatement of allowance, and no recompence otherwise made, should no 
 breed discontentment, no man that hath reason can so judge; and, therefore, te 
 have so special a charge committed to a person discontented, everybody seedi i 
 standeth no way with policy. What dangerous effects this loose keeping hail 
 bred ! The taking away of Morton, the alienation of the king (Janies of Scotland) 
 and a general revolt in religion, intended (caused) only by her charges, dotl 
 show. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 359 
 
 “And, therefore, nothing being done to help the same, is a manifest argument 
 that the peril that is like to grow' thereby is so fatal, as it can by no means be 
 prevented, if this sparing and improvident course be still held, the mischiefs ap¬ 
 proaching being so apparent as they are. I conclude, therefore, having spoken 
 in the heat of duty, without offence to your majesty, that no one that serveth in 
 the place of a counsellor, that either weigheth his own credit, or carrieth that 
 sound affection to your majesty as he ought to do, that would not wish himself 
 in the furthest part of Ethiopia, rather than enjoy the fairest palace in England. 
 The Lord, therefore, direct your majesty's heart to take that way of counsel that 
 may be most for your safety and honour. 
 
 “F. Walsin GUAM. 1 
 
 “ September 2d.” 
 
 There is no date of place or year to this very curious letter; but the 
 allusions render it apparent that it was written in France, just after the 
 attempt made by Elizabeth and her council at home, to curtail the al¬ 
 lowance of fifty-two pounds per week, which had been, in the first in¬ 
 stance, granted to the earl of Shrewsbury, for the board and maintenance 
 of the captive queen of Scots and her household, to thirty. Even this 
 stinted sum was sorely grudged by Elizabeth. The earl complained of 
 being a great loser, and pinched the table of his luckless charge in so 
 niggardly a fashion, that a serious complaint was made to queen Eliza¬ 
 beth, by the French ambassador, of the badness and meanness of the 
 diet provided for Mary. Elizabeth wrote a severe reprimand to Shrews¬ 
 bury; and he, who was rendered by the jealousy of his wife the most 
 miserable of men, petitioned to be released from the odious office that 
 had been thrust upon him, of jailer to the fair, ill-fated Scottish queen. 
 After a long delay, his resignation was accepted; but he had to give up 
 his gloomy castle of Tutburv, for a prison for Mary, no other house in 
 England, it was presumed, being so thoroughly distasteful to the royal 
 captive, as an abiding place. 2 
 
 Walsingham’s term of “ bosom serpent” appears peculiarly infelici¬ 
 tous as applied to Mary Stuart, who was never admitted to Elizabeth’s 
 presence, or vouchsafed the courtesies due to a royal lady and a guest, 
 but, when crippled with chronic maladies, was denied the trifling indul¬ 
 gence of a coach, or an additional servant to carry her in a chair. 
 
 The arrest and execution of Morton, in Scotland, was peculiarly dis¬ 
 pleasing to Elizabeth, and embarrassing to her council. Walsinghain 
 boldly reproaches his royal mistress, in the above letter, with having 
 lost this valuable political tool, by not having offered a sufficient bribe 
 for the preservation of his life. Mauvissiere, in a letter to his own 
 court, gives an amusing detail of an altercation which was carried on 
 between Elizabeth and the archbishop of St. Andrew’s, on account of the 
 execution of Morton, in which she vituperated the queen of Scots and 
 the young king James, and in the midst of her choler, exclaimed— 
 
 * I am- more afraid of making a fault in my Latin, than of the kings 
 of Spain, France, and Scotland, the whole house of Guise, and their 
 confederates.” 3 
 
 Elizabeth stood on no ceremony with the envoys of Scotland, who 
 
 ‘Complete Ambassador, p. 427. ’Lodge's Illustrations. 
 
 *MS. Harl., folio 398 
 
 
3G0 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 scrupled to sell their fealty for English gold. In the previous year, 
 when Janies had dispatched his favourite minister, the duke of Lenox, 
 with a letter and message to her, explanatory of the late events in Scot¬ 
 land, she at first refused to see him, and when she was, at last, induced 
 to grant him an interview, she, according to the phrase of Calderwood, 
 the historian of the Kirk, “ rattled him up” on the subject of his politi¬ 
 cal conduct, but he replied with so much mildness and politeness, that 
 her wrath was subdued, and she parted from him courteously. 
 
 The revolution by which Lenox and his colleague Stuart, earl of 
 Arran, had emancipated their youthful sovereign from the degrading 
 tutelage in which he had been kept, by his father’s murderers and his 
 mother’s foes, had also broken Elizabeth’s ascendancy in the Scottish 
 court. A counter influence, even that of the captive Mary Stuart, was 
 just then predominant there. Davison, Elizabeth’s ambassador to Scot¬ 
 land, assured Walsingham that the Scottish queen, from the guarded re¬ 
 cesses of her prison, guided both king and nobles as she pleased. 1 
 
 The young king was now marriageable, and his mother’s intense de¬ 
 sire for him to marry with a princess of Spain was well known. If 
 such an alliance were once accomplished, it might be suspected that the 
 English catholics, assured of aid, both from Scotland and Spain, would 
 no longer endure the severity of penal laws, and the injustice to which 
 they were subjected by a queen, whose doubtful legitimacy might afford 
 a convenient pretext to the malcontent party for her deposition. The 
 Jesuits, undismayed by tortures and death, arrayed their talents, their 
 courage, and subtlety, against Elizabeth, with quiet determination, and 
 plots, and rumours of plots, against her life and government, thickened 
 round her. The details of these would require a folio volume. The 
 most important in its effects was that in which the two Throckmortons, 
 Francis and George, were implicated, with Charles Paget, in a corre¬ 
 spondence with Morgan, an exiled catholic, employed in the queen of 
 Scots’ service abroad. Francis Throckmorton endured the rack thrice 
 with unflinching constancy; but when, with bruised and distorted limbs, 
 he was led for a fourth examination to that terrible machine, he was ob¬ 
 served to tremble. The nervous system had been wholly disarranged, 
 and, in the weakness of exhausted nature, he made admissions which 
 appeared to implicate Mendo§a, the Spanish ambassador, as the author 
 of a plot for dethroning queen Elizabeth. Mendoqa indignantly denied 
 the charge, when called upon to answer it, before the privy council, and 
 retorted upon Burleigh the injury that had been done to his sovereign, 
 by the detention of the treasure in the Genoese vessels. 2 He was, how¬ 
 ever, ordered to quit England without delay. Lord Paget and Charles 
 Arundei fled to France, where they set forth a statement that they had 
 retired beyond seas, not from a consciousness of guilt, but to avoid the 
 effects of Leicester’s malice. Lord Paget was brother to one of the 
 persons accused. 
 
 Throckmorton retracted on the scaffold all that had been wrung from 
 his reluctant lips by the terrors of the rack. 
 
 1 MS. letter in State Paper Office, quoted by Tytler. 
 
 5 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3G1 
 
 The capture of Creighton, the Scotch Jesuit, and the seizure of his 
 papers, which he had vainly endeavoured to destroy, by throwing them 
 into the sea, when he found the vessel in which he had taken his pas¬ 
 sage pursued by the queen’s ships, brought to light an important mass 
 of evidence connected with the projected invasion of England, and 
 Elizabeth perceived that a third of her subjects were ready to raise the 
 standard of revolt in the name of Mary Stuart. At this momentous 
 crisis, the treachery of the king of Scotland’s mercenary envoy, Arthur 
 Gray, by putting Elizabeth in possession of the secrets of his own court, 
 and the plans of the captive queen, enabled her to countermine the 
 operations of her foes. She out-manoeuvred king James, and, as usual, 
 bribed his cabinet; she first duped, and then crushed Mary, and laid the 
 rod of her vengeance with such unsparing severity on her catholic sub¬ 
 jects, that the more timorous fled, as the reformers had done in the 
 reign of her sister, to seek liberty of conscience, as impoverished exiles, 
 in foreign lands. 
 
 It was not, however, every one who was so fortunate as to escape. 
 Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, brother to the unfortunate earl 
 Thomas, who had been beheaded, for his share in the northern rebel¬ 
 lion, was sent to the Tower, on pretext of having implicated himself in 
 the Throckmorton plot, Shelly, an acquaintance of his, having admitted 
 something to this effect, in a confession extorted by the rack. After 
 having been detained more than a year in close confinement, without 
 being brought to trial, the earl was found one morning dead in his bed, 
 with three slugs lodged in his heart. His keeper had been superseded, 
 the night before, by a servant of sir Christopher Hatton; therefore, 
 suspicions were entertained that he had been murdered, but the jury 
 brought in a verdict of felo-de-se , it having been deposed that he had 
 been heard to swear, with an awful oath, “ that the queen,” whom he 
 irreverently designated by a name only proper to a female of the canine 
 race, “should not have his estates;” and, therefore, to avert the conse¬ 
 quences which would result from an act of attainder being passed upon 
 him, he had obtained a pistol through the intervention of a friend, and 
 shot himself in his bed.' 
 
 A more lingering tragedy was the doom of Philip Howard, earl of 
 Arundel, the eldest son of the beheaded duke of Norfolk. This young 
 nobleman had been educated in the protestant faith, and was married, in 
 his fifteenth year, to one of the co-heiresses of the ancient family of 
 Dacre. Her, he at first neglected, intoxicated, as it appears, by the 
 seductive pleasures of the court, and the flattering attentions which the 
 queen lavished upon him. It had even been whispered among the cour¬ 
 iers, “ that if he had not been a married man, he might have aspired to 
 he hand of his sovereign.” * 2 Meantime, his deserted wife, in the seclu¬ 
 sion of the country, became a convert to the doctrines of the church of 
 Rome, probably through the persuasions of her husband’s grandfather, 
 fitzalan, earl of Arundel, as her change of creed took place during his 
 
 ‘Horace Walpole; Bayleys’ History of the Tower. 
 
 2 MS. Life of Philip, Earl of Arundel, in possession of the Duke of Norfolk 
 Row ard Memorials. 
 
362 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 life. On the death of that nobleman, Philip Howard claimed to succeed 
 him in his honours and estates. His claims were admitted, and he took 
 his place in the House of Lords, as earl of Arundel, and premier peer 
 of England : for there were then no dukes, his father having been the 
 last man who bore that dignity in Elizabeth’s reign. 
 
 The malignant influences that had destroyed Norfolk, pursued his 
 son. They were, in fact, similar characters, possessing many amiable 
 qualities, but devoid of moral courage and manly decision. The pro¬ 
 phetic malediction which was denounced against Reuben—“ unstable as 
 water, thou shalt not excel”—appears peculiarly applicable to both these 
 unfortunate Howards. They were of a temperament too soft and timid 
 for the times; and the very excess of caution which they exercised, to 
 avoid committing themselves, either personally or politically, was the 
 cause of exciting a greater degree of suspicion in the mind of their wary 
 and observant sovereign, than would probably have been the result of a 
 more manly line of conduct. 
 
 Norfolk had been the dupe and the victim of men, who had taken 
 advantage of his vacillating disposition to beguile him into overt acts of 
 treason, and then hunted him to the scaffold. Arundel, with naturally 
 virtuous and refined inclinations, had been led, by the contagious influ¬ 
 ence of evil companions, into a career of sinful folly, which impaired 
 his fortune, deprived him of the respect of his friends, and excited the 
 contempt of his enemies. The repeated slights that were put upon him, 
 rendered him at length aware of the light in which he was regarded in 
 that false flattering court; and in the mingled bitterness of self-reproach 
 and resentment, he retired to Arundel castle. There he became, for the 
 first time, sensible of the virtues and endearing qualities of his neglected 
 wife, and endeavoured, by every mark of tender attention, to atone for 
 his past faults. 
 
 The queen took umbrage at Arundel’s withdrawing from court. Not¬ 
 withstanding the caresses she had lavished upon him, she regarded him 
 with distrust as the son of the beheaded Norfolk. The nature of her 
 feelings towards the family of that unfortunate nobleman, had been be¬ 
 trayed as early as two years after his execution, on the occasion of his 
 sister, the lady Berkeley, kneeling to solicit some favour at her hand. 
 “No, no, my lady Berkeley,” exclaimed her majesty, turning hastily 
 away. “We know you will never love us for your brother’s death.” 1 
 Yet Elizabeth amused herself with coquetting with the disinherited heir 
 of Norfolk, till his reconciliation with his deserted countess provoked 
 her into unequivocal manifestations of hostility, and confirmed the 
 general remark, that “ no married man could hope to retain her favour 
 if he lived on terms of affection with his wife.” 
 
 The first indications of her displeasure fell on the weaker vessel. 
 Lady Arundel was presented for recusancy, and . confined under the 
 royal warrant to the house of sir Thomas Shirley for twelve months. 1 
 
 Arundel was deeply offended at the persecution of his lady, and the 
 deprivation of her society, of which he had learned the value too late. 
 
 1 Smythe’s Lives of the Berkeleys. 
 
 2 Howard Memorials. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 363 
 
 He was himself, at heart, a convert to the same faith which she openly 
 professed; and being much importuned by the friends of the queen of 
 Scots to enter into the various confederacies formed in her favour, he 
 determined to avoid further danger, by quitting England. His secretary, 
 Mumford, had already engaged a passage for him, in a vessel that was 
 to sail from Hull, when he was informed that it was her majesty’s in¬ 
 tention to honour him with a visit at Arundel house. Elizabeth came, 
 was magnificently entertained, behaved graciously, and carried her dis¬ 
 simulation so far, as to speak in terms of commendation of her host to 
 the French ambassador, Mauvissiere de Castelnau, who was present. 
 
 “ She praised the earl of Arundel much for his good-nature,” says 
 that statesman ; but when she took her leave of him, she thanked him 
 for his hospitality, and in return, bade him “consider himself a prisoner 
 in his own house.” His brother, lord William Howard, and Mumford, 
 his secretary, were arrested at the same time. 1 They were subjected to 
 very rigorous examinations, and Mumford was threatened with the rack. 
 Nothing was, however, elicited, that could furnish grounds for proceed¬ 
 ing against any of the parties; and after a short imprisonment they were 
 set at liberty. Arundel, after this, attempted once more to leave Eng¬ 
 land, and had actually embarked and set sail from the coast of Sussex. 
 The vessel was chased at sea by two of the queen’s ships ; he was 
 taken, brought back, and lodged in the Tower. 2 Previous to his de¬ 
 parture, he had written a paihetic letter to Elizabeth, complaining of the 
 adverse fortune which had now for several generations pursued his 
 house; his father and grandfather having perished on a scaffold without 
 just cause; his great-grandfather having also suffered attainder and con¬ 
 demnation to the block, from which he only escaped, as it were, by 
 miracle; and the same evil fortunes appearing to pursue him, he saw 
 no other means of escaping the snares of his powerful enemies, and en¬ 
 joying liberty of conscience, than leaving the realm. 
 
 " His life,” he said, “ had been narrowly sought during his late im¬ 
 prisonment ; and as her majesty had shown on how slight grounds she 
 had been led into a suspicious hard opinion of his ancestors, and that 
 the late attack upon himself having proved how little his innocence 
 availed for his protection, he had decided on withdrawing himself, 
 trusting that she would not visit him with her displeasure, for doing so 
 without her licence, for that he should consider the bitterest of all his 
 misfortunes.” 
 
 This letter was to have been presented to the queen by Arundel’s 
 sister, lady Margaret Sackville; but she and lord William Howard were 
 placed under arrest almost simultaneously with himself. The confine¬ 
 ment of Arundel was rigorous in the extreme, and embittered with every 
 circumstance of aggravation that persons of narrow minds, but great 
 malignity, could devise. At the time of his arrest, lady Arundel was on 
 the eve of becoming a mother. She brought forth a fair son, and sent 
 to gladden her captive lord with the tidings of her safety, and the ac- 
 
 ’MS. Life of Philip Howard, in possession of the duke of Norfolk. 
 * Memorials of the Howard family. MS. Life of Philip Howard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 364 
 
 complishment of his earnest desire for the birth of an heir; but lest he 
 should take comfort at the news, he was allowed to remain in suspense 
 many months, and was then falsely informed that his lady had borne 
 another daughter. 1 Lady Arundel was treated with great cruelty. All 
 her goods were seized in the queen’s name, and they left her nothing 
 but the beds on which she and the two servants, that now constituted 
 her sole retinue, lay, and these were only lent as a great favour. 
 
 After Elizabeth had despoiled and desolated Arundel house, she came 
 there one day, in the absence of its sorrowing mistress, and espying a 
 sentence written by her with a diamond on a pane of glass in one of the 
 windows, expressing a hope of better fortunes, she cruelly answered it, 
 by inscribing under it another sentence, indicative of anger and disdain. 2 
 
 Arundel remained unnoticed in prison for upwards of a twelvemonth, 
 and was then fined ten thousand pounds by a star-chamber sentence, 
 for having attempted to quit the realm without leave. He was also con¬ 
 demned to suffer imprisonment during her majesty’s pleasure. Nothing 
 less than a life-long term of misery satisfied the vengeances of Elizabeth. 
 
 While these severities were exercised on the devoted representative 
 of the once powerful house of Norfolk, the famous association for the 
 protection of queen Elizabeth against “ popish conspirators” was de¬ 
 vised by Leicester. All who subscribed it, bound themselves to prose¬ 
 cute to the death, or as far as they were able, all who should attempt 
 anything against the queen. Elizabeth, who was naturally much gra¬ 
 tified at the enthusiasm with which the majority of her subjects hastened 
 to enrol themselves as her voluntary protectors, imagined that the queen 
 of Scots would be proportionately mortified and depressed at an institu¬ 
 tion which proved how little she had to hope from the disaffection of 
 Englishmen to their reigning sovereign. “ Her majesty,” writes Wal- 
 singham to Sadler, “ could well like that this association were shown 
 to the queen, your charge, upon some apt occasion; and that there 
 were good regard had both unto her, her countenance and speech, after 
 the perusing thereof.” 3 
 
 Mary Stuart disappointed the prying malignity of the parties by whom 
 she was exposed to this inquisitorial test, by her frank and generons 
 approval of the association, and astonished them by offering to subscribe 
 it herself. The new parliament, which had been summoned of neces¬ 
 sity, the last having been dissolved after the unprecedented duration of 
 eleven years, converted the bond of this association into a statute, which 
 provided, 
 
 “That any person, by or for whom rebellion should be excited, or the queen's 
 life attacked, might be tried by commission under the great seal, and adjudged 
 to capital punishment. And if the queen's life should be taken away, then any 
 
 1 Howard Memorials. MS. Life of Philip Howard. 
 
 * MS. Life of Anne, countess of Arundel, at Norfolk House, quoted, in the How 
 ard Memorials, by the late Henry Howard, Esq., of Corby. Probably the sen 
 tence ■written by the unfortunate countess, was a distich in rhyme, as she was 
 an elegant poet; and it is possible that Elizabeth's response was one of the sharp 
 epigrammatic couplets for which she was celebrated. 
 
 Sadler's State Papers, vol. ii., p. 430 
 
person, by or for whom such act was committed, should be capitally punished, 
 and the issue of such person cut off from the succession to the crown.” 
 
 “ It is unnecessary,” observes that great civilian, sir James Mackin¬ 
 tosh, with reference to this act, “to point out the monstrous hardship 
 of making the queen of Scots, a prisoner in the hands of Elizabeth, 
 responsible for acts done for her, or in her name.” 1 Such, however, 
 was the object of the statute, which was intended to prepare the way for 
 the judicial murder of the heiress presumptive to the throne, and also 
 for the exclusion of her son from the succession. This clause, sir James 
 Mackintosh affirms, was ascribed to Leicester, who had views for him¬ 
 self, or his brother-in-law, Huntington, the representative of the house 
 of Clarence. 
 
 Elizabeth was, at this juncture, on terms of conventional civility with 
 Henry III. of France. Sir Edward Stafford, her ambassador, in a letter 
 from Paris, detailing the dangerous illness of that prince, informs her 
 good grace, in his postscript, of a present that was in preparation for her 
 “There is,” says he, “the fairest caroclie , almost ready to be sent your 
 majesty, that ever 1 saw. It must needs be well in the end, the king 
 hath changed the workmanship of it so often, and never is contented, 
 not thinking it good enough.” 2 Henry, however, continued to advocate 
 the cause of his unfortunate sister-in-law, Mary Stuart; and his ambas¬ 
 sadors made perpetual intercessions in her favour to Elizabeth, who 
 generally received these representations with a stormy burst of anger 
 and disdain. Henry was too much paralyzed by internal commotions 
 and foreign foes to resent the contempt with which his remonstrances 
 were treated by his haughty neighbour, far less was he able to contend 
 with her for the dominion of the Low Countries. Elizabeth possessed 
 the power, but prudently declined the name of sovereign of those states, 
 though the deputies on their knees again offered her that title after the 
 death of the duke of Anjou. She sent, however, a considerable military 
 force to their aid, under the command of her quondam favourite, the earl 
 of Leicester. If we may credit the private letters of the French ambas¬ 
 sador, Mauvissiere, to Mary queen of Scots, this appointment was in¬ 
 tended by Elizabeth, and the predominant party in her cabinet, as a sort 
 of honourable banishment for Leicester, whom they were all desirous 
 of getting out of the way. According to the same authority, Christopher 
 Blount, though a catholic, was sent out by the queen as a spy on Lei¬ 
 cester. Leicester was received with signal honours by the states, but 
 instead of conducting himself with the moderation which his difficult 
 position required, he assumed the airs of regality, and sent for his 
 countess, with intent to hold a court that should rival that of England 
 in splendour. 3 
 
 “ It was told her majesty,” writes one of Leicester’s kinsmen to his 
 absent patron, “ that my lady was prepared to come over presently to 
 your excellency, with such a train of ladies and gentlemen, and such 
 rich coaches, litters, and side-saddles, that her majesty had none such; 
 
 1 History of England, in Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia, vol. ii., p. 300. 
 
 ’ Sloane MS., i., p. 4160. 
 
 * Inedited State Paper MSS. Mary Stuart, vol. xv., p. 141. 
 
366 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and that there should be such a court of ladies and gentlemen as should 
 far surpass her majesty’s court here.” This information did not a little 
 stir her majesty to extreme choler, at all the vain doings there, saying, 
 with great oaths, “ she would have no more courts under her obeisance 
 but her own, and would revoke you from thence with all speed.” 1 This 
 letter confirms the report of Mauvissiere, who, in one of his intercepted 
 confidential communications to the captive queen of Scots, observes,— 
 “The earl of Leicester takes great authority in Flanders, not without 
 exciting the jealousy of the queen. She will neither allow him supplies 
 of money, nor permit his wife to come out to him.” 2 
 
 u 1 will let the upstart know,” exclaimed the last and proudest of the 
 Tudor sovereigns, in the first fierce explosion of her jealousy and disdain, 
 “ how easily the hand which has exalted him can beat him down to the 
 dust.” Under the impetus of these feelings, she penned the following 
 scornful letter, which she despatched to him by her vice-chamberlain, 
 who was also charged with a verbal rating on the subject of his offences, 
 —doubtless well worth the hearing, if we may judge from the sample 
 of the letter,— 
 
 “ liow contemptuously you have carried yourself towards us you shall under¬ 
 stand by this messenger, whom we send to you for that purpose. We little 
 thought that one, whom we had raised out of the dust, and prosecuted with such 
 singular favour, above all others, would, with so great contempt, have slighted 
 and broken our commands in a matter of so great consequence, and so highly 
 concerning us and our honour. Whereof, though you have but small regard, 
 contrary to what you ought, by your allegiance, yet, think not that we are so 
 careless of repairing it, that we can bury so great an injury in silence and obli¬ 
 vion. We, therefore, command you, that, all excuse set apart, you do, forthwith, 
 upon your allegiance, which you owe to us, whatsoever Heneage, our vice-cham¬ 
 berlain, shall make known to you in our name, upon pain of further peril.'’ 8 
 
 She also wrote to the states, “ that, as to their disgrace, and without 
 her knowledge, they had conferred the absolute government of the con¬ 
 federate slates upon Leicester, her subject, though she had refused it 
 herself, she now required them to eject Leicester from the office they 
 had unadvisedly conferred upon him.” 4 5 * The states returned a submis¬ 
 sive answer, and Leicester expressed the deepest contrition for having 
 been so unfortunate as to incur her displeasure. 
 
 At first, she preserved great show of resentment, threatened to recal 
 and punish him, and rated Burleigh for endeavouring to excuse him 
 Burleigh, on this, tendered his resignation; Elizabeth called him “a 
 presumptuous fellow ;” but, the next morning, her choler abated. She 
 had vented her displeasure in empty words, and her council induced hei 
 to sanction the measure of sending supplies of men and money to Lei¬ 
 cester. 
 
 Soon after this reconciliation was effected, Elizabeth began to speak 
 of Leicester in her wonted terms of partial regard; so much so, tha 
 even his hated rival, sir Walter Raleigh, in a postscript to a courteou: 
 letter, addressed by him to the absent favourite, says, u The queen is it 
 
 1 Hardwick State Papers, vol. i., p. 229. 
 
 5 Inedited State Paper Office MS. Mary Stuart, vol. xv. 
 
 •Sydney Papers, vol. i., pp. 51-2. 4 Ibid. 
 
very good terms with yon, and, thanks be to God, well pacified, and you 
 are again her sweet Robin.” 
 
 Bitterly jealous, however, was “ sweet Robin” of the graceful and 
 adroit young courtier, whom he suspected of having superseded him in 
 the favour of his royal mistress, by whom, indeed, Raleigh appears, at 
 that lime, to have been very partially regarded. Wit, genius, and valour, 
 in him, were united with a line person, and a certain degree of audacity, 
 which qualified him admirably to make his way with a princess of 
 Elizabeth’s temper, lie was the younger son of a country gentleman, 
 of small fortune, but good descent; but the great cause of his favourable 
 reception at court, in the first instance, may be traced to his family con¬ 
 nection with Elizabeth’s old governess, Kate Ashley. 
 
 That woman, who, from her earliest years, exercised the most re¬ 
 markable influence over the mind of her royal pupil, was aunt to 
 Raleigh’s half-brother, sir Humphrey Gilbert, the celebrated navigator. 
 The young, adventurous Raleigh, was not likely to lose the advantage 
 of her powerful patronage, which had been openly bestowed on Hum¬ 
 phrey, who, through her influence, obtained considerable preferment, 
 and an important command in Ireland. It was in that devoted isle that 
 Raleigh first distinguished himself by his military talents, and unhappily 
 mllied his laurels with many acts of cold-blooded cruelty, the details 
 of which belong to the history of Elizabeth’s reign. 
 
 On his return to England, he commenced the business of a courtier, 
 tnd affected great bravery in his attire ; and being gifted, by nature, with 
 i fine presence and handsome person, he contrived, at the expense, pro¬ 
 bably, of some privation, and much ingenuity, to vie with the gayest of 
 he be-ruffed and embroidered gallants, who fluttered like a swarm of 
 flittering insects round the maiden queen. One day, a heavy shower 
 having fallen before her majesty went out to take her daily walk, attend¬ 
 ed by her ladies and officers of state, the royal progress, which cannot 
 dways be confined to paths of pleasantness, was impeded by a miry 
 dough. Elizabeth, dainty and luxurious in all her habits, paused, as if 
 lebating within herself how she might best avoid the “ filing” of her 
 'eet. Raleigh, who had, on that eventful day, donned a handsome new 
 blush cloak, in the purchase of which he had probably invested his last 
 estoon, perceiving the queen’s hesitation, stripped it hastily from his 
 houlders, and, with gallantry worthy of the age of chivalry, spread it 
 everentially on the ground, before her majesty, “ whereon,” says our 
 uthor, “ the queen trod gently over, rewarding him afterwards with 
 nany suits for his so free and seasonable tender of so fair a footcloth.” 1 
 Soon after this auspicious introduction to the royal favour, Raleigh was 
 tanding in a window-recess, and observing that the queen’s eye was 
 ipon him, he wrote the following sentence, with the point of a diamond, 
 >n one of the panes : 
 
 “Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.” 
 
 In a very different spirit from that in which she had answered the 
 lathetic aspiration, inscribed by the sorrowful countess of Arundel in 
 
 Old Life of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
368 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the window of her desolated house, did Elizabeth condescend to encou¬ 
 rage her handsome poet-courtier, by writing, with her own hand, an 
 oracular line of advice, under his sentence, furnishing thereby a halting 
 rhyme to a couplet, which he would probably have finished with greater 
 regard to melody: 
 
 “ If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all.” 1 
 
 Raleigh took the hint, and certainly no climber was ever bolder or 
 more successful in his ascent to fame and fortune. If anything were to 
 be given away, he lost no time in soliciting it of the queen, to the infi¬ 
 nite displeasure of his jealous compeers. 
 
 “ When will you cease to be a beggar, Raleigh ?” said the queen to 
 him one day, apparently a little wearied of his greedy importunity. 
 
 “ When, madam, yon cease to be a benefactress,” was the graceful 
 r--ply of the accomplished courtier. 
 
 Elizabeth did not always reward services, but compliments were rarely 
 offered to her in vain. So considerable was the influence of Raleigh 
 with his partial sovereign at one time, that Tarleton, the comedian, vvhc 
 had probably received his cue from Burleigh or his son-in-law, Oxford 
 ventured, during the performance of his part in a play, which he was 
 acting before her majesty, to point at the reigning favourite while pro¬ 
 nouncing these words, “See, the knave commands the queen!” foi 
 which he was corrected by a frown from her majesty . 2 If Raleigl 
 could have been contented to remain a bachelor, he would, probably 
 have superseded all the rival candidates for the smiles of his roya 
 mistress. 
 
 The first possession acquired by England in the new world, was dis 
 covered by sir Walter Raleigh, and in compliment to queen Elizabeth 
 named Virginia. It was from this coast that he first introduced tobaccc 
 into England. It is a well-known tradition, that Raleigh’s servant, en 
 tering his study with a foaming tankard of ale and nutmeg toast, sav 
 him, for the first time, with a lighted pipe in his mouth, and envelopei 
 in the clouds of smoke he was puffing forth; the simple fellow, ima 
 gining his master was the victim of an internal conflagration, flung th 
 contents of the tankard in his face for the purpose of extinguishing th 
 
 1 Old Life of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 a Bohun. Notwithstanding all his wit and worldcraft, Raleigh wanted diserc 
 tiou; and he possessed the dangerous faculty of enemy-making in no slight d< 
 gree. No man was more generally hated. We are indebted to the grave pe 
 of Bacon for the following amusing anecdote, in illustration of his gratuitou 
 impertinence:— 
 
 “Sir Walter Raleigh was staying at the house of a great lady in the We: 
 country, who was a remarkable, notable housewife, and before she made a gran 
 appearance at dinner, in the hall, arranged all matters in her household. S. 
 Walter’s apartment was next to hers, and he became privy to much of her intt 
 rior management. Early in the morning, he heard her demand of one of he 
 maids, ‘Are the pigs served V Just before-dinner she entered, with infinite sta' 
 and dignity, the great chamber, where her guests were assembled ; when S 
 Walter directly asked, ‘ Madam, are the pigs served V The lady answer 
 without abating a particle of her dignity, ‘You know best whether you have ha 
 your breakfast.’ ”— Bacon's Apophthegms. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 369 
 
 combustion, and then ran down stairs and alarmed the family with dis¬ 
 mal outcries, “ that his master was on fire, and would be burned to ashes 
 before they could come to his aid.” 1 
 
 Notwithstanding the formidable appearance of England’s first smoker, 
 to the eyes of the uninitiated, the practice soon became so general, that 
 it was introduced at court, and even tolerated by queen Elizabeth in her 
 own presence, of which the following' anecdote afl’ords amusing evidence. 
 One day she was inquiring very minutely as to the various virtues which 
 Raleigh attributed to his favourite herb, and he assured her “ that no 
 one understood them better than himself, for he was so well acquainted 
 with all its qualities, that he could even tell her majesty the specific 
 weight of the smoke of every pipe-full he consumed.” The queen, 
 thougli she was accustomed to take Raleigh for her oracle, thought he 
 was going a little too far, in putting the licence of a traveller on her, and 
 laid a considerable wager with him, that he could not prove his words, 
 not believing it possible to subject so immaterial a substance as smoke 
 to the laws of the balance. Raleigh, however, demonstrated the fact by 
 weighing, in her presence, the tobacco before he put it into his pipe, and 
 the ashes after he had consumed it, and convinced her majesty that the 
 deficiency proceeded from the evaporation. Elizabeth admitted that this 
 •conclusion was sound logic; and when she paid the bet, merrily told 
 him, “ That she knew of many persons who had turned their gold into 
 smoke, but he was the first who had turned smoke into gold .” 2 
 
 So varied and so brilliant were the talents of Raleigh, as soldier, sea¬ 
 man, statesman, poet, philosopher, and wit, that it would have been 
 wonderful, if a woman so peculiarly susceptible as Elizabeth, had not 
 felt the power of his fascinations. It was to Raleigh’s patronage that 
 Spenser was indebted for an introduction to queen Elizabeth, who was 
 so much captivated with his poetic genius, that she, in a moment of 
 generous enthusiasm, promised him a hundred pounds •, but when she 
 spoke to m£.lord-treasurer Burleigh of disbursing that sum, he took the 
 iberty of uttering a cynical exclamation on the prodigality of awarding 
 ; o large a guerdon for a song! “Give him, then, what is reason,” re¬ 
 joined her majesty. I?hrleigh, acting in confprmity \$ith the hardness 
 )f his own nature, gave him ..nothing. After a pause of fruitless expecta- 
 ion, the disappointed ^ioet adt^essed the following epigram to the queen • 
 “ I was promised, on a time, V - . ^ 
 
 a' 1 r , ^ T- ■ ** 
 
 lo nave reason tor my rli^ine ; 
 
 Since that time, until this season, 
 
 I have had nor rhyme nor reason.” 
 
 It is said, that by these lines, the bard outwitted the penurious minis- 
 tr, for Elizabeth considering that her queenly honour was touched in 
 
 ‘The anonymous author of the Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, printed in London, 
 740, affirms that he saw Sir Walter’s veritable tobacco-box, in the museum of 
 alph Thoresby, the historical antiquary, at Leeds. 
 
 J 01dys. Tobacco had been long cultivated in Portugal, whence it was intro 
 teed into France by Jean Nicot, who sent some seeds to Catherine de Medicis, 
 r whom it was so greatly patronized, that it was at first called “the queen’s 
 trb.’ Smoking soon became so fashionable at the court of France, that not 
 tly the gentlemen, but the ladies occasionally indulged themselves with a pipe. 
 
 Y 
 
370 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the matter, insisted that he should be paid the hundred pounds which 
 she had at first promised. She understood her business, as a sovereign, 
 too well to disgust a man, who possessed the pen of a ready writer; 
 and Spenser, in return, never omitted an opportunity of offering the 
 poetic incense of his gracefully-turned compliments to his royal mistress. 
 She is personified in the “Faerie Queen,” under the several characters 
 of Glorianna, Belphoebe, and Mercillae, and made the subject of the high¬ 
 est eulogiums in each of these allegorical creations. She is also greatly 
 extolled in the pastoral poem of “Colin Clout’s Come Home Again,” 
 as t.he “Shepherdess Cynthia, the lady of the sea.” In this quaint, but 
 elegant poem, the distress of sir Walter Raleigh, on account of his tem¬ 
 porary disgrace with the queen, is pathetically set forth. The poem 
 was probably written at the desire of that accomplished courtier, to 
 whom it is dedicated, and who is there called the “ shepherd of the 
 ocean;” and, in his dialogue with the other illustrious swains, is made 
 by Spenser to speak thus of his royal patroness: 
 
 “Whose glory, greater than my simple thought, 
 
 I found much greater than the former fame; 
 
 Such greatness I cannot compare to aught; 
 
 But if I her like aught on earth might read, 
 
 I would her lilcen to a crown of lilies 
 Upon a virgin bride's adorned head, 
 
 With roses dight, and goohls, and daffodillies; 
 
 Or like the circlet of a turtle true, 
 
 In which all colours of the rainbow be; 
 
 Or like fair Phcebe’s girland, shining, new, 
 
 In which all pure perfection one may see: 
 
 But vain it is to think, by paragon 
 Of earthly things, to judge of things divine! 
 
 Her power, her mercy, and her wisdom, none 
 Can deem, but who the Godhead can define ! 
 
 Why, then, do I, base shepherd, bold and blind, 
 
 Presume the things so sacred to prophane ? 
 
 More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind, 
 
 The image of the heavens in shape humane.” 
 
 After this hyperbolical strain of adulation, Spenser goes on to explair 
 that it was “ the shepherd of the ocean” who first made him known t 
 the queen, and this is very prettily done, with, the exception of th 
 epithet goddess, which, applied to any lady, whether sovereign or beaut) 
 is always in barf taste— 
 
 “The shephertf of the ocean, quoth he, 
 
 Unto that goddess’ grace me first enhanced, 
 
 And- to mine oaten pipe inclined her ear, 
 
 That she thenceforth therein ’gan take delight, 
 
 And it desired at timely hours to hear. 
 
 All were my notes but rude and roughly dight; 
 
 For not by measure of her own great mind 
 And wondrous worth, she met my simple song, 
 
 But joy'd that country shepherd aught could find, 
 
 Worth hearkening to amongst that learned throng.” 
 
 It must have been the influence of party spirit alone which could ha' 
 blinded Mulla’s bard to the want of moral justice, displayed by him 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 371 
 
 endeavouring to distort the character and situation of the persecuted 
 captive, Mary Stuart, into the hideous portrait of Duessa. In this, how¬ 
 ever, Spenser was probably only performing the task enjoined to him by 
 the leaders of the cabinet, by whom nothing was omitted, that was cal¬ 
 culated to poison the minds both of the sovereign and the people of 
 England against the ill-fated heiress of the realm. 
 
 The young, graceful, and accomplished Robert Devereux, earl of Es¬ 
 sex , 1 is supposed to have been first introduced to the notice of queen 
 Elizabeth, by his step-father, Leicester, in the hope of diverting her 
 majesty’s regard from her new favourite Raleigh, whose influence was 
 regarded with a jealous eye by her ministers. As Essex was the great- 
 grandson of Anne Boleyn’s sister Mary and William Carey, he was 
 nearly related to queen Elizabeth, who distinguished him in the first 
 instance, rather as a youthful pet and kinsman, than as a lover. The 
 young earl, however, quickly assumed the haughty and jealous airs of a 
 person, who considered that he had a right to distance all other pre¬ 
 tenders to the royal favour. Elizabeth’s fickle fancy was just then en¬ 
 gaged, more peculiarly, by a gentleman, of whom the busy plotting 
 conspirator Morgan, in one of his secret letters to the captive queen of 
 
 1 He was the son of Walter, earl of Essex, and Lettice Knollys, who was con¬ 
 sidered the favourite of Elizabeth. She was the daughter of the queen's first- 
 cousin, Lettice, lady Knollys, daughter of Mary Boleyn, and sister to Henry Carey, 
 lord Hunsdon. Lettice Knollys was one of the most beautiful girls at the court 
 of Elizabeth, and seems to have inherited not only the charms of person, but the 
 fascination of manners of the queen’s mother and aunt, Anne and Mary Boleyn. 
 She married the earl of Essex, and became the mother of a family, beautiful as 
 herself. Unfortunately, she made a conquest of the heart of the earl of Leicester, 
 while yet a wife. The death of her husband, the earl of Essex, in Ireland, 1576, 
 was attributed to poison, administered by the agents of Leicester. Two da 3 's 
 before earl Walter died, he wrote to the queen, recommending his infants to her 
 care and patronage. The eldest of these children was Robert, afterwards the 
 noted favourite of Elizabeth : he was then scarcely ten years old. Leicester 
 soon after put away his wife, Douglas, lady Sheffield, and married the widow, 
 lady Essex, at first privately, and afterwards in the presence of her stern father, 
 Sir Francis Knollys. The young earl of Essex was placed at Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, under the guardianship of lord Burleigh, to whose daughter his father 
 wished to contract hihi in marriage. Though in possession of considerable landed 
 property, the young earl was either so poor in ready money, or his statesman- 
 guardian so thrifty, that his tutor, Mr. Wroth, had to write for a supply of clothes 
 for him, in 1577, saying, that his pupil was not only "thread- bare, but ragged.” 
 Letters from the young earl to Burleigh, in very elegant Latin, occur, from Cam¬ 
 bridge, till the year 1579; and as early as the year 1582, Burleigh found it need¬ 
 ful to write to his ward a letter on his prodigality. Essex's answer, acknow¬ 
 ledging his fault, is dated at York. [See Ellis’s Letters.] Soon after, he emerged 
 into Elizabeth's court, where he was as much distinguished by her favour, as by 
 his boundless extravagance. His beautiful sister, Penelope, the wife of lord 
 Rich, became, at the same time, one of the leading intriguantes of that day. 
 Essex involved himself, by reason of his extensive patronage to a vast number 
 of needy military followers, who devoured his substance, and constantly urged 
 him to obtain gifts from the queen. When he was but twenty-four, he was in 
 debt to the enormous amount of 23,000/.; and in his letter, dated 1590, to Eliza¬ 
 beth's vice-chamberlain, (evidently meant for the queen's eye,) he owns the 
 queen “ had given him so much, he dared not ask her for more.” 
 
372 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Scots, speaks as follows, commencing, as the reader will observe, with 
 an allusion to a supposed coolness between her and the late object of 
 her regard, sir Walter Raleigh: ‘‘Whether,” writes he, “Raleigh, the 
 mignon of her of England, be weary of her or she of him, I hear she 
 hath now entertained one Blount, brother of the lord Mountjoye, being 
 a young gentleman, whose grandmother she may be, for her age and 
 his.” 1 
 
 This letter, which was written in the year 1585, places to a certainty 
 the introduction of Charles Blount to the court of Elizabeth, at an earlier 
 date than has generally been supposed. The circumstances connected 
 with that introduction are pleasantly related by Sir Robert Naunton. 
 
 When queen Elizabeth first saw Charles Blount, at Whitehall, she 
 was struck with his tall graceful stature and agreeable countenance. 
 She was then at dinner, and asked her lady-carver who he was; who, 
 not being able to satisfy her majesty’s curiosity, further inquiry was 
 made, and she was informed that he was the younger brother of the lord 
 William Mountjoye, a learned student from Oxford, and had just been I 
 admitted to the inner temple. This inquiry, with the eye of her ma¬ 
 jesty fixed upon him, according to her custom of daunting those she 
 did not know, made the young gentleman blush, which she perceiving, 
 gave him her hand to kiss, encouraging him with gracious words and 
 looks, saying to her lords and ladies in attendance, “ that she no sooner 
 observed him than she saw that there was noble blood in his veins,” 
 adding some expressions of pity for the misfortunes of his house—'his 
 father having wasted much in the vain pursuit of the philosopher’s stone, 
 and his brother, by extravagant profusion. Her majesty, having made i 
 him repeat his name to herself, said to him, “ Fail you not to come to 
 court, and 1 will bethink me how to do you good.” His fortune was 
 then very small. The earl of Essex was seized with jealous displeasure 
 at the favourable reception given by the queen to this modest young 
 courtier, who, bashful as he was, was well accomplished in the manly 
 exercises of that chivalrous age. One day, the noble student ran so 
 well at the tilt, that the queen, being highly pleased with him, sent him, 
 in token of her favour, a golden chess-queen, richly enamelled, which 
 his servants next day fastened to his arm with a crimson ribbon. Proud 
 of this token, and the better to display it, Charles Blount passed through 
 the privy chamber, with his cloak under his arm, instead of over his 
 shoulder, on which, the earl of Essex observing the decoration, de¬ 
 manded what it was, and wherefore so placed? Mr. Fulke Greville 
 replied, “ that it was the queen’s favour, which the day before she had, 
 after the tilting, sent to Charles Blount,” on which the earl contemptu¬ 
 ously observed, “Now I perceive that every fool must have a favour.” 2 
 
 Blount replied to this unprovoked impertinence by a challenge. He 
 and Essex met near Marybone park, and the haughty favourite was 
 wounded in the thigh, and disarmed. When the queen was informed 
 of this hostile encounter, and its result, she swore, “ by God’s death, 
 
 1 Inedited State Paper MS. Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. xv., p. 414 
 
 ’Birchs Memorials ; Naunton's Fragmenta Regalia. 
 
ELIZABETH 373 
 
 that it was fit that some one or other should take the earl down, and 
 teach him manners, otherwise there would be no ruling him.” 1 
 
 Essex had distinguished himself very honourably at the battle of Zut- 
 phen, where he encouraged his men with this chivalric address :—“ Foi 
 the honour of England, my fellows, follow me!” and with that he 
 “ threw his lance into the rest, and overthrew the first man; and with 
 his curtelax so behaved himself, that it was wonderful to see.” 2 
 
 In that same battle, the llower of English chivalry, the illustrious sir 
 Philip Sidney, received his death-wound ; after performing prodigies of 
 valour, his thigh-bone was shattered, in the third charge. When Lei¬ 
 cester saw him, he exclaimed with great feeling, “ Oh, Philip! 1 am 
 sorry for thy hurt.” 
 
 “ Oh, my lord !” replied the dying hero, “ this have I done to do you 
 honour and her majesty service.” 
 
 Sir William Russell kissed his hand, and said, with tears, “Oh, noble 
 sir Philip ! never man attained hurt more honourably than ye have done, 
 nor any served like unto you.” But Sidney’s most glorious deed was 
 yet to do; when, a few minutes after this, he resigned the cup of cold 
 water which he had craved, in his agony, to quench the death-thirst of 
 a private soldier, who had turned a longing look on the precious draught. 
 “Give it to him,” exclaimed sir Philip, “ his necessity is greater than 
 mine;” an incident which must have inclined every one to say, that the 
 death of Sidney was worthy of his life. Public honours were decreed 
 to the remains of her hero by his weeping country, and the learned 
 young king of Scotland composed his epitaph in elegiac Latin verse. 
 Elizabeth is said to have prevented sir Philip Sidney’s election to the 
 sovereignty of Poland, observing, “ That she could not afford to part 
 with the choicest jewel of her court.” Sidney, in a tone of chivalric 
 loyalty, replied, “ And 1 would rather remain the subject of queen Eliza¬ 
 beth, than accept of the highest preferment in a foreign land.” 3 
 
 Elizabeth subsequently alluded to the death of this accomplished hero, 
 in terms approaching to levity, on the occasion of her youthful favourite, 
 Charles Blount, escaping from the silken bonds in which her majesty 
 essayed to detain him, and joining the English army in Flanders. Eli¬ 
 zabeth sent a special messenger to his commander, sir John Norreys, 
 charging him to send her truant back to her. She received Blount with 
 a sound rating, asking him how he durst go without her consent. 
 “Serve me so once more,” added she, “and I will lay you fast enough, 
 for running!—you will never leave ofl’, till you are knocked over the 
 head, as that inconsiderate fellow Sidney was.” 4 Such was the respect 
 cherished by the sovereign, for the memory of the brightest ornament 
 of her court—he who had worshipped her as a goddess, during his life, 
 and rejoiced to die in her service! 
 
 She concluded her lecture to her dainty pet, in these words:—“You 
 shall go when 1 send you. In the mean time, see that you lodge in the 
 court, where you may follow your books, read, and discourse of the 
 wars.” 5 
 
 1 Naunton. 3 Stowe. . 3 Naunton. 4 Ibid. 
 
 ‘Blount afterwards became fatally enamoured of the fair and frail sister of bis 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 «v~ i 
 
 O i 4 
 
 Christopher Blount, * 1 undoubtedly a near relation of the highly 
 honoured courtier, Charles, was the person employed by Elizabeth as 
 a spy upon Leicester’s proceedings in the Low Countries. Both the 
 French ambassador and Morgan, in their private letters to the captive 
 queen of Scots, suggest the expediency of endeavouring to win him over 
 to her interest, as a person likely to afford very important information 
 to her friends as to the affairs of England. Yet any one possessed of 
 the slightest reflection would be apt to imagine, that the very attempt to 
 tamper with a person so connected, would be dangerous in the extreme, 
 and only likely to end in betraying their political secrets to Elizabeth. 
 
 The course of chronology now brings us to the darkest and most 
 painful epoch of the maiden reign, the death of Elizabeth’s hapless kins¬ 
 woman, Mary queen of Scots. 
 
 The implacable junta by whom Elizabeth’s resolves were at times 
 influenced, and her better feelings smothered, had sinned too deeply 
 against Mary Stuart, to risk the possibility of her surviving their royal 
 mistress. Elizabeth shrank from either incurring the odium, or establish¬ 
 ing the dangerous precedent, of bringing a sovereign princess to the 
 block. The queens, whose blood had been shed on the scaffold by her 
 ruthless father, were subjects of his own, puppets whom he had raised, 
 and then degraded from the fatal dignity which his own caprice had 
 bestowed upon them; but even he, tyrant as he was, had not ventured 
 to slay either of his royally-born consorts, Katharine of Arragon, or 
 Anne of Cleves, though claiming the two-fold authority of husband and 
 sovereign over both. 
 
 Mary Stuart was not only a king’s daughter, but a crowned and 
 anointed sovereign; and under no pretence could she legally be ren¬ 
 dered amenable to Elizabeth’s authority. Every species of quiet cruelty 
 that might tend to sap the life of a delicately-organized and sensitive 
 female, had been systematically practised on the royal captive by the 
 leaders of Elizabeth’s cabinet. Mary had been confined in damp, dila¬ 
 pidated apartments, exposed to malaria, deprived of exercise and recrea¬ 
 tion, and compelled, occasionally, by way of variety, to rise from a 
 sick bed, and travel through an inclement country, from one prison to 
 another, in the depth of winter. 2 These atrocities had entailed upon her 
 a complication of chronic maladies of the most agonizing description; 
 but she continued to exist, and it was evident that the vital principle in 
 her constitution was sufficiently tenacious to enable her to endure many 
 
 old adversary, Essex, the beautiful Penelope, whom he had engaged in a mutual 
 affection before she was linked in a joyless wedlock with Robert, lord Rich. 
 They finally engaged in an illicit passion; and, after much guilt and sorrow, 
 were united in marriage, when lady Rich was repudiated by her injured hus¬ 
 band ; but Blount, who had succeeded to his brother's title, died the following 
 year, 1606, of the sorrow his self-indulgence had sown for him; a mournful 
 sequel to the bright beginning of his fortunes. 
 
 1 This appears to have been the Sir Christopher Blount, who became the hus¬ 
 band of the countess of Leicester, after the decease of her lord, whose death they 
 have been accused of hastening by poison. He was put to death for his share 
 in Essex's rebellion. 
 
 a See Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 375 
 
 years of suffering. The contingencies of a day, an hour, meantime, 
 might lay Elizabetli in the dust, and call Mary Stuart to the seat of em¬ 
 pire. Could Burleigh, Walsingham, and Leicester expect, in that event, 
 to escape the vengeance which their injurious treatment had provoked 
 from that princess ? 
 
 It is just possible, that Burleigh, rooted as he was to the helm of 
 state, and skilled in every department of government, might, like Tal¬ 
 leyrand, have made his defence good, and retained his office at court, if 
 not his personal influence with the sovereign, under any change. He 
 had observed an outward show of civility to Mary, and was suspected, 
 by Walsingham, of having entered into some secret pact with James of 
 Scotland; but Walsingham and Leicester had committed themselves irre¬ 
 vocably, and, for them, there could be no other prospect than the block, 
 if the Scottish queen, who was nine years younger than Elizabeth, out¬ 
 lived her. 
 
 From the moment that Elizabeth had declared that “honour and con¬ 
 science both forbade her to put Mary to death,” it had been the great 
 business of these determined foes of Mary, to convince her that it was 
 incompatible with her own safety to permit her to live. Assertions t® 
 this effect were lightly regarded by Elizabeth, but the evidence of a 
 series of conspiracies, real as well as feigned, began to take effect upon 
 her mind, and slowly, but surely, brought her to the same conclusion. 
 
 For many years it had been the practice of Walsingham to employ 
 spies, not only for the purpose of watching the movements of those 
 who were suspected of attachment to the Scottish queen, but to inveigle 
 them into plots against the government and person of qween Elizabeth. 
 One of these base agents, William Parry, after years of secret treachery 
 in this abhorrent service, became himself a convert to the doctrines of 
 the church of Rome, and conceived a design of assassinating queen 
 Elizabeth. This he communicated to Neville, one of the English exiles, 
 the claimant of the forfeit honours and estates of the last earl of West¬ 
 moreland. Neville, in the hope of propitiating the queen, gave prompt 
 information of Parry’s intentions against her majesty; but as Parry had 
 formerly denounced Neville, Elizabeth, naturally imagining that he had 
 been making a very bold attempt to draw Neville into an overt act of 
 treason, directed Walsingham to inquire of the spy, whether he had 
 recently, by w r ay of experiment, suggested the idea of taking away her 
 life to any one? If Parry had replied in the affirmative, he would have 
 been safe; but the earnest manner of his denial excited suspicion. He 
 and Neville were confronted ; and he then avowed “ that he had felt so 
 strong an impulse to murder the queen, that he had, of late, always left 
 his dagger at home when summoned to her presence, lest he shotdd fall 
 upon her and slay her.” 1 This strange conflict of feeling appears like 
 the reasoning madness of a monomaniac, and suggests the idea that 
 Parry’s mind had become affected with the delirious excitement of the 
 times. 
 
 He was condemned to death, and on the scafl’old cited his royal mis- 
 
 1 Hamilton's Annals j State Trials. 
 
37G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 tress to the tribunal of the all-seeing Judge, in whose presence he was 
 about to appear. 1 
 
 The unhappy man expressly acquitted the queen of Scots of any 
 knowledge of his designs. Mary herself, in her private letters, denies 
 having the slightest connexion with him. The plot, however, furnished 
 an excuse for treating her with greater cruelty than before. Her com¬ 
 paratively humane keeper, sir Ralph Sadler, was superseded by sir Amias 
 Paulet and sir Drue Drury, two rigid puritans, who were selected by 
 Leicester for the ungracious office of embittering the brief and evil rem 
 nant of her days. The last report, made by Sadler, of the state ot 
 bodily suffering, to which the royal captive was reduced by her long and 
 rigorous imprisonment, is very pitiable. 
 
 “ I find her,” says he, “ much altered from what she was when I was 
 first acquainted with her. She is not yet able to strain her left foot to 
 the ground; and to her very great grief, not without tears, findeth it 
 wasted and shrunk of its natural measure.” 2 In this deplorable state the 
 hapless invalid was removed to the damp and dilapidated apartments of 
 her former hated gaol, Tutbury Castle. 3 A fresh access of illness was 
 brought on by the inclemency of the situation, and the noxious quality 
 of the air. She wrote a piteous appeal to Elizabeth, who did not vouch¬ 
 safe a reply. Under these circumstances, the unfortunate captive caught, 
 with feverish eagerness, at every visionary scheme that whispered to her 
 in her doleful prison-house the flattering hope of escape. The zeal and 
 self-devotion of her misjudging friends were the very means used by her 
 foes to effect her destruction. Morgan, her agent in France, to whom 
 allusion has already been made, was a fierce, wrong-headed Welchman, 
 who had persuaded himself, and some others, that it was not only expe¬ 
 dient, but justifiable, to destroy Elizabeth, as the sole means of rescuing 
 his long-suffering mistress from the living death in which she was 
 slowly pining away. 
 
 So greatly had Elizabeth’s animosity against Morgan been excited, by 
 the disclosures of Parry, that she declared “ that she would give ten 
 thousand pounds for his head.” When she sent the order of the Garter 
 to Henry III., she demanded that Morgan should be given up to her ven¬ 
 geance. Henry, who was doubtless aware that many disclosures might 
 be forced from Morgan on the rack, that would have the effect of com¬ 
 mitting himself with his good sister of England, endeavoured to satisfy 
 her by sending Morgan to the Bastile, and forwarding his papers, or 
 rather, it may be surmised, a discreet selection from them, to Elizabeth. 
 But though the person of this restless intriguer was detained in prison, 
 his friends were permitted to have access to him; and his plotting brain 
 was employed in the organization of a more daring design against the 
 life of queen Elizabeth than any that had yet been devised. Mary’s 
 faithful ambassador at Paris, Beaton, archbishop of Glasgow, and her 
 kinsmen of the house of Guise, decidedly objected to the project. 4 
 
 Morgan, intent on schemes of vengeance, paid no heed to the remon- 
 
 Camden. 
 
 8 See Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 
 ‘Murdin’s State Papers; Egerton Papers; Lingard 
 
 a Sadler Papers, 400. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3*7 
 
 strances of Mary’s tried and faithful counsellors, but took into his con¬ 
 fidence two of Walsingham’s most artful spies, in the disguise of Catho¬ 
 lic priests—Gifford and Greatly by name—whom he recommended to 
 the deluded Mary, as well as Poley and Maude, two other of the agents 
 of that statesman. Easy enough would it have been for Walsingham, 
 who had perfect information of the proceedings of the conspirators from 
 the first, to have crushed the plot in its infancy; but it was his occult 
 policy to nurse it till it became organized into a shape sufficiently for¬ 
 midable to Elizabeth, to bring her to the conclusion, that her life would 
 never be safe while the Scottish queen was in existence, and, above all, 
 to furnish a plausible pretext for the execution of Mary. 
 
 The principal leaders of the conspiracy were Ballard, a Catholic 
 priest, and Savage, a soldier of fortune, who undertook to assassinate 
 queen Elizabeth with his own hand. These unprincipled desperadoes, 
 aided by their treacherous colleagues, succeeded in beguiling Anthony 
 Babington of Dethick, a young gentleman of wealth and ancient lineage 
 in Derbyshire, into the confederacy. Babington, who was a person of 
 enthusiastic temperament, was warmly attached to the cause of Mary, 
 for whom he had formerly performed the perilous service of transmit¬ 
 ting letters during her imprisonment at Sheffield. At first, he objected 
 to any attempt against his own sovereign ; but the sophistry of Ballard, 
 and the persuasions of the treacherous agents of Walsingham, not only 
 prevailed over his scruples, but induced him to go the whole length of 
 the plot, even to the proposed murder. This deed, he protested, ought 
 not to be entrusted to the single arm of Savage, and proposed that six 
 gentlemen should be associated for that purpose. 1 How a man of a 
 naturally generous and chivalric disposition could devise so cowardly a 
 combination against the person of a female, appears almost incredible; 
 but such was the blind excitement of party-feeling, and religious zeal, 
 that he recklessly pressed onward to the accomplishment of his object, 
 without even pausing to consider the turpitude of its design, much less 
 its absurdity. It is scarcely possible to imagine that Babington was a 
 person of sound mind, when we find that he had his picture drawn 
 with the six assassins grouped round him with the following Latin 
 notto:— 
 
 “Hi mild sunt comites quos ipsa pcricula jungunt.'' 
 
 “My comrades these, whom, very peril draws.” 3 
 
 This picture, being shown to Elizabeth, was probably instrumental 
 n saving her life; for, soon after, while walking in Richmond Park, she 
 ibserved a person loitering in her path, in whom she recognised the fea- 
 ures of Barnwall, one of the leagued assassins, who had pledged them¬ 
 selves to take her life. Far from betraying the slightest feminine alarm, 
 m this occasion, she fixed her eyes upon the lurking criminal, with a 
 ook that fairly daunted him, and turning to sir Christopher Hatton, and 
 he other gentlemen in attendance, exclaimed, significantly, “ Am 1 not 
 veil guarded to-day, not having one man, wearing a sword by his side, 
 ear me ?” Barnwall afterwards deposed, that he distinctly heard the 
 
 ’Camden; Murdin; Lingard. 
 
 3 Camden. 
 
3TS 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 queen utter those words; on which, sir Christopher Hatton told him, 
 u that if others had observed him as closely as her majesty did, he had 
 not escaped so easily.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth, notwithstanding her intrepid deportment, on this occasion, 
 liked not the predicament in which she stood, with an associated band 
 of desperadoes at large, who had pledged themselves to take her life, 
 and she was urgent for the apprehension of Ballard and Babington. Hei 
 wily ministers had, however, higher game to bring down than a few 
 fanatic catholics. Walsingham had not wasted money and time, and 
 woven his web with such determined subtlety, for the destruction of pri¬ 
 vate individuals; his object was to entangle the queen of Scots intc 
 actual participation in a plot against Elizabeth’^ life and government. 
 This had not yet been done, and he, with difficulty, prevailed on his 
 royal mistress to allow matters to proceed for a few days longer. Eli¬ 
 zabeth was, indeed, rather overborne, than persuaded, by her cabinet, on 
 this occasion. Her feminine fears had been excited, and she said, “ it 
 was her duty to put an end to the evil designs of her enemies, while it 
 was in her power to do so, lest, by not doing it, she should seem to 
 tempt God’s mercy, rather than manifest her trust in his protection .” 2 
 There was sound sense in this remark, and if her council had believed 
 in the reality of her danger, they would have been without excuse, had 
 they ventured to trifle with the safety of their sovereign for a single 
 day. 
 
 At length, Mary was induced to write to the French and Spanish am 
 bassadors, urging them to obtain from their respective courts, the assis¬ 
 tance of men and money, to be employed in her deliverance. 
 
 Her letters were intercepted, opened, and copied, by Elizabeth’s cele¬ 
 brated decipherer, Phillips, who was located under the same roof with 
 the unsuspecting captive, at Chartley, together with Gregory, a noted 
 seal-forger and opener of sealed letters. The labours of this worthy 
 pair were not, it should appear, confined to opening and copying, ver¬ 
 batim, all the letters that were exchanged between Mary and her con¬ 
 federates. 
 
 Camden, the great contemporary historian, to whom Burleigh him¬ 
 self submitted all the then unbroken state-papers of Elizabeth’s reign, 
 assures us, that a postscript was added to one of Mary queen of Scots' 
 letters to Babington, in the same characters used by her, containing an 
 approval of the leading objects of the conspiracy. 
 
 The same day, letters to the Spanish ambassador, lord Paget, hi. 1 
 brother Charles, the archbishop of Glasgow, and Sir Francis Inglefielc 
 were intercepted. 
 
 The game was now considered, by Walsingham, sufficiently advancec 
 for him to make a decided move, and he gave orders for the arrest of 
 Ballard. Babington, almost immediately after this had been effected 
 encountered Savage, in one of the cloisters of old St. Paul’s, and sail | 
 to him, “ Ballard is taken, and all will be betrayed. What remedy 
 now ?” 
 
 1 State Trials. 
 
 ’ Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 379 
 
 “ None but to kill her presently,” replied he. 
 
 “Then, go you to court, to-morrow,” said Babington, “and execute 
 the pact.” 
 
 “Nay,” replied Savage, “ 1 cannot go to-morrow, my apparel is not 
 ready, and in this apparel I shall never be allowed to come near the 
 queen.” 
 
 Babington gave him all the money he had about him, and his ring, 
 and bade him provide himself with what was needful, 1 but Savage, like 
 other bravoes, had boasted of that which he dared not attempt. He fal¬ 
 tered—and neither he, nor either of the associate ruffians, would ven¬ 
 ture it. 
 
 Babington was at that time an invited guest, residing under Walsing- 
 ham’s own roof, and such was his infatuation, that he actually fancied 
 he was the deceiver, instead of the dupe, of that most astute of all diplo¬ 
 matists, till one day, after the arrest of Ballard, a letter from the council, 
 directing that he should be more closely watched, was brought to the 
 under-secretary, Scudamore, who read it, incautiously, in his presence. 
 A glance at the contents, which he contrived to read over Scudamore’s 
 shoulder, convinced him of his delusion, but dissembling his consterna¬ 
 tion, he effected his escape, the next night, from a tavern, where he was 
 invited to sup, amidst the spies and servants of Walsingham. He gave 
 the alarm to the other conspirators, and, having changed his beautiful 
 complexion, by staining his face with walnut-skins, and cut off his hair, 
 betook himself, with them, to the covert of St. John’s Wood, near Mary- 
 lebonne, 2 which was at that time the formidable haunt of robbers and 
 outlaws. 
 
 As soon as it was known that he had fled, warrants were issued for 
 his apprehension, and very exaggerated accounts of the plot were pub¬ 
 lished by Walsingham, stating “ that a conspiracy to burn the city of 
 London, and murder the queen, had been providentially discovered. 
 That the combined forces of France and Spain had put to sea to invade 
 England—that it was supposed they would effect a landing on the 
 southern coast, and that all the papists were preparing to take up arms 
 to join them.” Such was the popular excitement at these frightful ru¬ 
 mours, that all foreigners and catholics were in the greatest peril, and 
 the ambassadors themselves were insulted and menaced in their own 
 houses. 3 When Babington and several of the conspirators were cap- 
 tured, and brought, under a strong guard, to the Tower, the most vehe¬ 
 ment satisfaction was expressed by the people, who followed them with 
 shouts, singing psalms, and every demonstration of joy at the escape of 
 the queen from their treasonable designs. The bells rang, bonfires were 
 kindled, and every one appeared inspired with the most ardent loyalty 
 towards their sovereign. 
 
 On the 13th of September, 1586, seven out of the fourteen conspira¬ 
 tors were arraigned. They confessed their crime, and the depositions 
 of Savage afford startling evidence, that the greatest danger to the per- 
 
 1 State Trials. ’Camden; State Trials ; Mackintosh; Lingard. 
 
 'Despatches of Chateauneuf. 
 
3S0 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 son of the queen proceeded from the constant persuasions of Wal- 
 singham’s spy, Gifford, for the deed to be attempted, at any time or 
 place, where opportunity might serve. “As her majesty should go into 
 her chapel to hear divine service,” Gifford said, “ he (Savage) might 
 lurk in her gallery, and stab her with his dagger; or, if she should 
 walk in her garden, lie might shoot her with his dagg; or, if she should 
 walk abroad to take the air, as she often did, accompanied rather with 
 women than men, and those men slenderly weaponed, then might he ! 
 assault her with his arming sword, and make sure work ; and though 
 he might hazard his own life, he would be sure to gain heaven there¬ 
 by.” 1 
 
 The greatest marvel in the whole business is, that such advice as this, 
 addressed by Gifford in his feigned character of a Catholic priest, to 
 men of weak judgments, excitable tempers, and fanatic principles, did 
 not cost the queen her life. But Walsingham, in his insatiable thirst 
 for the blood of Mary Stuart, appears to have forgotten that contingen¬ 
 cy, and even the possibility, that by employing agents to urge others to 
 attempt the assassination of his sovereign, the accusation of devising her 
 death might have been retorted upon himself. Gifford was suffered to 
 depart to France, unquestioned and unmolested; but the fourteen de¬ 
 luded culprits were sentenced to expiate their guilt, by undergoing the 
 dreadful penalty decreed bv the law to traitors. Elizabeth was so greatly 
 exasperated against them, that she intimated to her council the expe¬ 
 diency of adopting “ some new device,” whereby their sufferings might 
 be rendered more acute, and more calculated to strike terror into the 
 spectators. Burleign, with business-like coolness, explained to her 
 majesty, “that the punishment prescribed by the letter of the law was 
 to the full as terrible as anything new that could be devised, if the exe¬ 
 cutioner took care to protract the extremity of their pains in the sight 
 of the multitude.” 2 
 
 That functionary appears to have acted on this hint, by barbarously 
 cutting the victims down before they were dead, and then proceeding to 
 the completion of his horrible task on each in turn, according to the dread 
 minutiae of the sentence, of which the thrilling lines of Campbell have 
 given a faint picture : 
 
 “Life flutters convulsed in each quivering limb, 
 
 And his blood-streaming eyeballs in agony swim; 
 
 Accursed be the embers that blaze at his feet, 
 
 Where his heart shall be cast ere it ceases to beat, 
 
 With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale.” 
 
 The revolting circumstances with which the executions of the seven 
 principal conspirators were attended, excited the indignation of the by¬ 
 standers to such a pitch, that her majesty found it expedient to issue an 
 especial order, that the other seven should be more mercifully dealt 
 
 1 State Trials. After his condemnation, Babington wrote a piteous letter of 
 supplication to Elizabeth, imploring her mercy, for the sake of his wife and 
 children. Rawlinson MS., Oxford, vol. 1340, No. 50, f. 19. 
 
 8 Letters of Burleigh to Hatton, in Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETII 381 
 
 with. They were therefore strangled, before the concluding horrors of 
 the barbarous sentence were inflicted. 
 
 These sanguinary scenes were but the prelude to the consummation 
 of the long premeditated tragedy of the execution of the queen of 
 Scots, for which the plot against Elizabeth’s life had prepared the pub¬ 
 lic mind. 
 
 Immediately after the apprehension of Babington and his associates, 
 Mary had been removed unexpectedly from Chartley to Tixal, and her 
 papers and money seized during her absence. Her two secretaries, 
 Nau and Curie, were arrested, and threatened with the rack, to induce 
 them to bear witness against their unfortunate mistress. They were, at 
 first, careful not to commit her by their admissions, which they well 
 knew they could not do, without implicating themselves in the penalty. 
 Burleigh, penetrating the motives of their reserve, wrote to Hatton his 
 opinion, coupled with his facetious remark, “ that they would yield 
 somewhat to confirm their mistress’ crimes, if they were persuaded that 
 themselves might escape, and tne blow fall upon their mistress between 
 her head and her shoulders.” 1 This suggestion was acted upon, and 
 combined with the terror occasioned by the execution of Babington and 
 his associates, drew from them sufficient admissions to serve for evi¬ 
 dence against their mistress. 
 
 The angry and excited state of feeling to which Elizabeth’s mind had 
 been worked up, against her unfortunate kinswoman, may be plainly 
 seen in the following letter, written by her to sir Amias Paulet, soon 
 after the removal of the queen of Scots to the gloomy fortress of 
 Fotheringaye. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Sin Amias Paulet. 
 
 “Amias, my most faithful and careful servant, God reward thee treblefold for 
 thy most troublesome charge so well discharged. If you knew, my Amias, how 
 kindly, besides most dutifully, my grateful heart accepts and prizes your spotless 
 endeavours and faultless actions, your wise orders and safe regard, performed 
 in so dangerous and crafty a charge, it would ease your travails and rejoice your 
 heart, in which I charge you place this most just thought, that I cannot balance 
 in any weight of my judgment the value that I prize you at, and suppose no 
 treasures to countervail such a faith. If I reward not such deserts, let me lack 
 when I have most need of you; if I acknowledge not such merit, non omnibus 
 dictum. 
 
 “ Let your wicked murderess (his prisoner , Mary, queen of Scots ) know how, 
 with hearty sorrow, her vile deserts compel these Orders; and bid her, from me, 
 ask God forgiveness for her treacherous dealings towards the saviour of her life 
 many a year, to the intolerable peril of iny own, and yet, not contented with so 
 many forgiveqpsses, must fault again so horribly, far passing woman's thought, 
 much less a princess; instead of excusing whereof, not one can sorrow, it being 
 so plainly confessed by the authors of my guiltless death. 
 
 “ Let repentance take place, and let not the fiend possess her, so as her better 
 part may not be lost, for which I pray, with hands lifted up to Him that may 
 both save and spill. 
 
 “With my most loving adieu and prayer for thy long life, your most assured 
 ind loving sovereign, as thereby by good deserts induced .’' 1 
 
 1 Letters from the Leigh Collection, quoted by Lingard. 
 
 ’State Paper. MS. Collection relative to Mary, Queen of Scots, written in a 
 teautiful and very legible hand. 
 
 I 
 
382 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The great point for which Burleigh, Leicester, Walsingham, and their 
 colleagues had been labouring for the last eighteen years, was, at length, 
 accomplished. They had succeeded in persuading Elizabeth that Mary 
 Stuart, in her sternly-guarded prison, crippled with chronic and neural¬ 
 gic maladies, surrounded by spies, and out of the reach of human aid, 
 was so formidable to her person and government, that it was an impera¬ 
 tive duty to herself and her Protestant subjects to put her to death. 
 Having once brought their long irresolute mistress to this conclusion, 
 all other difficulties became matters of minor importance to the master 
 spirits who ruled Elizabeth’s council, since they had only to arrange a 
 ceremonial process for taking away the life of their defenceless captive, 
 in as plausible and formal a manner as might be compatible with the 
 circumstances of the case. 
 
 After much deliberation, it was determined that Mary should be tried 
 by a commission of peers and privy councillors, under the great seal 
 The fatal innovations 1 which Henry VIlI.’s despotic tyranny had made 
 in the ancient laws of England on life and death, having rendered the 
 crown arbitrary on these points. 
 
 The commissioners for the trial of Mary, queen of Scots, left Lon¬ 
 don for Fotheringaye Castle before the 8th of October, 1586; for, on 
 that day, Davison dates a letter written to Burleigh, by her majesty’s 
 command, containing various instructions. In this letter, Davison in¬ 
 forms the absent premier that a Dutchman, newly arrived from Paris, 
 who was familiar with the queen-mother’s jeweller, had requested him 
 to advise her majesty to beware of one who will present a petition to 
 her on her way to chapel, or walking abroad. Davison goes on to re¬ 
 quest Burleigh to write to the queen, to pray her to be more circum¬ 
 spect of her person, and to avoid showing herself in public, till the 
 brunt of the business then in hand be overblown. 2 
 
 This mysterious hint of a new plot against the queen’s life was in 
 conformity with the policy of the cabinet, which referred all attempts 
 of the kind to the evil influence of the captive, Mary Stuart. From the 
 same letter we learn that Elizabeth had directed her lord-chamberlain to 
 give a verbal answer to the remonstrance of the French ambassador 
 against bringing the queen of Scots to a trial, and that the answer ex¬ 
 pressed her resentment at his presumption in attempting to school her. 
 In conclusion, Davison informs Burleigh and Walsingham, that he is 
 especially commanded by her majesty to signify to them both “ how 
 
 * Namely, the practice of trying noble or royal victims, by a commission select¬ 
 ed from the House of Lords, and such commoners as held great*crown places, 
 and were lords of the council. The members of such committees were called 
 lords-trkrs, and the whole plan bore a respectable resemblance to the vital spring 
 of English liberty—trial by jury; but most deceptively so, since the House of 
 Peers was, at the Tudor era, a very small body, whose interests and prejudices 
 were intimately known to the government; therefore, only those prepared to go 
 all lengths with it, were put into commission; neither was the victim allowed 
 to protest against any enemy in the junta. This mode of extirpating persons ot 
 rank, obnoxious to the crown, first became notorious by the infamous trial of 
 Anne Boleyn. 
 
 ! Sit Harris Nicolas’ Life of Davison 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 383 
 
 greatly she doth long to hear how her Spirit and her Moon do find 
 themselves, after so fold and wearisome a journey.” 1 By the above pet 
 names was the mighty Elizabeth accustomed, in moments of playful¬ 
 ness, to designate those grave and unbending statesmen, Burleigh and 
 Walsingbam ; but playfulness at such a season was certainly not only 
 in bad taste, but revolting to every feeling of humanity, when the object 
 of that foul and weary journey, on which Elizabeth’s Spirit and her 
 Moon had departed, is considered. 
 
 The most repulsive feature, in the final proceedings against the hapless 
 Mary, is the odious levity with which the leading actors in the tragedy 
 demeaned themselves while preparing to shed her blood, and, at the 
 same time, appealing to the Scriptures in justification of the deed. 
 L’Aubespine de Chasteauneuf, the French ambassador, demanded, in the 
 name of his sovereign, that Mary might be allowed the assistance of 
 counsel. Elizabeth returned an angry verbal answer by Hatton, “ that 
 she required not the advice or schooling of foreign powers to instruct 
 her how she ought to act;” and added,that she considered the Scottish 
 queen unworthy of counsel.” 
 
 What, it may be asked, was this but condemnation before trial ? and 
 what result was to be expected from the trial of any person of whom a 
 despotic sovereign had made such an assertion ? Can any one read 
 Elizabeth’s letter to the commissioners, dated October 7th, in which she 
 charges them “ to forbear passing sentence on the Scottish queen till 
 they have returned into her presence, and made their report to herself,” 2 
 and doubt that the death of the royal captive was predetermined ? It 
 was not till the 11th, four days after the date of this letter, that they 
 assembled at Fotheringaye for the business on which they had been 
 deputed. On the 12th, they opened their court. Mary refused to ac¬ 
 knowledge their authority, on which they delivered to her the following 
 letter from their royal mistress:— 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Mart, Queen of Scots. 
 
 K You have, in various ways and manners, attempted to take my life, and to 
 bring my kingdom to destruction by bloodshed. I have never proceeded so 
 harshly against you, but have, on the contrary, protected and maintained you 
 like myself. These treasons will be proved to you, and all made manifest. 
 
 “ Yet it is my will that you answer the nobles and peers of the kingdom as if 
 I were myself present. I therefore require, charge, and command, that you make 
 answer, for I have been well informed of your arrogance. 
 
 “Act plainly, without reserve, and you will sooner be able to obtain favour 
 of me. Elizabeth.” 
 
 This letter was addressed to Mary, (without the superscription of 
 cousin or sister,) and as it may be supposed, from the well-known high 
 spirit of that queen, had not the slightest effect in inducing her to reply 
 to the commissioners. She told them, however, “ that she had endea¬ 
 voured to gain her liberty, and would continue to do so as long as she 
 lived; but that she had never plotted against the life of their queen, nor 
 had any connexion with Babington or the others, but to obtain her free¬ 
 dom ; on which particulars, if Elizabeth chose to question her in person, 
 
 1 Nicolas’ Life of Davison. 
 
 ’ Harleian MSS., 290, f ISO 
 

 3S4 ELIZABETH. 
 
 she would declare the truth, but would reply to no inferior. There was 
 no little sagacity shown in this appeal of Mary to the inquisitiveness 
 that formed a leading trait of Elizabeth’s character. 
 
 The details of this celebrated process, for trial it cannot be called, 
 belong to the personal history of Mary Stuart, 1 rather than to the bio¬ 
 graphy of Elizabeth. Suffice it therefore to say, that, after two days’ 
 fruitless struggle to defend herself against the subtlety and oppression of 
 men, who demeaned themselves like adverse lawyers pleading on the 
 side of the crown rather than as conscientious judges, Mary demanded 
 to be heard before the assembled parliament of England, or the queen 
 and her council. The commissioners then adjourned the court, to meet, 
 October 25th, at the Star Chamber, Westminster. On that day they re¬ 
 assembled, and pronounced sentence of death on the Scottish queen, pur¬ 
 suant to the statute of the 27th of Elizabeth, which had been framed for 
 that very purpose. 
 
 The parliament met on the 29th, and, having considered the reports 
 of the commissioners, united in petitioning queen Elizabeth that the sen¬ 
 tence against the Scottish queen might be carried into execution. Eliza¬ 
 beth received the deputation from Parliament, November 12th, in her pre¬ 
 sence-chamber at Richmond Palace. Mr. Sergeant Puckering, the speaker, 
 after enlarging on the offences of Mary against queen Elizabeth, recalled 
 to her majesty the example of God’s displeasure on Saul for sparing 
 Agag, and on Ahab for preserving Benhadad; and, after preaching a po¬ 
 litical sermon too tedious for recapitulation, from these irrelevant cases, 
 he assured her, “ that her compliance with the petition would be most 
 acceptable to God, and that her people expected nothing less of her.” 
 Elizabeth made an elaborate and mystified harangue, in reply, of great 
 length and verbosity. The following passages may serve as a sample of 
 the style and substance of this celebrated speech:— 
 
 “ The bottomless graces and benefits, bestowed upon me by the Almighty, are 
 and have been such, that I must not only acknowledge them, but admire them, 
 accounting them miracles (as well) as benefits. 
 
 “And now, albeit I find my life hath been full dangerously sought, and death 
 contrived by such as no desert procured, yet I am therein so clear from malice 
 (which hath the property to make men glad at the falls and faults of their foes, 
 and make them seem to do for other causes, when rancour is the ground), as I 
 protest it is and hath been my grievous thought, that one. not different in sex, of 
 like estate, and my near kin, should fall in so great a crime. Yea, I had so little 
 purpose to pursue her with any colour of malice, that it is not unknown to some 
 of my lords here (for now I will play the blab), I secretly wrote her a letter on 
 the discovery of sundry treasons, that if she would confess them, and private' 
 acknowledge them by her letters to myself, she never need be called fo' .cm 
 in so public question. Neither did I it of mind to circumvent her; for i knew 
 as much as she could confess. And if even yet, now that the matter is made 
 but too apparent, I thought she truly would repent (as, perhaps, she would easily 
 appear in outward show to do), and that, on her account, no one would take the 
 matter upon them ; or, if we were but as two milkmaids, with our pails on our 
 arms, or if there were no more dependences upon us, but mine own life only in 
 danger, and not the whole estate of your religion, 1 protest (whereon you may 
 
 ’The personal memoir of Mary, queen of Scots, by Agnes Strickland, will 
 appear immediately after the completion of the Lives of the Queens of England. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 383 
 
 believe me,—foi though I have many vices, I hope I have not accustomed my 
 tongue to be an instrument of untruth), I would most willingly pardon and remit 
 this offence.” 1 * 
 
 Lest, however, any one should be deceived, by all this parade of mercv 
 and Christian charity, into the notion that it was her sincere wish to save 
 her unfortunate kinswoman, she concluded her speech by informing 
 them, “ that she had just received information of another plot, in which 
 the conspirators had bound themselves, under the penalty of death, to 
 take away her life within the month,” thus exciting a more deadly llame 
 of loyal indignation in their bosoms against the powerless object of 
 their fury, who was pointed at as the inciter of all attempts against the 
 person of Elizabeth. 
 
 The parliament responded, in the tone that was desired, with a more 
 ardent requisition for the blood of Mary. Elizabeth faltered—not from 
 womanly feelings of tenderness and compassion towards the defenceless 
 object of their fury, but from certain doubts and misgivings within her 
 own mind, which produced one of her characteristic fits of irresolution. 
 Her mind was tempest-tossed between her desire of Mary’s death, and 
 her reluctance to stand forth to the world as her acknowledged execu¬ 
 tioner. She would have the deed performed “ some other way.” But 
 how ? 
 
 “ The dial spake not, but it gave shrewd signs, 
 
 And pointed full upon the stroke of murder.” 
 
 One, at least, of her ministers entered into the feelings of his royal 
 mistress on this delicate subject, and to his eternal infamy, endeavoured 
 to relieve her Irom her embarrassment, as to the means of removing the 
 victim, without the undesirable eclat of a public execution. Leicester 
 wrote from Holland to suggest “ the sure but silent operation of poison .” 1 
 He even sent a divine over to convince the more scrupulous Walsingham 
 nf the lawfulness of the means proposed ; but that stern politician was 
 •esolutely bent on maintaining a show of justice, and at the same time, 
 exalting the power of his royal mistress, by bringing the queen of Scot- 
 and to the block. Burleigh coincided in this determination, and in his 
 etters to Leicester complained, “ that the queen’s slackness did not stand 
 vith her surety or their own.” 3 The personal influence of Leicester 
 vith the sovereign appears to have been required for the consummation 
 if the tragedy. lie was remanded home in November, and seems to 
 lave taken an active part in preventing Elizabeth from swerving from the 
 •oint to which her ministers had brought her. 
 
 1 Holingshed, 1582, vol. ii. 
 
 ’Camden's Elizabeth, in White Kennet, p. 519. 
 
 3 Camden. “ I have, according to your lordship’s late letter,” wrote the pre- 
 iier, “moved her majesty for your lordship’s license to return, whereto her ma- 
 sty is very willing, as well for the desire she hath to see your lordship, as for 
 te doubt she also hath, that this winter season you might fall into some siek- 
 ?ss." Burleigh tells more of his mind in the postscript, in which he says:— 
 Yesterday all our commissioners professed our sentence against the Scottish 
 teen with one full assent; but I fear more slackness in her majesty than will 
 and either with her surety or with ouis. God direct her heart to follow faith 
 1 counsel!’’ 
 z 
 
386 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 On the 22(1 of November, lord Buckhurst and sir Robert Beale pro¬ 
 ceeded, in pursuance of the orders in council, and her majesty’s com¬ 
 mands, to Fotheringaye Castle, to announce to the queen of Scots, that 
 sentence of death had been pronounced against her by the commis¬ 
 sioners, and ratified by the parliament of England. They executed their 
 ungracious errand without the slightest delicacy or consideration for the 
 feelings of the royal victim, telling her, “ that she must not hope for 
 mercy,” adding taunts on the score of her religious opinions, very much 
 at variance with the divine spirit of Christianity, and concluded by 
 ordering her chamber and her bed to be hung with black.’ The con¬ 
 duct of sir Amias Paulet was even more gratuitously brutal and un¬ 
 manly, and reflects great disgrace on the character of any sovereign to 
 whom such petty instances of malice could be supposed acceptable 
 proofs of his zeal against her fallen enemy. 
 
 Meantime, the French ambassador, L’Aubespine Chateauneuf, having 
 written in great alarm to Henry 111., that the queen of England was pro¬ 
 ceeding, he feared, to extremities with the queen of Scots, and urged 
 him to interfere for her preservation, that monarch despatched M. de 
 Pomponne de Bellievre, as an ambassador-extraordinary, for the purpose 
 of remonstrating with Elizabeth against the outrage she was preparing 
 to commit, and using every species of intercession for the preservation 
 of Mary’s life. 
 
 Bellievre landed at Dover, after a stormy passage, November 29th, 
 having suffered so severely from sea-sickness, together with one of the 
 gentlemen of the suite, that they were unable to proceed till they had 
 reposed themselves for a day and night. Elizabeth, or her council, 
 more probably, took advantage of this circumstance to delay the new 
 envoy’s audience, under pretence that he and his company had brought 
 the infection of the plague from France, and that it would be attended 
 with great peril to her royal person if she admitted them into her pre¬ 
 sence. 8 
 
 It was also asserted, that Bellievre had brought over some unknown 
 men, who had come expressly to assassinate her. These reports appear 
 to have been very offensive to the embassy, and are ascribed by the in¬ 
 dignant secretary of legation, by whom the transactions of that eventful 
 period were recorded for the information of his own court, “ to the infi¬ 
 nite malice of the queen.” 1 * 3 
 
 Elizabeth had withdrawn to her winter quarters at Richmond, and it 
 was not till the 7th of December that the urgency of Bellievre induced 
 her to grant him his first audience. He came to her after dinner on that 
 day, accompanied by L’Aubespine, the resident French minister, and at 
 the gentlemen who had attended him from France. Elizabeth receiver 
 them in her presence-chamber, seated on her throne, and surrounded b\ 
 her nobles and the lords of her council. Leicester had placed himself 
 in close contiguity to the royal person; but when the French ruvo' 
 
 1 Reports of M. de Bellievre and L’Aubespine in Egerton; and Letters of Mar, 
 Queen of Scots, vol. ii., p. f99. 
 
 ’.Statement for M. de Viileroy of the transactions of M. de Bellievre in England 
 
 ’ Reports of M. de Bellievre. 
 
 I 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 3S7 
 
 proceeded to open the business on which he came, she bade her pre¬ 
 sumptuous master of the horse “ fall back.” His colleagues hearing 
 this command addressed to him, took the hint, and withdrew also to a 
 little distance. Bellievre then delivered the remonstrances on the part 
 of his sovereign, in behalf of the Scottish queen, his sister-in-law. 
 Elizabeth interrupted him many times, answering him point by point 
 speaking in good French, but so loud, that she could be heard all over 
 the saloon. When she mentioned the queen of Scots, she appeared 
 under the influence of passion, which was expressed by her counte¬ 
 nance. 1 She burst into invectives against her, accused her of ingratitude 
 for the many favours which she said “she had conferred upon her;” 
 although it was impossible for hatred and revenge to have worked more 
 deadly mischief against another, than such love as hers had wrought to 
 the hapless victim of her treachery. She went on to comment on the 
 address Bellievre had just delivered, observing, “ that monseigneur had 
 quoted several examples drawn from history; but she had read much, 
 and seen many books in her lifetime,—more, indeed, than thousands of 
 her sex and rank had done; but never had she met with, or heard of, 
 such an attempt as that which had been planned against her by her own 
 kinswoman, whom the king, her brother-in-law, ought not to support 
 in her malice, but rather to aid her in bringing speedily to justice.” 
 
 Elizabeth went on to say, “ that she had had great experience in the 
 world, having known what it was to be both subject and sovereign, and 
 the difference also between good neighbours and those who were evilly 
 disposed towards her.” 2 She told Bellievre, who was a nobleman of 
 high rank and singular eloquence, “ that she was very sorry he had not 
 been sent on a better occasion; that she had been compelled to come 
 to the resolution she had taken, because it was impossible to save her 
 own life if she preserved the queen of Scots ; but if the ambassadors 
 could point out any means whereby she might do it, consistently with 
 her own security, she should be greatly obliged to them, never having 
 shed so many tears at the death of her father, of her brother, king 
 Edward, or her sister Mary, as she had done for this unfortunate affair.” 3 
 She then inquired after the health of the king of France and the queen- 
 mother, and, after promising the ambassador that he should have an 
 answer in four days, she retired to her apartment. 
 
 Bellievre returned to London, where he vainly waited for the promised 
 answer, and at last repaired, with L’Aubespine, to Richmond, once more 
 to solicit another audience. Bellievre, considering that she was trifling 
 with him, demanded his passport, observing, at the same time, that it was 
 useless for him to remain longer in England. Elizabeth, on this, sent 
 Hunsdon and Walsingham to him, to appoint an audience for the follow¬ 
 ing Monday. The following lively account of this reception, and the 
 altercations which took place between the two French ambassadors and 
 her majesty on that occasion, is related in a joint letter from Bellievre 
 and L’Aubespine to their own sovereign, Henry III.' 1 * 
 
 1 Report for M. de Villeroy. See Letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, vol. ii., p. 209. 
 
 ’Report for Villeroy. 9 Bellievre’s letter to the king of France. 
 
 4 Lettres Originate d'Etat des Mesmes Collection; No. 9513, tome iii., f. 399, 
 
 Sibliotheque du Roi. 
 

 388 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “The said lady (queen Elizabeth) gave us audience on the appointed day, 
 Monday, in her chamber of presence. We re-commenced the same prayer, with 
 all the urgency that was possible, ana spoke in such a manner that we could 
 not be heard, save by her principal councillors. But she rejoined in so loud a 
 tone, that we were put in pain, because we were using prayer, (as the neces¬ 
 sity of the affair required,) and by her answers they could not but understand 
 that our plaint was refused. After she had continued long, and repeated many 
 times the same language, she adverted to Morgan, and said, ‘ Wherefore is it, 
 that having signed a league, which I observe, does not he (the king of France) 
 observe it also in a case which is so important to all princes V assuring us, ‘ that 
 jf any of her subjects—ay, those that were nearest of kin (naming at the same 
 time and showing us my lord, the chamberlain, 1 who is her cousin-german)— 
 had enterprised things to the prejudice of your majesty’s life, she would have 
 sent him to you for purgation.’ To which we answered, ‘ that he had not . . . 
 That if Morgan, having been on her sole account for a long time detained in a 
 strong prison in France, had plotted a little against her majesty, he could not do 
 her any harm, as he was in ward ; that the queen of Scotland has fallen into 
 such a miserable state, and has found so many enemies in this kingdom, that 
 there was no need to go and search for them in France to accelerate her ruin; 
 and that it would be deemed a thing too monstrous and inhuman, for the king 
 to send the knife to cut the throat of his sister-in-law, to whom, both in the sight 
 of God and man, he owed his protection.’ We could not believe but that we 
 had satisfied her with this answer, but she abandoned the subject of Morgan, 
 and flew to that of Charles Paget, saying, 1 Wherefore is he not sent?’ 
 
 “We replied, ‘that we did not consider that Paget was in your majesty's 
 power, as Paris was a great forest; that your majesty would not refuse to per¬ 
 form any office of friendship that could be expected, but that she must please to 
 reflect, that you could not always do as you would wish in the present state of 
 your realm ; for your majesty had been censured at Rome and elsewhere for the 
 detention of Morgan, which was done solely out of respect to her.’ On which 
 she said to us, ‘ that the said Paget had promised to Monsieur de Guise to kill 
 her, but that she had means enough in Paris to have him killed, if she wished.’ 
 
 “ She said this, on purpose, so loud, that the archers of her guard could hear. 
 ‘As to Morgan,’ she said, ‘ that he had within three months sent to her, that if 
 she would please to accord him her grace, he would discover all the conspiracy 
 of the queen of Scotlandadding, ‘ that he was very ill-guarded in the Bastile, 
 for the bishop of Glasgow had spoken more than twenty times to him; and that 
 he was also free to converse with whomsoever he thought proper.’ Then the 
 said lady, lowering her voice, told us, ‘ that she would wish us to be well ad¬ 
 vised, desiring the good of your majesty; and that you could not do better than 
 to give shortly a good peace to your subjects, otherwise she could foresee great 
 injury to your realm, which a great number of foreigners would enter, in such a 
 sort that it would not be very easy to find a remedy to the evil.’ 
 
 “ On this we took upon ourselves to tell her, ‘ that your majesty desired no¬ 
 thing more than to see your country in a happy repose, and would feel obliged 
 to all princes, your neighbours, who had the same wish, if they would counsel 
 your subjects to that effect when they addressed themselves to them ; that the 
 queen, your mother, at her age, had taken the trouble to seek the king of Na¬ 
 varre for this good purpose ; and that it was our opinion that they would now 
 enter into a treaty; that the king, your majesty, and all good people, desired 
 much the preservation of the king of Navarre ; but that it was impossible for 
 you to assist him if the aid was not reciprocal on his side; that knowing the 
 respect that the said king of Navarre bore to her, we thought the good counsel 
 she might give him would greatly tend to accelerate the blessing of peace.’ 
 While holding this discourse to her, it seemed to us, considering her counte¬ 
 nance, that we talked of a thing that was distasteful to her, for she turned away 
 
 1 Lord Hunsdon, the son of her aunt, Mary Boleyn. 
 
ELIZABETH. 3S9 
 
 her heatl, as not wishing to proceed with the topic, and said to us in Latin, ‘He 
 is of age.’ 
 
 “We observed to her, 1 that she talked much of leagues and of armies; but 
 she ought to wish that your majesty, who has never willingly consented to any¬ 
 thing which was prejudicial to his realm, were delivered from these unhappy 
 civil wars, and to consider that she could not take the same assurances of all 
 other princeson this she said, ‘ that we might perhaps mean the king of Spain, 
 but that her enmity, and his having commenced with love, we ought not to 
 think, that they could not be well together whenever she wished.’ And in truth, 
 sire, we believe that she might very easily enter into such relations as she chose 
 with that king. As far as we can judge, she has not the means needful for sus¬ 
 taining a war against so powerful a prince, being infinitely sparing of her money, 
 and her people very desirous of a peace with Spain, as they have lost all their 
 commerce on account of the war. It seems that this queen has determined 
 rather to accord with Spain than continue the war; and we understand she has 
 sent several missions to the duke of Parma. As to the disposition of this prin¬ 
 cess, touching the peace of your realm, we have written to you what she has 
 said to us upon it; her councillors hold no other language to us; but from what 
 we can gather from the gentlemen of this country, and the French refugees here, 
 all the council of England consider, that the tranquillization of France would 
 be their ruin, and they fear nothing so much as to see an end of the civil wars 
 hi your kingdom. 
 
 “ Her majesty returned to the subject of the queen of Scots, saying, ‘ that she 
 had given us several days to consider of some means, whereby she could pre¬ 
 serve that princess's life, without being in danger of losing her own ; and not 
 being yet satisfied on that point, nor having yet found any other expedient, she 
 could not be cruel against herself, and that your majesty ought not to consider 
 it just, that she, who is innocent, should die, and that the queen of Scotland, who 
 is guilty, should be saved.’ After many propositions on one part and the other, 
 on this subject, she rose up. We continued the same entreaties, on which she 
 said to us, 1 that in a few days she would give us an answer.’ 
 
 “ The next day we were apprised that they had made proclamation through 
 this city, that sentence of death had been given against the queen of Scotland. 
 She has been proclaimed a traitress, incapable of succeeding to the crown, and 
 worthy of death. 
 
 “ The earl of Pembroke, the mayor and aldermen of the city of London, as¬ 
 sisted at this proclamation, and the same instant all the bells in this city began 
 to ring; this was followed universally throughout the realm of England, and 
 they continued these ringings for the space of twenty-four hours, and have also 
 made many bonfires of rejoicing for the determination taken by their queen 
 against the queen of Scotland. This gave us occasion to write to the said lady 
 (queen Elizabeth) the letter of which we send a copy to your majesty. Not be¬ 
 ing able to devise any other remedy, we have made supplication that she would 
 defer the execution of the judgment, till we could learn, what it would please 
 your majesty to do and say in remonstrance. 
 
 “ The said lady sent word to us, ‘ that on the morrow morning, she would let 
 us know her answer, by one of her counsellors of state.’ The day passed, and 
 we had not any news. This morning the Sieur Guile, 1 a member of her coun¬ 
 cil, came to us, on the part of the said lady queen, with her excuse, that we had 
 not heard from her yesterday, on account of the indisposition of her majesty; 
 and, after a long discourse on the reasons which had moved them to proceed to 
 this judgment, he said, ‘ that out of the respect she (the queen) hail for your 
 majesty, she was content to grant a delay of the term of twelve days before pro¬ 
 ceeding to the execution of the judgment, without pledging herself, however, to 
 observe such delay, if in the interim anything should be attempted against her, 
 which might move her to alter her mind, and the said lady has accorded a like 
 
 ’Sir Thomas Woolley. 
 
390 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 delay to the ambassadors of Scotland, who have made to her a similar request.’ 
 They have declared to this queen, ‘ that if she will put to death the queen of 
 Scotland, the king, her son, is determined to renounce all the friendship and 
 alliance that he has with England, and to advise with his friends how he shall 
 proceed in her cause; at which she has put herself into a great fury.” 
 
 The report of the French ambassadors is dated December 18, 1586; 
 on the 19th, queen Mary addiessed the following noble letter to Eliza¬ 
 beth :— 
 
 The Queen of Scots to Queen Elizabeth . 1 
 
 “ Fotheringaye, December 19th, 1586. 
 
 n Madame,—Having, with difficulty, obtained leave from those to whom you 
 have committed me, to open to you all I have on my heart, as much for ex¬ 
 onerating myself from any ill-will, or desire of committing cruelty, or any act 
 of enmity against those, with whom I am connected in blood, as also, kindly to 
 communicate to you what I thought would serve you, as much for your weal 
 and preservation, as for the maintenance of the peace and repose of this isle, 
 which can only be injured if you reject my advice. You will credit, or dis¬ 
 believe my discourse, as it seems best to you. 
 
 “ I am resolved to strengthen myself in Christ Jesus alone, who, to those in¬ 
 voking him with a true heart, never fails in his justice and consolation, especially 
 to those who are bereft of all human aid ; such are under his holy protection; 
 to him be the glory! He has equalled my expectation, having given me heart 
 and strength, in spe contra spem (in hope against hope), to endure the unjust 
 calumnies, accusations, and condemnations (of those who have no such jurisdic¬ 
 tion over me) with a constant resolution to sutler death, for upholding the obedi¬ 
 ence and authority of the apostolical Roman-catholic church. 
 
 “ Now, since I have been, on your part, informed of the sentence of your last 
 meeting of parliament, lord Buckhurst and Beale having admonished me to pre¬ 
 pare for the end of my long and weary pilgrimage, I beg to return you thanks, 
 on my part, for these happy tidings, and to entreat you to vouchsafe to me cer¬ 
 tain points for the discharge of my conscience. But since sir A. Paulet has in¬ 
 formed me (though falsely), that you had indulged me by having restored to me 
 my almoner * * * * 8 and the money that they had taken from me, and that the re¬ 
 mainder would follow: for all this, I would willingly return you thanks, and 
 supplicate still further as a last request, which, I have thought, for many rea¬ 
 sons, I ought to ask of you alone, that you will accord this ultimate grace, for 
 which I should not like to be indebted to any other, since I have no hope of 
 finding aught but cruelty from the puritans, who are, at this time, God knows 
 wherefore! the first in authority, 8 and the most bitter against me. 
 
 “ I will accuse no one; may I pardon, with a sincere heart, every one, even 
 as I desire every one may grant forgiveness to me, God the first. But 1 know 
 that you, more than any one, ought to feel at heart the honour or dishonour of 
 your own blood, and tbat/moreover, of a queen, and the daughter of a king. 
 
 Then, madame, for the sake of that Jesus to whose name all powers bow, I 
 require you to ordain, that when my enemies have slaked their black thirst for 
 my innocent blood, you will permit my poor desolated servants altogether to 
 carry away my corpse, to bury it in holy ground, with the other queens of France, 
 my predecessors, especially near the late queen, my mother; having this in re¬ 
 collection, that in Scotland the bodies of the kings, my predecessors, have been 
 outraged, and the churches profaned and abolished; and that as I shall suffer in 
 
 1 Des Mesmes MS., No. 9513, Collection of Original State Letters, Bibliotheque 
 
 du Roi. 
 
 8 De Preau; he remained in Fotheringaye, but was forbidden to see his roya 
 
 mistress. 
 
 8 With no little grandeur of soul, Mary treats Elizabeth, not as her murderess 
 but as a person controlled by a dominant faction. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 391 
 
 this country, I shall not be given place near the kings, your predecessors, 1 * who 
 are mine as well as yours: for, according to our religion, we think much of 
 being interred in holy earth. As they tell me that you will in nothing force my 
 conscience nor my religion, and have even conceded me a priest, 5 refuse me not 
 this my last request, that you will permit me free sepulchre to this body when 
 the soul is separated, which, when united, could never obtain liberty to live in 
 repose, such as you would procure for yourself,— against which repose, before 
 God I speak, I never aimed a blow; but God will let you see the truth of all 
 after my death. 
 
 “And because I dread the tyranny of those to whose power you have aban¬ 
 doned me, 1 entreat you not to permit that execution be done on me without 
 your own knowledge, not for fear of the torment, which I am most ready to suffer, 
 but on account of the reports 3 which will be raised concerning my death, with¬ 
 out other witnesses than those who would inflict it, who, I am persuaded, would 
 be of very different qualities from those parties whom I require (being my ser¬ 
 vants) to be spectators and withal witnesses of my end, in the faith of our sacra¬ 
 ment, of my Saviour, and in obedience to His church. And after all is over, that 
 they together may carry away my poor corpse (as secretly as you please), and 
 speedily withdraw, without taking with them any of my goods, except those 
 which, in dying, I may leave to them .... which are little enough for their 
 long and good services. 
 
 “ One jewel 4 that I received of you, I shall return to you with my last words, 
 or sooner if you please. 
 
 44 Once more I supplicate you to permit me to send a jewel and a last adieu 
 to my son, with my dying benediction, for of my blessing he has been deprived, 
 since you sent me his refusal to enter into the treaty whence I was excluded by 
 his wicked council; this last point I refer to your favourable consideration and 
 conscience, as the others; but I ask them, in the name of Jesus Christ, and in 
 respect of our consanguinity, and for the sake of king Henry VII., your grand¬ 
 father and mine, and by the honour of the dignity we both held, and of our sex 
 m common, do I implore you to grant these requests. 
 
 “As to the rest, I think you know that in your name they have taken down 
 my dais, (canopy and raised seat,) but afterwards they owned to me that it was 
 not by your commandment, but by the intimation of some of your privy council; 
 
 1 thank God that this wickedness came not from you, and that it serves rather 
 to vent their malice than to afflict me, having made up my mind to die. It is 
 on account of this, and some other things, that they debarred me from writing 
 to you, and after they had done all in their power to degrade me from my rank, 
 they told me, ‘that I was but a mere dead woman, incapable of dignity.’ God 
 be praised for all! 
 
 “ I would wish that all my papers were brought to you without reserve, that, 
 at last, it may be manifest to you, that the sole care of your safety was not con¬ 
 fined to those who are so prompt to persecute me; if you will accord this my 
 
 1 This implied wish of burial in Westminster Abbey, her son James afterwards 
 observed. 
 
 5 In this she was deceived ; her chaplain was not suffered to see her, though 
 in the castle. 
 
 '* She here dreads the imputation of suicide, a crime which is considered with 
 peculiar horror by Catholics, as rendering impossible the rites their creed deems 
 it essential that the dying should receive. 
 
 4 This was probably the diamond ring which Elizabeth sent her, as a token of 
 amity. “It was,” says Melville, “an English custom to give a diamond, to be 
 returned at a time of distress, to recal friendship.” The description of this ce¬ 
 lebrated ring is curious. Two diamonds were set in two rings, and, when laid 
 
 together, formed the shape of a heart. Elizabeth sent one to Mary, and kept the 
 other. Thoms’ Traditions. 
 
392 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 last request, I would wish that you would write for them, otherwise they dp 
 with them as they choose. And, moreover, I wish that, to this my last request, 
 you will let me know your last reply. 
 
 “To conclude, I pray God, the just judge, of his mercy, that he will enlighten 
 you with his Holy Spirit, and that he will give me his grace to die in the per¬ 
 fect charity I am disposed to do, and to pardon all those who have caused, or 
 who have co-operated in my death. Such will be my last prayer to my end, 
 which, I esteem myself happy, will precede the persecution which, I foresee, 
 menaces this isle, where God is no longer seriously feared and revered, but 
 vanity and worldly policy rule and govern all — yet will I accuse no one, nor 
 give way to presumption—yet, while abandoning this world and preparing my¬ 
 self for a better, I must remind you, that one day you will have to answer for 
 your charge, and for all'those whom you doom, and that I desire that my blood 
 and my country may be remembered in that time. For why? From the first 
 days of our capacity to comprehend our duties, we ought to bend our minds to 
 make the things of this world yield to those of eternity! 
 
 “From Forteringhay (Fotheringay), this 19th December, 15S6. 
 
 “ Your sister and cousin, 
 
 “ Prisoner wrongfully, 
 
 “Mabie (Royne. 1 )” 
 
 The effect produced by this touching, but dignified appeal to the con¬ 
 science of Elizabeth, is rather hinted at than described bv the pitiless 
 satrap, Leicester, in one of his pithy letters to Walsingham. “ There is 
 a letter from the Scottish queen,” writes he, “ that hath wrought tears , 
 but, I trust, shall do no further herein; albeit, the delay is too dan - 
 gerous .” 2 
 
 Who can read this remark without perceiving the fact that, in this in¬ 
 stance, as well as in the tragedy of her maternal kinsman, the duke of 
 Norfolk, Elizabeth’s relentings were overruled, and her female heart 
 steeled against the natural impulses of mercy by the ruthless men-whose 
 counsels influenced her resolves? Had Elizabeth exercised her own 
 unbiassed judgment, and yielded to the angel-whisperings of woman's 
 gentler nature, which disposed her to draw back from affixing her sig¬ 
 nature to the fatal warrant, her annals would have remained unsullied 
 by a crime, which can neither be justified on moral nor political 
 grounds. 
 
 Rapin, with sophistry unworthy of an historian, says—“The queen 
 of Scots and her friends had brought matters to such a pass, that one 
 of the queens must perish, and it was natural that the weakest should 
 fall.” This was decidedly untrue. The royal authority of Elizabeth 
 was never more firmly established than at this very period. She could 
 have nothing to apprehend from the sick, helpless, and impoverished 
 captive of Fotheringaye. It was to the ministers of Elizabeth and their 
 party that Mary was an object of alarm; consequently, it was their in¬ 
 terest to keep the mind of their royal mistress in a constant state 6f 
 
 1 The original of this letter is in very obsolete French, of which a copy may be 
 seen in the Bridgewater edition of the Egerton papers. A fragment of the same, 
 copied in a very beautiful hand, is also preserved in the State Paper Office, in 
 the voluminous collection connected with the personal history of Mary, queen of 
 Scots; an abridged translation has been published by Mr. Tytler, in the eighth 
 volume of his valuable history of Scotland 
 
 8 Harleian MS., 285 ; British Museum. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 ono 
 
 excitement, by plots and rumours of plots, till they had wrought her 
 irritable temper up to the proper pitch. Among the many means re¬ 
 sorted to for that purpose by Burleigh, may, in all probability, be reck¬ 
 oned the celebrated letter, which has been published in Murdin’s State 
 Papers as the production of Mary, queen of Scots, in whose name it 
 was written, but which bears every mark of the grossest forgery. It is 
 written in French,' and details, with provoking minuteness, a variety of 
 scandals, which appear to have been in circulation against queen Eliza- 
 oeth in her own court. These are affirmed to have been repeated to 
 the captive queen by the countess of Shrewsbury, who, during the life 
 of her first husband, Mr. Saintlow, was one of Elizabeths bed-chamber 
 women. Lady Shrewsbury was a malignant gossip and intriguante, and 
 on very ill terms with her husband’s royal charge. These circum¬ 
 stances give some plausibility to the idea that Mary wrote this letter, in 
 order to destroy her great enemy’s credit with the queen. 
 
 Mary had made, at various times, very serious complaints of the in¬ 
 solence of this vulgar-minded woman, and of the aspersions which she 
 had cast on her own character; and she had also requested the French 
 ambassador to inform queen Elizabeth of her treasonable intrigues in 
 favour of her little grand-daughter, lady Arabella Stuart; but that Mary 
 ever departed so far from the character of a gentlewoman, as to commit 
 to paper the things contained in this document, no one who is familiar 
 with the pure and delicate style which forms the prevailing charm of 
 her authentic letters can believe. Neither was Mary so deplorably 
 ignorant of the human heart, as not to be aware that the person who 
 has so little courtesy as to repeat to another painful and degrading re¬ 
 ports, becomes invariably an object of greater dislike to that person than 
 the originator of the scandal. 
 
 Every sentence of the letter has been artfully devised, for the express 
 purpose of irritating Elizabeth, not only against lady Shrewsbury, but 
 against Mary herself, who would never have had the folly to inform her 
 jealous rival “ that lady Shrewsbury had, by a book of divination in her 
 possession, predicted that Elizabeth would very soon be cut off by a 
 violent death, and Mary would succeed to her throne.” 2 What was this 
 but furnishing Elizabeth with a cogent reason for putting her to death 
 without further delay ? The letter, as a whole, will not bear insertion; 
 it contains very offensive observations on Elizabeth’s person, constitu¬ 
 tion, and conduct, which are there affirmed to have been made by lady 
 Shrewsbury, together with a repetition of much indelicate gossip, touch¬ 
 ing her majesty’s intimacy with Simier, the plenipotentiary of Francis 
 luke of Anjou, with Anjou himself, and with Hatton; blit strange to 
 say, not a word about Leicester, which is the more worthy of remark, 
 nasmuch as the scandals respecting Elizabeth and Leicester had been 
 rery notorious, however devoid of foundation they might have been in 
 joint of fact. 
 
 Leicester was justly regarded by Mary, queen of Scots, as one of her 
 
 ’But not in Mary's well-known hand: no copy of the letter exists in her writ- 
 ng. The story relating to the discovery of this letter is extremely absurd. 
 
 ’Murdin’s State Papers, p. 558. 
 
394 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 greatest enemies. He is always mentioned with peculiar bitterness in 
 her letters to her friends, and if the celebrated scandal letter, in Murdin, 
 had really been written by her, she would scarcely have omitted having 
 a fling at him. Instead of this, the great stress is laid against Leicester’s 
 personal rival, Hatton, who is provokingly stated “ to have been, at 
 times, so thoroughly ashamed of the public demonstrations of her 
 majesty’s fondness, that he was constrained to retire.” Some allusion 
 is also made to a love-quarrel between Elizabeth and Hatton, about cer¬ 
 tain gold buttons on his dress, on which occasion he departed out of 
 her presence, in a fit of choler; that she sent Killigrew after him, in 
 great haste, and bestowed a buffet on her messenger when he came back 
 without him, and that she pensioned another gentleman, with three hun¬ 
 dred a year, for bringing her news of Hatton’s return; that when the 
 said Hatton might have contracted an illustrious marriage, he dared not, 
 for fear of offending her; and, for the same cause, the earl of Oxford 
 was afraid of appearing on good terms with his wife; that lady Shrews¬ 
 bury had advised her (the queen of Scots), laughing excessively at the 
 same time, to place her son in the list of her majesty’s lovers, for she 
 was so vain, and had so high an opinion of her own beauty, that she 
 fancied herself into some heavenly goddess, and, if she took it into her 
 head, might easily be persuaded to entertain the youthful king of Scots 
 as one of her suitors; that no flattery was too absurd for her to receive, 
 for those about her were accustomed to tell her, “ that they could not 
 look full upon her, because her face was as resplendent as the sun;” 
 and that the countess of Shrewsbury declared, “ that she and lady Lenox 
 never dared look at each other, for fear of bursting out a laughing, when 
 in Elizabeth’s presence, because of her affectation,” adding, “ that no¬ 
 thing in the world would induce her daughter, Talbot, to hold any office 
 near her majesty’s person, for fear she should, in one of her furies, treat 
 her as she had done her cousin Scudamore, whose finger she had broken, 
 and then tried to make her courtiers believe that it was done by the fall 
 of a chandelier; that she had cut another of her attendants across the 
 hand with a knife, and that her ladies were accustomed to mimic and 
 take the queen off, for the amusement of their waiting-women; and, 
 above all, that-lady Shrewsbury had asserted, “ that the queen’s last ill¬ 
 ness proceeded from an attempt to heal the disease in her leg,” 1 with 
 many other remarks equally vexatious. 
 
 If Elizabeth really believed this letter to have been written by Mary, 
 it is impossible to wonder at the animosity she evinced against her, 
 since the details it contained were such as few women could forgive 
 another for repeating. 
 
 The young king of Scotland addressed a letter, of earnest and indig¬ 
 nant remonstrance, to Elizabeth, on the subject of his unfortunate 
 mother, and directed sir William Keith, his ambassador, to unite with 
 the French ambassador in all the efforts he made for averting the doom 
 that was now impending over her. Elizabeth long delayed an audience 
 to Keith, and when she did admit him to her presence, she behaved with 
 
 1 Murdin’s State Papers, p. 558. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 395 
 
 her wonted duplicity. “ I swear, by the living God,” said she, “ that 1 
 would give one of my own arms to be cut off so that any means could 
 be found for us both to live in assurance.” 1 In another interview she 
 declared, “ that no human power should ever persuade her to sign the 
 warrant for Mary’s execution.” When, however, James was informed 
 that the sentence against his mother had been published, he wrote a let¬ 
 ter expressed in menacing and passionate terms. Elizabeth broke into 
 a storm of fury when Keith delivered his remonstrances, and was with 
 difficulty prevented from driving him from her presence. Leicester, it 
 appears, interposed, and at last succeeded in pacifying her, and inducing 
 her, on the following day, to dictate a more moderate reply. Unfor¬ 
 tunately, James also abated his lofty tone, and wrote an apology to his 
 royal godmother. From that moment, Elizabeth knew that the game 
 was in her own hands, and bore herself with surpassing insolence to 
 the Scotch envoys, who were sent to expostulate with her by James. 
 
 The particulars of her reception of the proposals communicated to 
 her, in the name of king James, by the master of Gray, are preserved 
 in a memorial drawn up by himself. “No one,” he says, “ was sent to 
 welcome and conduct him into the presence of the queen, and it was 
 ten days before he and his coadjutor, sir Robert Melvil, were admitted 
 to an audience.” Now, although this uncourteous delay proceeded 
 from herself, Elizabeth’s first address was in these blunt terms:—“A 
 thing long looked for should be welcome when it comes; I would now 
 see your master’s orders.” 
 
 Gray desired, first, to be assured that the cause for which they were 
 to be made, was “ still extant .” Meaning that it was reported that the 
 Scottish queen had been already put to death. “ I think,” said Eliza¬ 
 beth, coolly, “it be extant yet, but I will not promise for an hour.” 2 
 
 She rejected the conditions they offered, in the name of the king, 
 their master, with contempt, and calling in Leicester, the lord-admiral, 
 and Hatton, very despitefully repeated them in the hearing of them all. 
 Gray then proposed that Mary should demit her right of succession to 
 the crown of England, in favour of her son, by which means the hopes 
 of the catholics would be cut off. Elizabeth pretended not to under¬ 
 stand the import of this proposition ; on which Leicester explained, that 
 it simply meant, that the king of Scots should be put in his mother’s 
 place, as successor to the crown of England. 
 
 “ Is it so ?” exclaimed Elizabeth, with a loud voice, and terrible oath ; 
 “get rid of one and have a worse in her place? Nay, then, I put 
 myself in a worse place than before. By God’s passion! that were to 
 cut my own throat! and for a duchy or earldom to yourself, you, or 
 such as you, would cause some of your desperate knaves to kill me.” 3 
 This gracious observation appears to have been aimed at Leicester, to 
 mark her displeasure at his interference in attempting to explain that 
 which it was not her wish to understand, in allusion to the delicate 
 point of the succession ; and it is more than probable that she suspected 
 
 'Sir George Warrender's MSS., cited by Tytler, History of Scotland, vol. viiL 
 ’Memorial of the Master of Gray, January 12, 15S6-7. 
 
 ’ Gray’s Memorial; Robertson; Tytler • Aikin. 
 
396 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 that the proposition was merely a lure, concerted between Gray and 
 Leicester, to betray her into acknowledging the king of Scots as her 
 successor. 
 
 “No, by God!” concluded she; “he shall never be in that place,” 
 and prepared to depart. Gray solicited that Mary’s life might be spared 
 for fifteen days, to give them time to communicate with the king, their 
 master, but she peremptorily refused. Melvil implored for only eight 
 days; “No,” exclaimed Elizabeth, rising from her seat, “not for an 
 hour!” and so left them. 1 
 
 The expostulations of Melvil in behalf of his royal mistress, were as 
 sincere as they were manly and courageous, but the perfidious Gray 
 secretly persuaded Elizabeth to slay, and not to spare, by whispering in 
 her ear, the murderous proverb, “ Mortua non mordet ,”—“ a dead woman 
 bites not.” 2 
 
 Meantime, the eloquent Bellievre addressed a long and beautiful letter 
 of expostulation to Elizabeth, in reply to her declaration, that she was 
 willing to save the life of the queen of Scots, if he and the king of 
 France could point out any way by which it might be done without 
 endangering her own safety. It is written in a noble spirit, and as it 
 has never been translated before, an abstract, comprising some of the 
 most forcible passages, may not prove unacceptable to the reader. It 
 proves that the injustice and cruelty of carrying the sentence against her 
 royal kinswoman into execution, were very plainly set before her by 
 the chivalric envoy who had undertaken to plead for that unfortunate 
 lady:— 
 
 “ God,” says he, “ has given your majesty so many means of defence, that 
 even were the said lady free in your dominions, or elsewhere, you would be 
 well guarded; but she is imprisoned so strictly, that she could not hurt the least 
 of your servants. Scarcely had she completed her twenty-fifth year, when she 
 was first detained as your prisoner, and deprived of communication with her 
 own council, which has perhaps rendered it easier for persons to deceive her 
 into malicious snares, intended for her ruin. But if, when she was obeyed in 
 Scotland as a queen, she had entered your realm in warlike array, for the pur¬ 
 pose of depriving you of your state and life, and had been overcome and fallen 
 into your power, she could not, according to the laws of war, be subjected to 
 harsher treatment than the imposition of a heavy ransom; but as it is, I have 
 neither heard, nor can comprehend, any reason whereby she is, or can be, ren¬ 
 dered accountable to you. The said lady entered your realm a persecuted sup¬ 
 plicant in very great affliction j she is a princess, and your nearest relative; she 
 has been long in hope of being restored to her kingdom by your goodness and 
 favour; and of all these great hopes, she has had no other fruit than a perpetual 
 prison. Now, madame, it has pleased your majesty to say, that ‘ you only de 
 sire to see the means by which you could save the life of the queen of Scots, 
 without putting your own in danger.’ This we have reported to the king, our 
 master, and have received his majesty's commands on this: to say, ‘that desir¬ 
 ing, above all things in the world, to be able to point out some good way fot 
 your satisfaction in this, it seems to him that the matter is entirely in your own 
 hands, as you detain the queen of Scots prisoner, and hold her in your power.’ 
 This noble princess is now so humiliated and abased, that her greatest enemies 
 must view her with compassion, which makes me hope more from your majesty's 
 clemency and compassion. Nothing remains to the queen of Scots but a mise- 
 
 1 Aikin. 
 
 a Camden. 
 
rable life of a few sad days; and surely no one can believe that your majesty 
 can resolve to cut those short by a rigorous execution. 
 
 “That the treatment of the queen of Scots should be more hard than that of a 
 prisoner of war, I think, madame, you can scarcely maintain. Perhaps you may 
 be told that Conradin, who was the last prince of Swabia, was condemned and 
 executed by the sentence of Charles, (king of Sicily,) for having usurped the 
 lands of the church, usurped the name of king, and practised against the life of 
 the said king Charles. I will reply that, of all acts, this of judgment given, and 
 execution done, against the said Conradin, has been the most blamed by persons 
 who lived in that time, and by all historians who have written on the subject. 
 The French, who had accompanied Charles to Italy, held this sentence in exe¬ 
 cration, and principally his relative, the count of Flanders, who with his own 
 hand slew the judge who pronounced so iniquitous a judgment. King Charles 
 was, withal, reproached that he out-Neroed Nero himself, and was worse than 
 the Saracens, to whom he had been himself prisoner, having been taken with 
 his brother, St. Louis, king of France, and they had behaved to him more like 
 Christians than he had done to Conradin. For the said Saracens had treated 
 them honourably whilst in prison, and liberated them in a civilized manner on 
 ransom, according to the laws of nations. 
 
 “ Now, then, madame, allege not the example of so fatal a judgment without 
 contravening your own nature. Whoever is the author of such a deed, will be 
 accursed in memory to all posterity. And, truly, those who compare the case 
 of the queen of Scots with the death of young Conradin, will, I tell you, madame, 
 consider that the said Conradin was condemned with more show of justice, for 
 ( Conradin was accused of having invaded a country, usurped the name of king, 
 ind borne arms against the life of king Charles. Admit that all your charges 
 against the queen of Scots are true, still it remains that she was, at the worst, 
 out striving to gain her freedom and save her life, the sole charge you bring 
 against this noble princess, detained so long in prison. Now, Conradin invaded 
 Naples to take the life and kingdom of king Charles. But the queen of Scots 
 tame not to otfend you, but in the hope that, in her great affection, the presence 
 )f your majesty would be her harbour of safety, and that, on the strength of a 
 promise, that she should be with you in security for a few days, till she could 
 take counsel from her friends in Scotland, or save herself by putting herself 
 rnder the protection of her brother-in-law, the king of France. 
 
 “ The enemies of the queen of Scots have raised among your people a fright¬ 
 ed rejoicing, and it is a common saying, ‘ that the life of the queen of Scots is 
 rour ruin, and that your two lives cannot exist in the same realm.’ It seems 
 hat the authors of this language attribute all power to the councils of man, 
 tnd nought to the will of God. But those, madame, who give you advice, so 
 doody and inhuman as the destruction of the queen of Scots, will be, by the 
 Posterity who look back on these unhappy times, as much detested and blamed 
 is those who gave counsel to the aforesaid king Charles, saying, 1 Vita Conradini, 
 nors Caroli, niors Caroli; mors Conradini , vita Caroli.’ 1,1 
 
 Bellievre goes on to quote many examples of the beauty of clemency 
 tnd forgiveness of enemies, both from Holy Writ and ancient history. 
 The remonstrance extends to very great length, and is interspersed with 
 juotations from the classic poets and essayists. He enlarges on the 
 tacred character of sovereigns, and their inviolability as a class, and lays 
 peculiar stress on the saying of Plato,' 11 That the material of which the 
 lommon race of mortals is formed, is lead or iron ; but that of kings, 
 s of gold.” A sentiment well calculated to flatter the pride of her to 
 
 'Remonstrance of Bellievre, ambassador extraordinary to queen Elizabeth, 
 gainst the execution of tire queen of Scots. Bethune MSS., No. 81155, printed ia 
 he Egerton Papers 
 
398 ELIZABETH. 
 
 whom it is artfully addressed. “ If the queen of Scots were innocent,” 
 pursues he, “she ought not to suffer; if guilty, then she ought to be 
 pardoned as a signal instance of the magnanimity of the English sove¬ 
 reign,” adducing the instance of king Porsena’s generosity to Mutius 
 Sceavola. After stating that the queen-mother and the queen-consort 
 of France, added their earnest intercession to that of the king, and the 
 whole realm of France, for the life of their unfortunate relative, the 
 "queen of Scots, he concludes with the following observations :— 
 
 “ We are now at the feast of Christinas, when it pleased God, instead of 
 wreaking his vengeance on the iniquity and ingratitude of man, to send into this 
 world his only son, our Lord Jesus Christ, to serve as a propitiation for our sins. 
 Surely, at the feast of his nativity, mankind ought to put far from their eyes and 
 thoughts all things sanguinary, odious, and fatal. 
 
 “ If your majesty resolves to proceed to extremity with the queen of Scots, 
 those who are connected with her in blood and friendship are resolved to take 
 the same course. On the contrary, if it pleases you to show your goodness to 
 that lady, all Christian princes will hold themselves bound to watch over your 
 preservation. In the first place, our king offers you, on his own account, and 
 promises that he will hinder, to the utmost of his power, all attempts that may 
 be made against your majesty; besides which, he will command all the relatives 
 of the queen of Scots, that may be in his kingdom, (here the family of Guise is 
 alluded to,) to sign an obligation, on their faith and homage due to him, that 
 neither she, nor any one for her, shall undertake aught against your majesty. 
 And his said very Christian majesty will, in his kingdom, and in all others, per¬ 
 form for you the offices of a sincere friend and good brother. 
 
 “ For these causes, we supplicate your majesty to consider that we have 
 shown you, by the express will of our master, the king of France, that there is 
 a better way, if your goodness will follow it, of securing yourself, than by taking 
 the life of the queen of Scots. 
 
 “ Your fortune is high and happy, so is that of your realm; your fame is bright 
 among the kingdoms of the earth, and this will continue, if you are not persuaded 
 to act so contrary to your foregoing life. 
 
 “ Your majesty will, moreover, live in greater security during the existence 
 of the queen of Scots, than if you kill her. I will not stay to dwell on my rea¬ 
 sons, but your majesty can comprehend them better than any other person. His 
 very Christian majesty, the king of France, hopes that your goodness will repent 
 of counsel, as fatal as it is hard, against the queen of Scots; but if it is not the 
 good pleasure of your majesty to give heed to these great considerations, which 
 we have preferred in this very urgent and veiy affectionate prayer, on the part 
 of the said lord king, our master, and that you do indeed proceed to so rigorous 
 and extraordinary an execution, he has given us charge, madame, to say, that 
 he cannot but resent it deeply as an act against the common interest of all sove¬ 
 reigns, and to him in particular highly offensive.” 
 
 It was even offered, on the part of France, that the duke of Guise, 
 Mary’s kinsman, should give his sons as hostages for the security of 
 queen Elizabeth against any further plots from the Catholic party, but 
 Elizabeth replied, “ Such hostages would be of little avail to her after 
 her life was taken away, which, she felt assured, would be the case if 
 the queen of Scots were suffered to exist.” As for the examples cited, 
 her council said, “ They were irrelevant, and with respect to the obser¬ 
 vations touching Conradin and Charles of Anjou, on which Bellievre 
 had dwelt at some length, that which was said in that case, might, with 
 great truth, they added, be repeated in the present: “The death of 
 
ELIZABETH. 399 
 
 Mary is the life of Elizabeth, and the death of Elizabeth is the life of 
 Marv.” * 1 
 
 Those who have asserted that Ilenry III. of France gave secret instruc¬ 
 tions to Bellievre, to urge privately the execution of Mary, instead of 
 protesting against it, have certainly never read the letters of that monarch 
 to his ambassadors on the subject, nor the letters of those gentlemen, 
 informing him of their earnest intercessions with Elizabeth, for the pre¬ 
 servation of that unfortunate princess. So earnest was Bellievre in his 
 efforts to avert the doom of the devoted victim, that he followed queen 
 Elizabeth to Greenwich, when she went to keep her Christmas holi¬ 
 days there, and implored her to grant him a final audience, that he 
 might try the effect of his personal eloquence on her once more, in 
 behalf of the queen of Scots, after the rejection of his letter of remon¬ 
 strance. 2 
 
 Elizabeth allowed him to supplicate in vain for four or five successive 
 days, before she would grant the audience he entreated. At last, she 
 sent for him, on the 6th of January, and received him in the presence- 
 chamber of her palace at Greenwich. He came, accompanied by L’Au- 
 bespine, the resident French ambassador, and having gone through the 
 usual ceremonial, he delivered his remonstrance to the queen. She 
 listened patiently till nearly the concluding words, which were of a 
 menacing character, when she indignantly interrupted him, by exclaim¬ 
 ing, “ Monsieur de Bellievre, have you had orders from the king, your 
 master, to hold such language to me?” “ Yes, madame,” replied he, 
 w 1 have the express commands of his majesty.” “ Have you the 
 authority signed by his own hands?” she demanded. Bellievre assured 
 her that he had ; and she said, she must have the order signed by him¬ 
 self, and sent to her the same day. She then made all who were in the 
 presence-chamber withdraw, and remained alone in conference with the 
 two French ambassadors, and only one of her own council, for a full 
 hour, but neither Bellievre nor L’Aubespine, could induce her to promise 
 that the life of the queen of Scots should be spared. 3 
 
 Her displeasure at the bold language in which Bellievre had couched 
 his official remonstrances in behalf of Mary Stuart, is sternly manifested 
 in the following haughty letter, which she addressed to Henry 111. on 
 the subject:— 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Henry III. of France. 
 
 “ Sir, my good Brother,— 
 
 “The old ground, on which I have often based my letters, appears to me sc 
 changed at present, that I am compelled to alter the style, and, instead of re¬ 
 turning thanks, to use complaints. My God! — How could you be so unreason¬ 
 able as to reproach the injured party, and to compass the death of an innocent 
 one, by allowing her to become the prey of a murderess? But, without refer¬ 
 ence to my rank, which is nowise inferior to your own, or of my friendship to 
 you, most sincere—for I have well-nigh forfeited all reputation among the princes 
 ol my own religion, by neglecting them, in order to prevent disturbances in 
 your dominions ; exposed to dangers, such as scarcely any prince ever was before, 
 expecting, at least, some ostensible reasons and oilers for security against the 
 
 1 Cainden. a Reports of Bellievre and his secretary. 
 
 1 Le'tres Originates d’Etat, 111, fob 421, Bibl. du Iloi. 
 
400 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 daily danger, for tlie epilogue of this whole negotiation—you are, in spite of all 
 this, so blinded by the words of those, who, I pray, may not ruin you, that, 
 instead of a thousand thanks, which I had merited for such singular services, 
 Monsieur de Bellievre has addressed language to my ears, which, in truth, I 
 know not well how to interpret. For, that you should be angry at my saving 
 my own life, 1 seems to me the threat of an enemy, which, I assure you, will 
 never put me in fear, but is the shortest way to make me despatch the cause of 
 so much mischief. Let me, I pray you, understand in what sense I am to take 
 these words? for I will not live an hour to endure that any prince whatsoever 
 should boast that he had humbled me into drinking such a cup as that. Mon¬ 
 sieur de Bellievre has, indeed, somewhat softened his language, by adding, that 
 you in nowise wish any danger to accrue to me, and still less to cause me any. 
 I, therefore, write you these few words, and if it please you to act accordingly, 
 you shall never find a truer friend ; but, if otherwise, I neither am in so low a 
 place, nor govern realms so inconsiderable, that I should, in right and honour, 
 yield to any living prince that would injure me, and I doubt not, by the grace 
 of God, to make my cause good, for my own security. 
 
 “ I beseech you to think rather of the means of maintaining, than of dimin¬ 
 ishing, my friendship. Your realm, my good brother, cannot abide many ene¬ 
 mies. Give not the rein, in God's name, to wild horses, lest they should shake 
 you from your saddle. I say this to you, out of a true and upright heart, and 
 implore the Creator to grant you long and happy life. Elizabeth.’’ 
 
 It is probable, that some reminiscences of the youthful impertinences 
 of Henry, duke of Anjou, when reluctantly compelled, by his ambitious 
 mother, to allow his name to be used in the celebrated matrimonial 
 negotiation with Elizabeth, might have occurred to the mind of the 
 august spinster, while penning this scornful and humiliating letter to the 
 feeble and degraded Henry III. of France. 
 
 Bellievre now reiterated his demand for his passport, and took his 
 leave of Elizabeth and her nobles, but when he and all his suite were 
 preparing to commence their journey, her majesty sent two of her gen¬ 
 tlemen to entreat him to remain two days longer. This request seems 
 merely to have proceeded from some secret misgiving, on her part, 
 which must have been quickly overruled by her cabinet, for at the end 
 of two days, passports were sent, and Bellievre was permitted to depart 
 without the slightest reason having been given for the delay that had 
 been asked. 2 The very day on which Bellievre sailed for France, it was 
 affirmed by the council, that a fresh plot of a very perilous nature, 
 against the queen’s life, had been discovered, in which the resident 
 French ambassador, L’Aubespine, was deeply involved. It was asserted, 
 “ that when Stafford, the brother of the English ambassador at Paris, 
 paid a familiar visit to L’Aubespine, that statesman asked him, • if he 
 knew any one who, for some crowns, would do an exploit ?’ and when 
 asked, by Stafford, ‘ What that should be ?’ replied, ‘To kill the queen.’ 
 On which Stafford named one Mody, a necessitous and disaffected per¬ 
 son, who would do anything for money; whereupon the ambassador 
 sent his secretary, Destrappes, to arrange the terms with Mody, who 
 told him, “ He was so well acquainted with every part of the royal 
 
 1 In Raumer's version of this letter, Elizabeth says, “For to tell me ‘that if 1 
 did not save the life of that woman, I should feel the consequences!' seems like 
 the threat of an enemy."’ 
 
 ’MS. de Brienne, 34, p. 412. Bibl. du Roi, Paris. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 401 
 
 lodgings, that he knew of a place underneath the queen’s chamber, 
 where he could easily place a barrel of gun-powder, make a train, and 
 overthrow everything.” 1 
 
 Stafford went and made deposition to this effect before the council, on 
 which Mody«nd Destrappes were taken into custody; the ambassador 
 indignantly denied the charge, or rather rebutted it, by stating, u that 
 Stafford came to him and made a proposition to kill the queen,” saying, 
 “ he knew of a person who would undertake to do it for a good sum.” 
 This was evidently the truth ; for, who can believe that any statesman 
 would be guilty of the absurdity of boldly requesting a gentleman of 
 high rank, in Elizabeth’s service, and the brother of her representative 
 in his own court, to furnish an assassin to take away her life ? Stafford 
 was, doubtless, employed by Burleigh or VValsinghain, to draw the 
 French ambassador, or some of his suite, into a secret confederacy or 
 correspondence with him, ostensibly for that object, in which he so far 
 succeeded, that L’Aubespine heard what he had to say, without giving 
 information to Elizabeth or her council, but forbade him his house. 
 
 Elizabeth Herself, after the death of Mary, acknowledged to the French 
 ambassador, “ that she had received full conviction that the accusation 
 was unfounded,” and said some very civil things of Destrappes. She 
 had been deluded by the misrepresentations of others, who were deter¬ 
 mined to put a stop to her receiving further remonstrances from the 
 court of France. 
 
 “ By means of this attempt,” observes Camden, u such as bore mortal 
 hatred against the queen of Scots, took occasion to hasten her death. 
 And to strike the greater terror into the queen, knowing that when any 
 one’s life is at stake, fear excludes pity, they caused false rumours and 
 terrifying reports daily to be heard of, and spread throughout England— 
 viz., that the Spanish fleet was already arrived at Milford Ilaven; that 
 the Scots were broken into England ; that the duke of Guise was landed 
 in Sussex with a strong army; that the northern parts were up in re¬ 
 bellion ; that there was a new conspiracy on foot to kill the queen, and 
 set the city of London on lire; and that the queen was dead.” Some 
 of these startling rumours were intended to prepare the public mind for 
 the news of Mary’s execution, and to receive it as a public good, so art- 
 full} - had she, oppressed, and helpless as she was, been rendered a bug¬ 
 bear to the majority of the people of England. But Camden expressly 
 states, “ that with such scare-crows and affrighting arguments as these, 
 they drew the queen’s wavering and perplexed mind to that pass, that 
 she signed a warrant for putting the sentence of death into execution.” 2 
 
 With all Elizabeth’s strength of mind, and masculine powers of intel¬ 
 lect, be it remembered that she must have been as dependent for infor¬ 
 mation on the reports of her ministers and personal attendants as any 
 other princess; and if it suited the policy of those around her to with¬ 
 hold, or mystify the truth, what channel was there through which it 
 could reach her ? The press was in its infancy, public journals detailing 
 the events of the day were not in existence, and the struggles of certain 
 
 Murdin, 580, 581. 
 2 a 
 
 2 Annals of Elizabeth, in White Kennet, f. 533. 
 
402 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 independent members of the House of Commons, for liberty of speech, 
 had ceased. The spies of Walsingham, Burleigh, and Leicester, were, 
 it is true, perpetually at work; and there was no class of society into 
 which they did not insinuate themselves. They were goers to and fro 
 throughout the realm, and made reports to their employers of all they 
 heard and saw; but were their reports faithfully conveyed to the queen 
 by her ministers, ungarbled and uninterpolated ? Assuredly not, unless 
 it suited their own policy to do so; for have we not seen how long she 
 was kept in ignorance of so public an event, as the fall of Rouen, by 
 Leicester ?—and does not the under-current of the transactions, respect¬ 
 ing Mary queen of Scots, abound with evidence, that the mighty Eliza¬ 
 beth was frequently the dupe, and at last the absolute tool of her minis¬ 
 ters, in ridding them of a successor to the throne, whom they had cause 
 to dread ? 
 
 The state of Elizabeth’s mind, just before she was induced to sign 
 the death-warrant, is thus described by the graphic pen of the contem¬ 
 porary historian, Camden : “ In the midst of those doubtful and perplex¬ 
 ing thoughts, which so troubled and staggered the queen’s mind, that 
 she gave herself over to solitariness, she sate many times melancholy 
 and mute, and frequently sighing, muttered this to herself, ‘ aut fer , aut 
 ferij that is, either bear with her or smite her; and ‘ ne feriare feri ]— 
 k strike, lest thou be stricken.’ 1 At this period she was also heard to 
 lament, ‘ that among the thousands who professed to be attached to her 
 as a sovereign, not one would spare her the painful task of dipping her 
 hands in the blood of a sister queen.” 2 
 
 The idea of ridding herself of her royal prisoner by a private murder, 
 the usual fate of captive princes, appears to have taken a powerful hold 
 of Elizabeth’s mind, during the last eight days of Mary’s life. In fact, j 
 the official statements of Mr. Secretary Davison, afford positive proof 
 that she had provided herself with agents, one of whom, Wingfield, she 
 named, “ who were ready,” she said, “ to undertake the deed.” The 
 “ niceness” of those “ precise fellows,” Paulet and Drury, who had the 
 custody of Mary’s person, frustrated Elizabeth’s project; they were too 
 scrupulous or too cautious to become' accomplices in the murder of 
 their helpless charge, in any other way than by assisting at her execu¬ 
 tion, authorized by the queen’s own warrant, under the royal seal. 
 They were aware of the guerdon, generally assigned to those, who lend 
 themselves to perform the unprofitable works of darkness for their bet¬ 
 ters. History had not told the tale of Gournay and Maltravers, and 
 other tools of royal villany in vain to the shrewd castellans of Fotherin 
 gave castle; and the subsequent treatment of Davison, demonstrated 
 their wisdom in refusing to implicate themselves in an iniquity, so full 
 of peril to inferior agents. 
 
 The particulars of this foul passage, in the personal annals of the 
 maiden queen, shall be related by Davison himself. 3 
 
 1 Annals in White Kennet, folio 534. 9 Lingard. 
 
 s Copied, by Sir Harris Nicolas, from the Cotton. MS., Titus C. vii., f. 48, and 
 
 collated by him with the copies in the Harl. MSS., and that in Caligula, and 
 pronounced by him to be in Davison's own hand. His "Summary Report of 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 403 
 
 “ After that the sentence against the Scottisn queen was passed, and 
 subscribed by the lords and others, the commissioners appointed to her 
 trial, and that her majesty had notified the same to the world by her 
 proclamation, according to the statute, there remained nothing but her 
 warrant, under the great seal of England, for the performing and accom¬ 
 plishing her execution, which, after some instance, as well of the lords 
 and commons, of the whole parliament then assembled, as of others of 
 her council, and best affected subjects, it pleased her majesty at length 
 to yield thereunto; and thereupon gave order to my lord-treasurer to 
 project the same, which he accordingly performed, and with her ma¬ 
 jesty’s privity, left in my hands, to procure her signature; but by rea¬ 
 son of the presence of the French and Scotch ambassadors, then suitors 
 for her (Mary’s) life, she (queen Elizabeth) forbore the signing thereof, 
 till the first of February, which was some few days after their departure 
 home. At what time her majesty, after some conference with the lord- 
 admiral, of the great danger she constantly lived in, and moved by his 
 lordship to have more regard to the surety of herself and state, than she 
 seemed to take, resolved to defer the said execution no longer, and gave 
 orders to his lordship to send for me, to bring the warrant unto her to 
 be signed, which he forthwith did, by a messenger of the chamber, who 
 found me in the park, whither I had newly gone to take the air; where¬ 
 upon returning back immediately with him, I went directly to the privy- 
 chamber, where his lordship, attending my coming, discoursed unto me 
 what speech had passed that morning betwixt her majesty and him, 
 touching the justice against the said Scottish queen, and finally told me, 
 “ how she was now fully resolved to proceed to the accomplishment 
 thereof, and had commanded him to send expressly for me, to bring the 
 warrant unto her to be signed, that it might be forthwith despatched, and 
 deferred no longer.” According to which direction, I went immediately 
 to my chamber, to fetch the said warrant, and other things touching her 
 service, and returning up again, I sent in Mrs. Brooke, to signify my 
 being there to her majesty, who presently called for me. 
 
 “At my coming in, her highness first demanded of me,—‘Whether I 
 had been abroad that fair morning ?’ advising me ‘ to use it oftener,’ and 
 reprehending me ‘ for the neglect thereof,’ with other like gracious 
 speeches, arguing care of my health, and finally asked me, ‘ What 1 had 
 in my hands ?’ I answered, ‘ Divers things to be signed that concerned 
 her service.’ She inquired, ‘ Whether my lord-admiral had not given 
 me order to bring up the warrant for the Scottish queen’s execution ?’ 1 
 answered, ‘Yes;’ and thereupon asking me for it, I delivered it into her 
 hands. After the reading whereof, she, calling for pen and ink, signed 
 it, and laying it from her on the mats, demanded of me, ‘ Whether I were 
 not heartily sorry to see it done ?’ My answer was, ‘ that I was so far 
 
 that which passed between her majesty and him, in the cause of the Scottish 
 queen, from the signing of the warrant to the time of his restraint,” may surely 
 be relied on as a plain statement of facts, which lie would neither venture to 
 falsify nor to exaggerate. It comprises the simplest and most circumstantial ac¬ 
 count of the proceedings of queen Elizabeth, from the time die warrant was 
 drawn up, till the execution of the royal victim. 
 
404 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 from taking pleasure in the calamity or fall of any, or, otherwise, from 
 thirsting- in any sort after the blood of this unhappy lady in particular, 
 as I could not but be heartily grieved to think that one of her place and 
 quality, and otherwise so near unto her majesty, should give so great 
 cause as she had done to take this resolution; but seeing the life of that 
 queen threatened her majesty’s death, and therefore this act of hers, in 
 all men’s opinions, was of that justice and necessity, that she could not 
 defer it without the manifest wrong and danger of herself and the whole 
 realm, 1 could not be sorry to see her take an honourable and just course 
 of securing the one and the other, as he that preferred the death of the 
 guilty before the innocent;’ which answer her highness approving with 
 a smiling countenance, passed from the matter to ask me, ‘ What else 1 
 had to sign ?’ and thereupon offering unto her some other warrants and 
 instructions touching her service, it pleased her, with the best disposition 
 and willingness that might be, to sign and despatch them all.” 
 
 “After this, she commanded me to carry it to the seal, and to give my 
 lord-chancellor special order to use it as secretly as might be, lest the 
 divulging thereof before the execution might, as she pretended, increase 
 her danger; and in my way to my lord-chancellor, her pleasure also 
 was, that I should visit Mr. Secretary Walsingham, being then sick at his 
 house in London, and communicate the matter to him, 1 because the 
 grief hereof would go near,’ as she merrily said, ‘to kill him outright;’ 
 then taking occasion to repeat unto me some reasons why she had de¬ 
 ferred the matter so long, as, namely, for her honour’s sake that the 
 world might see that she had not been violently or maliciously drawn 
 thereto.’ ” 
 
 How these professions agreed with her majesty’s merry message to 
 Walsingham, apprising him that she had just signed the fatal instrument 
 for shedding the blood of her nearest relative, by the axe of the execu¬ 
 tioner, the unprejudiced reader may judge. Little, indeed, did Elizabeth, 
 in the full confidence of her despotic power, imagine that the dark 
 import of her secret communings with her secretary in that private 
 closet, would one day be proclaimed to the whole world, by the pub¬ 
 lication of the documentary evidences of her proceedings. When the 
 Jthuriel spear of truth withdraws the curtain from scenes like these, the 
 reverse of the picture, suddenly unveiled to those who have been taught, 
 even in the nursery, to revere in “ good queen Bess” the impersonifica- 
 tion of all that is great and glorious in woman, is startling. 
 
 “ The queen concluded,” continues Davison, “ that she never was so 
 ill-advised as not to apprehend her own danger, and the necessity she 
 had to proceed to this execution; and thereupon, after some intermin¬ 
 gled speech to and fro, told me that she would have it done as secretly 
 as might be, appointing the hall where she (queen Mary) was, for the 
 place of execution, and misliking the court, or green of the castle, for 
 divers respects, she alleged, with other speech to like effect. Howbeit, 
 as I was ready to depart, she fell into some complaint of sir Amias Pau- 
 let and others, ‘ that might have eased her of this burden,’ wishing that 
 Mr. Secretary (Walsingham) and I would yet Write unto both him and 
 sir Drue Drury, to sound their disposition in this behalf. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 405 
 
 “And,” continues Davison. “ albeit, I had before excused myself from 
 meddling therein, upon sundry her majesty’s former motions, as a matter 
 I utterly prejudged, assuring her, ‘ that it would be so much labour lost, 
 knowing the wisdom and integrity of the gentlemen, whom I thought 
 would not do so unlawful an act for any respect in the world yet, 
 finding her desirous to have the matter attempted, I promised, for her 
 satisfying, to signify this her pleasure to Mr. Secretary, and so, for that 
 time leaving her, went down directly to my lord-treasurer, (Burleigh,) to 
 whom I did communicate the said warrant signed, together with such 
 other particulars as had passed at that time between her highness and 
 me. The same afternoon I waited on my lord-chancellor for the seal¬ 
 ing of the said warrant, according to her majesty’s direction, which 
 was done between the hours of four and five, from whence I returned 
 back unto Mr. Secretary Walsingham, whom I had visited by the way, and 
 acquainted with her pleasure, touching the letters that were to be written 
 to the said sir Amias Paulet and sir Drue Drury, which, at my return, I 
 found ready to be sent away.”' 
 
 The reader is here presented with the copy of the private official let¬ 
 ter, in which the two secretaries propose the murder, in plain and direct 
 terms, to Paulet and Drury, by the express commands of their royal 
 mistress:— 
 
 Walsingham and Davison to Sir Amias Paulet and Sir Drue Drury. 
 
 “February 1, 10S6-7. 
 
 “After our hearty commendations, we find, by a speech lately made by her 
 majesty (queen Elizabeth), that she doth note in you both, a lack of that care 
 and zeal for her service, that she looketh for at your hands, in that you have not, 
 in all this time (of yourselves, without other provocation), found out some way 
 of shortening the life of the Scots' queen , considering the great peril she (queen 
 Elizabeth) is hourly subject to, so long as the said queen shall live; wherein, 
 besides a kind of lack of love towards her. she wonders greatly that you have 
 not that care of your own particular safeties, or rather the preservation of 
 religion, and the public good, and prosperity of your country, that reason and 
 policy commanded), especially having so good a warrant and ground for the 
 satisfaction of your consciences towards God , and the discharge of your credit and 
 reputation towards the world, as the oath of association, which you have both 
 so solemnly taken and vowed, especially the matter wherewith she (Mary) 
 standeth charged, being so clearly and manifestly proved against her. 
 
 “And, therefore, she (Elizabeth) taketh it most unkindly, that men, professing 
 that love towards her that you do, should, in a kind of sort, for lack of dis¬ 
 charging your duties, cast the burden upon her, knowing, as you do, her indis¬ 
 position to shed blood,’ especially of one of that sex and quality, and so near 
 her in blood, as that queen is. 
 
 “ These respects, we find, do greatly trouble her majesty, who, we assure you. 
 hath sundry times protested, ‘that if the regard of the danger of her good sub 
 jects and faithful servants, did not more move her than her own peril, she would 
 never be drawn to the shedding of blood.’ 
 
 “We thought it meet to acquaint you with these speeches, lately passed from 
 
 1 Davison’s Summary Report of that which passed between him and the queen, 
 copied by Sir II. Nicolas from the Cotton. MS., Titus, vii., f. 48, and collated by 
 him fi'om the copies of the same document, in Harl. MSS., and Cotton. MSS., in 
 Caligula. See also Davison's Apology, in Nicolas’ Life of Davison. 
 
 ’Meaning publicly: private murder she preferred. 
 
406 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 her majesty, referring the same to your good judgments. And so we commit 
 you to the protection of the Almighty. 
 
 Your most assured friends, 
 
 “Fra. Walsisgham. 
 “Will. Davison.” 
 
 An anonymous writer, whose work was published before the learned 
 research of Hearne had drawn this disgraceful document, and the reply 
 of the uncompromising castellans of Fotheringaye, from the dust and 
 darkness in which the correspondence had slumbered for upwards of 
 two centuries, possessed traditional evidence of the fact, that a letter 
 was sent, by the queen’s command, to instigate sir Amias Paulet to the 
 assassination of his hapless charge. It was scarcely possible that he 
 should be aware that the veritable letter was absolutely extant; and, as 
 he adds, a remarkable incident, illustrative of the excited state of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s mind, the night after it had been despatched, the passage is well 
 worthy of quotation. 
 
 “ Some say,” observes our author, “ she sent orders to Paulet to make 
 away with the queen of Scots; but in the midst of that very night she 
 was awakened by a violent shriek from the lady who always slept in her 
 bed-chamber. The queen asked her ‘ what ailed her ?’ She answered, 
 
 1 1 dreamed that I saw the hangman strike off the head -of the queen of 
 Scots; and forthwith he laid hands on your majesty, and was about to 
 behead you as well, when I screamed with terror.’ 
 
 “ The queen exclaimed, ‘ I was, at the instant you awoke me, dream¬ 
 ing the very same dream.’ ” 1 
 
 It is curious enough, that this wild story of Elizabeth’s midnight 
 vision is confirmed by her own words, quoted in Davison’s autograph 
 narrative, to which we will now return. 
 
 After stating that the morning after the precious scroll to Paulet and 
 Drury had been despatched, Killigrew came to him, with a message 
 from the queen, importing ‘ that if he had not been to the lord-chancel- 
 lor, he should forbear going to him till he had spoken again with her 
 which message coming too late, he proceeded to her majesty, to give an 
 account of what he had done. He thus continues—“At my coming to 
 her, she demanded, ‘ Whether the warrant had passed the seal ?’ I told 
 her, ‘Yes.’ She asked, ‘ What needeth that haste ?’ I answered, ‘ That 
 I had therein made no more haste than herself commanded, and my 
 duty, in a case of that moment, required, which, as I took it, was not 
 to be dallied with.’ ‘But methinketh,’ saith she, ‘ that it might have 
 been otherwise handled, for the form,’ naming unto me some that were 
 of that opinion, whose judgments she commended. I answered, ‘ that 
 I took the honourable and just way, to be the safest and best way, il 
 they meant to have it done at all;’ whereto her majesty replying nothing, 
 for that time, left me, and went to dinner. From her, I went to Mr. 
 Vice-chamberlain Hatton, with whom I did communicate the warrant 
 and other particulars that had passed between her highness and me, 
 
 1 History of the Life and Death of that excellent Princess, Queen Elizabeth ; to 
 which is added, the Trial, Sufferings, and Death of Mary, Queen of Scots, p. 3bi8. - 
 
 Davison's Narrative authenticates this story. 
 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 407 
 
 touching the despatch thereof, when, falling into a rehearsal of some 
 doubtful speeches of hers, betraying a disposition to throw the burden 
 from herself, if by any means she might, and remembering unto him the 
 example of her dealing in the case of the duke of Norfolk’s execution, 
 which she had laid heavily upon my lord-treasurer, (Burleigh,) for a 
 long time after, and how much more her disavowing this justice was to 
 be feared, considering the timorousness of her sex and nature, the qua¬ 
 lity of the person whom it concerned, and respect of her friends ; with 
 many other circumstances that might further incline her thereunto, 1 
 finally told him, ‘ that 1 was, for mine own part, fully resolved, notwith¬ 
 standing the directions I had received, to do nothing that might give her 
 any advantage to cast a burden of so great weight upon my single and 
 weak shoulders, and, therefore, having done as much as belonged to my 
 part, would leave to him and others as deeply interested in the surety 
 of her majesty and the state, as myself, to advise what course should 
 now be taken for accomplishing the rest.” 1 
 
 Hatton’s rejoinder to these observations was, “ that he was heartily 
 glad the matter was brought thus far, and, for his part, ‘ he would wish 
 him hanged who would not co-operate in a cause, which so much con¬ 
 cerned the safety of the queen and her realm.’ ” On further consulta¬ 
 tion, they both decided on going to Burleigh, with whom they agreed 
 that the matter should be communicated to the rest of the lords of the 
 council, and Burleigh took upon himself to prepare the letters to the 
 earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, and the others to whom the warrant was 
 directed. The next morning, Burleigh sent for Davison and Hatton, and 
 showed the draft he had drawn up of those letters. Hatton considered 
 them too particular in the wording, on which Burleigh offered to draw 
 up others, in more general terms, against the afternoon. The council, 
 being apprised of the business in hand, met in Burleigh’s chamber, 
 where he, entering into the particulars of the Scottish queen’s offence, 
 the danger of her majesty and state, and the necessity of this execution, 
 and, having shown them the warrant, he apprised them of the suspected 
 intention of the sovereign to shift the burden of it from herself, if she 
 , could. It is probable, too, that Elizabeth’s earnest desire of having the 
 deed performed by a private murder, which she would afterwards charge 
 on whomsoever .she could induce to undertake it, was also discussed; 
 but, at all events, the council came to the unanimous resolution, that the 
 warrant should be forthwith despatched, without troubling her majesty 
 any more about it. The subtle conclave, who thus presumed to secure 
 themselves, by outwitting their sovereign, and acting independently of 
 her commands, did Beale (the clerk of the council) the honour of con¬ 
 sidering him the fittest person to whom they could commit the charge 
 of putting the warrant for the death of the rightful heiress of the throne 
 into execution. He accepted the office, and approved the copies of the 
 betters devised by Burleigh; and having appointed them to be written 
 aut fair, against the afternoon, they went to dinner, and, between one 
 ind two o’clock, returned to have the letters signed, that were addressed 
 
 1 Davison’s Summary Report. 
 
408 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 to the lords and commissioners, appointed to that duty. These were 
 then delivered to Beale, with^earnest request for him to use the utmost 
 diligence in expediting the same. ^ 
 
 Elizabeth, meantime, unconscious of the proceedings of her ministers, 
 was still brooding vainly over the idea of a private murder. “ The next 
 morning,” pursues Davison, “ her majesty being in some speech with 
 Burleigh, in the private chamber, seeing me come in, called me to her, 
 and, as if she had understood nothing of these proceedings, smiling, told 
 me 1 she had been troubled that night upon a dream she had, that the 
 Scottish queen was executed,’ pretending to have been so greatly moved 
 with the news against me, as in that passion she would have done I wot 
 not what. But this being in a pleasant and smiling manner, I answered 
 her majesty, ‘that it was good for me I was not near her, so long as that 
 humour lasted.’ But withal, taking hold of her speech, asked her, in 
 great earnest, ‘what it meant? and whether, having proceeded thus 
 far, she had not a full and resolute meaning to go through with the said 
 execution, according to the warrant?’ Her answer was, ‘Yes,’ confirmed 
 with a solemn oath, ‘ only that she thought that it might have received 
 a better form, because this threw all the responsibility upon her herself.’ 
 I replied, ‘ that the form prescribed by the warrant was such as the law 
 required, and could not well be altered, with any honesty, justice, or 
 surety to those who were commissioners therein; neither did I know 
 who could sustain this burthen, if she took it not upon her, being sove¬ 
 reign magistrate, to whom the sword was committed, of God, for the 
 punishment of the wicked, and defence of the good, and without whose 
 authority, the life or member of the poorest wretch in her kingdom 
 could not be touched.’ 
 
 “ She answered, ‘ that there were wiser men than myself in the king¬ 
 dom, of other opinion.’ I told her, ‘ I could not answer for other men, 
 yet, this I was sure of, that I had never yet heard any man give a sound 
 reason to prove it either honourable or safe for her majesty to take any 
 other course than that which standeth with law and justice ;’ and so, 
 without further replication or speech, we parted. 
 
 ‘"The same afternoon, (as 1 take it,) she asked me, ‘Whether I had 
 heard from sir Amias Paulet?’ 1 told her,‘No;’ but within an hour 
 after, going to London, 1 met with letters from him, in answer to those 
 that were written unto him, some days before, upon her command¬ 
 ment.” 
 
 This portion of the narrative would be incomplete without the inser¬ 
 tion of these memorable letters :— 
 
 Sir. Amias Paulet to Secretary Wai.singham. 
 
 “Sir,—Your letters of yesterday coming to my hands this present day, at five 
 post meridian, I would not fail, according to your direction, to return my answer, 
 with all possible speed, which I shall deliver to you with great grief and bitter¬ 
 ness of mind, in that I am so unhappy as living to see this unhappy day, in 
 which I am required, by direction from my most gracious sovereign, to do an 
 act which God and the law forbiddeth. 
 
 « My goods and my life are at her majesty’s disposition (disposal), and I am 
 ready to lose them the next morrow if it shall please her, acknowledging that 1 
 do hold them as of her mere and most gracious favour, and do not desire to 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 409 
 
 enjoy them, but with her highness’s good liking. But God forbid 1 should make 
 so foul a shipwreck of my conscience, or leave so great a blot to my poor pos¬ 
 terity, as to shed blood without law or warrant. 
 
 “Trusting that her majesty, of her accustomed clemency, and the rather by 
 your good mediation, will take this my answer in good part, as proceeding from 
 one who never will be inferior to any Christian subject living, in honour, love, 
 and obedience towards his sovereign, and thus I commit you to the mercy of the 
 Almighty. Your most assured poor friend, 
 
 “A. Powlet (Paulet.) 
 
 “From Fotheringaye, the 2d of February, 1086-7. 
 
 “ P. S.—Your letters coming in the plural number, seem to be meant to sir 
 Drue Drury as to myself, and yet because he is not named in them, neither the 
 letter directed unto him, he forbearetl; to make any particular answer, but sub¬ 
 scribed in. heart to my opinion. D. Djium.” 
 
 The next morning, Davison communicated these letters to his royal 
 mistress, which having read, “her majesty,” pursues Davison, “falling 
 into terms of offence, complaining of 4 the daintiness, and (as she called 
 t) perjury of him and others, who, contrary to their oath of associa¬ 
 tion, did cast the burden upon herself,’ she rose up, and, after a turn or 
 ,wo, went into the gallery, whither I followed her; and there renew- 
 ng her former speech, blaming 4 the niceness of those precise fellows, 
 as she termed them,) who, in words, would do great things for her 
 iurety, but, indeed, perform nothing,’ concluded by saying, 4 that she 
 :oulci have it well enough done without them.’ And here, entering into 
 mrlicularities , named unto me, as I remember, ‘one Wingfield, who,’ 
 he assured me, 4 would, with some others, undertake it,’ which gave me 
 >ccasion to show unto her majesty how dishonourable, in my poor opi- 
 lion, any such course would be, and how far she would be from shun- 
 ling the blame and stain thereof, she so much sought to avoid; and so 
 ailing into the particular case of sir Amias Paulet and sir Drue Drury, 
 iscoursed unto her the great extremity she would have exposed those 
 ■oor gentlemen to; for if, in a tender care of her surety, they should 
 ave done what she desired, she must either allow their act or disallow 
 ;. If she allowed it, she took the matter upon herself, with her infinite 
 eril and dishonour; if she disallowed it, she should not only overthrow 
 ae gentlemen themselves, who had always truly and faithfully served 
 nd honoured her, but also their estates and posterities; besides the dis- 
 onour and injustice of such a course, which I humbly besought her 
 mjesty 4 to consider of,’ and so, after some little digression and speech 
 bout Mr. Secretary and others, touching some things passed heretofore, 
 er majesty, calling to understand whether it were time to go to her 
 ,oset, brake off our discourse. 
 
 “At my next access to her majesty, which, I take, was Tuesday, the 
 ay before my coming from court, I having certain things to be signed, 
 ;r majesty entered of herself into some earnest discourse of the danger 
 le daily lived in, and how it was more than time this matter were des- 
 itched, swearing a great oath, 4 that it was a shame for them all that 
 was not done;’ and thereupon spake unto me, 4 to have a letter written 
 Mr. Paulet, for the despatch thereof, because the longer it was deferred, 
 e more her danger increased;’ whereunto, knowing what order had 
 
410 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 been taken by my lords in sending the commission to the earls, I an¬ 
 swered, ‘that I thought there was no necessity for such a letter, the. 
 warrant being so general and sufficient as it was.’ Her majesty replied 
 little else, ‘ but that she thought Mr. Paulet would look for it.’ ” 1 
 
 The entrance of one of her ladies, to hear her majesty’s pleasure about 
 dinner, broke off this conference, which took place on the very day ol 
 Mary’s execution at Fotheringaye. It is a remarkable fact, withal, in 
 the strangely linked history of these rival queens, that at the very time 
 Elizabeth thundered out her unfeminine execration against those whc 
 were (as she erroneously imagined) delaying the death of her hapless 
 kinswoman, Mary was meekly imploring her Heavenly Father “ to for¬ 
 give all those who thirsted for her bloodand lest this petition shoulc 
 be considered too general, she included the name of queen Elizabeth in 
 her dying prayer for her own son; not in the scornful spirit of the 
 pharisee, but according to the divine precept of Him who has said 
 “ Bless them that curse you, and pray for those that persecute you, anc : 
 despitefully use you.” What can be said, in illustration of the disposi¬ 
 tion of these two queens, more striking than the simple record of this 
 circumstance; which, remarkable as it is, appears to have escaped th( 
 attention of their biographers. 
 
 It may appear singular, that Davison did not endeavour to calm thi 
 ireful impatience of his sovereign, by apprising her that the deed wa 
 done; but Davison, being accustomed to her majesty’s stormy temper 
 and characteristic dissimulation, suspected that she was as perfectly 
 aware as himself of the bloody work that had been performed in th 
 hall of Fotheringaye castle that morning. He knew not how to believ 
 that the queen could be ignorant that the warrant had been sent dowi 
 for that purpose, “ considering,” as he says, “ who the counsellors wer 
 by whom it was despatched.” One circumstance affords presumptiv 
 evidence of Elizabeth’s unconsciousness of this fact, which is, that whe 
 the news of Mary’s execution was brought down to Greenwich early o 
 the morning of the 9th of February by Henry Talbot, not one of he 
 council would venture to declare it to her; and it was actually con 
 cealed from her the whole of that day, 2 which she passed as if nothin 
 remarkable had happened. 
 
 In the morning, she went out on horseback with her train, and afte 
 her return, she had a long interview with Don Antonio, the claimant o 
 the crown of Portugal, whose title she supported for the annoyance o 
 her great political foe, Philip II. of Spain. The whole day was, in fac 
 suffered to pass away without one syllable of this important event bein 
 communicated to her majesty by her ministers. “ In the evening,” say 
 Davison, “ she learned the news by other means.” This was the gener< 
 ringing of the bells, and the blaze of bonfires that were universally kit 
 died in London and its vicinity, as the tidings spread, and the majorit 
 of the people appeared intoxicated with joy at what had taken plac 
 Those who inwardly mourned were compelled, by a prudential regai 
 
 ’See Davison's Apology, addressed to Walsingham, in Sir Harris Nicolas' Li 
 of Davison, in which work the fullest particulars of that transaction are given 
 
 3 Davison's Report. See Appendix to Sir H. Nicolas' Life of Davison. 
 
ELIZABETH. 4U 
 
 ir their own safety, to illuminate their houses, and kindle bonfires like 
 ie rest. 
 
 The queen is said to have inquired the reason “ why the bells rang 
 it so merrily ?” and was answered, “ Because of the execution of the 
 pottish queen.” Elizabeth receded the news in silence. 1 “ Her ma- 
 ;sty would not, at the first, seem to take any notice of it,” says Davi- 
 >n, “ but in the morning, falling into some heat and passion, she sent 
 r Mr. Vice-chamberlain, (Hatton), to whom she disavowed the said 
 cecution, as a thing she never commanded nor intended, casting the 
 jrden generally on them all, but chiefly on my shoulders.” 
 
 Camden tells us, “ that as soon as the report of the death of the 
 teen of Scots was brought to queen Elizabeth, she heard it with great 
 dignation: her countenance altered; her speech faltered and failed 
 ;r; and, through excessive sorrow, she stood in a manner astonished, 
 somuch that she gave herself over to passionate grief, putting herself 
 to a mourning habit, and shedding abundance of tears. Her council 
 ie sharply rebuked, and commanded them out of her sight.” Histo- 
 ms have, generally speaking, attributed Elizabeth’s tears and lamenta- 
 )ns, and the reproaches with which she overwhelmed her ministers on 
 is occasion, to that profound hypocrisy which formed so prominent a 
 ature in her character; but they may, with more truth, perhaps be 
 tribuled to the agonies of awakened conscience: 
 
 “ The juggling fiend, who never spake before, 
 
 But cried, ‘ I warned thee!’ when the deed was o’er.” 
 
 No sooner, indeed, was she assured that the crime which she had so 
 ng premeditated was actually perpetrated, than the horror of the act 
 ipears to have become apparent to herself, and she shrank from the 
 ,ea of the personal odium she was likely to incur from the commission 
 ' so barbarous, so needless an outrage. If it had been a deed which 
 mid have been justified on the strong grounds of state necessity, 
 why,” as sir Harris Nicolas has well observed, “ should the queen 
 ive been so desirous of disavowing it ?” Her conduct on this occa- 
 on resembles the mental cowardice of a guilty child, who, self-con- 
 cted and terrified at the prospect of disgrace and punishment, strives 
 ' shift the burden of his own fault on all who have been privy to the 
 ischief, because they have not prevented him from the perpetration of 
 e sin ; yet Elizabeth’s angry reproaches to her ministers were not 
 ideserved on their parts, for deeply and subtilely had they played the 
 mpters with their royal mistress, with regard to the unfortunate heiress 
 ’ the crown. How systematically they alarmed her with the details 
 conspiracies against her life, and irritated her jealous temperament, 
 / the repetition of every bitter sarcasm which had been elicited from 
 ,3r ill-treated rival, has been fully shown. 
 
 Looking at the case in all its bearings, there is good reason to sup- 
 ase that the anger which Elizabeth manifested, not only against her 
 mtious dupe Davison, but Burleigh and his colleagues, was genuine, 
 'avison clearly shows that they agreed to act upon their own respon- 
 
 1 Bishop Goodman's Court of James I. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 412 
 
 sibilitv, in despatching the warrant for Mary’s execution, under th 
 plausible pretext, that they thought it would be most agreeable to thei 
 royal mistress for them to take that course; they were also actuated b 
 two very opposite fears—one was, that Elizabeth would disgrace bot 
 herself and them, by having Alary privily despatched in her prison ; oi 
 on the other hand, postpone the execution of the warrant from day t 
 day, and possibly die herself in the interim—a contingency above a! 
 others to be prevented. 
 
 Elizabeth, therefore, if really ignorant of the resolution they ha 
 taken, was of course infuriated at their presuming to exercise the powe 
 of the crown, independently of her commands. The act would be o 
 secondary importance in the eye of a sovereign of her jealous tempera 
 merit; but the principle they had established was alarming and offensiv 
 to the last degree. Ten men, calling themselves her servants, had con 
 stituted themselves a legislative body, imperio in imperio , to act b 
 mutual consent, in one instance, independently of the authority of th 
 sovereign ; and had taken upon themselves to cause the head of a 
 anointed queen to be stricken off by the common executioner. A dan 
 gerous precedent against royalty, which in process of time, encouragei 
 a more numerous band of confederates to take away the life of thei 
 own sovereign, Charles I., in a manner equally illegal, and opposed b ' 
 the spirit of the English constitution. 
 
 Personal hatred to Mary Stuart had not blinded Elizabeth to the pos 
 sibility of the same principle being exercised against herself, on som 
 future occasion; and, as far as she could, she testified her resentmen 
 against the whole junta, for the iese majestce of which they had beet 
 guilty, and, at the same time, endeavoured to escape the odium wind 
 the murder of her royal kinswoman was likely to bring on her, by fling 
 ing the whole burden of the crime on them. 
 
 Mr. Secretary Woolley writes the following brief particulars, to Lei 
 cester, of her majesty’s deportment to such of her ministers as veil 
 tured to meet the first explosion of her wrath : “ It pleased her majest; 
 yesterday to call the lords and others of her council before her, into he 
 withdrawing chamber, where she rebuked us all exceedingly, for ou 
 concealing from her our proceeding in the queen of Scots’ case; but he 
 indignation lighteth most on my lord-treasurer (Burleigh), and Air. Da 
 vison, who called us together, and delivered the commission. For shi 
 protesteth, ‘she gave express commandment to the contrary,’ and there 
 fore hath took order for the committing Mr. Secretary Davison to th 
 Tower, if she continue this morning, in the mind she was yesternight 
 albeit, we all kneeled upon our knees to pray to the contrary. I thinl 
 your lordship happy to be absent from these broils, and thought it m; 
 duty to let you understand them.” 1 
 
 Woolley’s letter is dated, “ this present Sunday,” by which we under 
 stand that the memorable interview between Elizabeth and her counci 
 did not lake place, as generally asserted, immediately after she learnet 
 the tidings of Alary’s execution on the Thursday evening, but on th' 
 
 ‘Wright's Elizabeth and her Times, vol. ii., p. 33'z. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 413 
 
 atnrday. Burleigh she forbade her presence with every demonstration 
 f serious displeasure. Walsingham came in for a share of her anger, 
 tj which he makes the following cynical comments to Leicester, which 
 Lord sufficient evidence of the irritation of both queen and cabinet at 
 lis crisis. xMy very good lord, these sharp humours continue still, 
 hich doth greatly disquiet her majesty, and her poor servants that 
 ( tend here. The lord-treasurer remaineth still in disgrace, and behind 
 y back, her majesty giveth out very hard speeches of myself, which 1 
 e easier credit, for that I find in dealing with her, 1 am nothing gra- 
 ous; and if her majesty could be otherwise served, I should not be 
 ;ed.” Walsingham goes on, after recounting matters of public busi¬ 
 es, to say, “ The present discord between her majesty and her council, 
 .ndereth the necessary consultation that were to be desired for the pre- 
 nting of the manifest perils that hang over this realm.” He proceeds 
 1 state the queen’s perversity in not allowing the necessary supplies for 
 le Low Countries, and says, “her majesty doth wholly bend herself to 
 ivise some further means to disgrace her poor council that subscribed, 
 :d in respect thereof she neglecteth all other causes.” 1 
 Elizabeth would probably have endeavoured to emancipate herself 
 bm Burleigh’s political thraldom, if she had not found it impossible to 
 gather out the storm that was gathering against her on the Spanish 
 cast, without him. The veteran statesman was, besides, too firmly 
 nted at the helm, to suffer himself to be driven from his office by a 
 Lrst of female temper. He, the Talleyrand of the 16th century, under- 
 sod the art of trimming his bark to suit the gales from all points of the 
 cnpass. While the tempest of Elizabeth’s anger lasted, he lowered 
 f sails, and affected the deepest penitence for having been so unfortu- 
 re as to displease her by his zeal for her service, and humiliated him- 
 Sjf by writing the most abject letters that could be devised, 2 and after a 
 tie succeeded in re-establishing his wonted ascendancy in the cabinet. 
 The luckless Davison was, meantime, selected as the scape-goat on 
 v om the whole blame of the death of the Scottish queen was to be laid. 
 El was stripped of his offices, sent to the Tower, and subjected to a 
 3r-Chamber process, for the double contempt of revealing the secret 
 cnmunications which had passed between her majesty and him, to 
 oers of her ministers; this was doubtless the head and front of his 
 o nding, and the real cause for which he was punished; the other 
 n demeanour was giving up to them the warrant which had been com- 
 n ted to his special trust. IJis principal defence consisted in repeated 
 ajeals to the conscience of the queen, “ with whom,” he said, “it did 
 u become him to contend.” 3 He was sentenced to pay a fine of ten 
 t! usand pounds,and to suffer imprisonment during her majesty’s pleasure. 
 
 Davison,” observes Bishop Goodman, “ was wont to say, that ‘ if 
 qten Elizabeth and himself were to stand together at a bar, as one day 
 thr must, he would make her ashamed of herself.’ ” 4 
 
 Vright’s Elizabeth. ’See his letters in Strype. 
 
 eo Sir Harris Nicolas’ Life of Davison; State Trials; Camden; Lingard ; 
 Rj in. 
 
 ' oodman's Life of James I., vol. i., p. 32. 
 
414 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Shakspeare evidently had the conduct of his own sovereign, quee 
 Elizabeth, towards Davison, in his mind when he put these sentimen 
 in the mouth of king John :— 
 
 “ It is the curse of kings to be attended 
 By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break into the bloody house of life; 
 
 And on the winking of authority, 
 
 To understand a law, to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty; when perchance it frowns 
 More upon humour than advised respect. 
 
 Hubert. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 
 King John. Oh, when the last account ’twixt heaven and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation. 
 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes deeds ill done! for hadst thou not been by, 
 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d, 
 
 Noted, and sign’d to do a deed of shame, 
 
 This murder had not come into my mind. 
 
 • • • • * 
 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin; 
 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 
 And consequently thy rude hand to act 
 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. 
 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more! 
 
 My nobles leave me, and my state is braved, 
 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers. 
 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 
 Hostility and civil tumult reign 
 
 Between my conscience and my cousin's death.” 
 
 A copy of Davison’s sentence was sent by Elizabeth to the king 
 Scotland, 1 to whom she had previously written the following deprecato 
 letter, which, with many sighs and tears, she consigned to her youi 
 kinsman, Robert Carey, one of lord Hunsdon’s sons, whom she ma< 
 her especial messenger to the Scottish court. So well did she act h 
 part, that Carey was persuaded of the reality of her sorrow, and, throug 
 out his life, never forgot the tears she shed, and the deep sighs si 
 heaved, on that occasion : 
 
 ’The following items in a book of warrants, in 1587, rescued by Frederi 
 Devon, Esq., keeper of the Chapter-house, Westminster, from the vault in whi 
 so many valuable documents were destroyed by damp, appears very mysterioi 
 in combination with these circumstances. “ There are payments to Davison, 
 5001.; and in the book of warrants (12 a), William Davison has 10001., in 0c 
 ber, 28 Eliz.: (so that it would appear he was not in very great disgrace for the pc 
 he took.) 500 1. is immediately after entered as being paid to the said Willis 
 Davison, one of the queen’s principal secretaries; also, immediately afterwari 
 is 10001.; and I know, having seen it regularly entered on the rolls, his pensi 
 was granted, of 1001. a-year.” — Evidence of Frederick Devon, Esq., in the 
 quiry before the House of Lords, on the sale of the exchequer records, May 10 
 1839. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 415 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Kino James VI. 
 
 “My dear Brother “February 14, 1586-7. 
 
 “I would you knew (though not felt) the extreme dolour that overwhelms 
 ny mind for that miserable accident,' which, far contrary to my meaning, ham 
 •jefallen. I have now sent this kinsman of mine, 5 whom, ere now, it hath 
 Meased you to favour, to instruct you truly of that, which is irksome for my pen 
 a tell you. 
 
 “I beseech you—that as God and many moe know how innocent I am in this 
 :ase—so you will believe me, that if I had bid aught, I would have abided by 
 t. I am not so base-minded, that the fear of any living creature, or prince 
 should make me afraid to do that were just, or, when done, to deny the same. 
 [ am not of so base a lineage, nor carry so vile a mind. But, as not to disguise 
 its not the mind of a king,’ so will I never dissemble my actions, but cause them 
 o show even as I meant them. Thus assuring yourself of me, that as I know 
 his was deserved, yet, if I had meant it, I would never lay it on others’ shoul- 
 lers; no more will I not* damnify myself, that thought it not. 
 
 “The circumstances 5 it may please you to have (learn) of this bearer (Robert 
 larey). And for your part, think not you have in the world a more loving kins- 
 voman, nor a more dear friend than myself, nor any that will watch more care- 
 itlly to preserve you and your state. And who shall otherwise persuade you, 
 udge them more partial to others than to you. And thus, in haste, I leave to 
 rouble you, beseeching God to send you a long reign. 
 
 “ Your most assured, loving sister and cousin, 
 
 “Elizabeth R.” 
 
 How far the sincerity of the professions of innocence of the murder 
 >f her unfortunate kinswoman, which are insisted upon by Elizabeth in 
 his letter, are to be credited, is not for us to decide. But whatever 
 night have been her share in the last act of this dark and mysterious 
 ragedv, it is evident that she deemed it an indefensible thing. She had 
 ot the hardihood to justify the crime, even under the plea of its poli- 
 ical expediency. She did not, like Napoleon, calmly discuss the cut- 
 ing off a royal victim, in violation to the laws of God and man, as a 
 necessary crime,” but speaks of it as a thing too monstrous to have 
 een perpetrated with her consent. 
 
 The news of the execution of their queen, was received in Scotland 
 vith a burst of national indignation, so uncontrollable, that Elizabeth’s 
 oung kinsman, Robert Carey, the bearer of her letter to the king, 
 vould have fallen a victim to popular fury, if James had not sent a 
 juard for his protection. 
 
 The secretary of the English embassy complained of the insulting 
 bels against queen Elizabeth, that were placarded on the walls of Edin- 
 urgh. It is also recorded by him, that a packet was addressed to Eliza- 
 eth, containing a halter, with four ribald lines, describing this present 
 > be “a Scottish chain, for the English Jezabel, as a reward for the 
 
 ’Cutting off the head of his mother—by accident! 
 
 ’ Sir Robert Carey, son of lord Hunsdon. 
 
 1 In this sentence, the use of the double negative, contrary to the rules of our 
 nguage, has caused Elizabeth to contradict her evident meaning: she intends 
 1 say, “that disguise fits not the mind of a king”—a precept certainly contrary 
 her own practice. 
 
 4 Again her double negative contradicts her own meaning. 
 
 ‘That is, how Davison despatched the warrant, and how it was executed, 
 ithou* Elizabeth’s knowledge. 
 
416 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 murder of their queen.” 1 When the sessions of the Scotch parliament 
 closed, the assembled members besought the king, on their knees, to 
 avenge his mother’s death. James manifested feelings of passionate 
 grief and anger at first, but though he used menacing language, and 
 commenced warlike preparations, the bribes and intrigues of his power¬ 
 ful neighbour, in his cabinet, soon had the effect of paralyzing his efforts 
 to assume a hostile attitude. 
 
 Elizabeth’s next attempt was to conciliate the court of France, toward; 
 which a decidedly hostile tone had been assumed by her and her minis¬ 
 ters, ever since Stafford had accused the resident ambassador, L’Aubes- 
 pine de Chasteauneuf of concocting a plot against her life. The port; 
 had been closed, and all the despatches addressed to L’Aubespine, fron 
 his own court, had been detained, opened, and read by Elizabeth’s coun 
 cil. A strict embargo had been laid on all the shipping, to prevent an) 
 person from leaving the kingdom. L’Aubespine applied daily, but ii 
 vain, for a passport for the messenger, whom he wished to send wit! 
 letters apprising his sovereign of the execution of his royal sister-in 
 law, but was told “ that the queen of England did not choose his ma 
 jesty to be informed of what had been done, by any one but the persoi 
 she would send to him.” 
 
 “ In fact,” writes L’Aubespine to Henry III., “ the ports have been s< ! 
 strictly guarded, for the last fortnight, that no One has left the kingdom 
 except a person, whom the queen has despatched to Mr. Stafford, t 
 inform your majesty of what has taken place.” On the day after Davi j 
 son had been committed to the Tower, the queen sent for Monsieu 
 Roger, a gentleman of the privy-chamber of the king of France, at 
 tached to the embassy, and told him “ that she was deeply afflicted fo 
 the death of the queen of Scotland; that it never was her intention t< 
 have put her to death, although she had refused the request of M. d 
 Bellievre.” She said “ that Davison had taken her by surprise, but h 
 ■was now in a place where he would have to answer for it, and chargei 
 monsieur Roger to tell his majesty of France so.” This she said witl 
 every demonstration of grief, and almost with tears in her eyes. 2 
 
 At no period of her life does Elizabeth appear in so undignified 
 light as at this period. On Saturday, the 6th of March, she sent fo 
 L’Aubespine, to dine with her at the palace of the archbishop of Can 
 terbury, at Croydon. She received him in the most courteous and win 
 ning manner, and offered the use of men, money, and ammunition t 
 his sovereign, if required by him, in his war against the League. Th 
 ambassador replied, “ that his master had no need of the forces of hi 
 neighbours to defend himself.” She then discoursed on the affairs o 
 France in general, and related to his excellency much news from Pari; 
 of which he had not heard a word. Then she complained of the de 
 tention of the English vessels, by the king of France, and the ambassa 
 dor replied, “ that it had been done in consequence of her ordering th 
 embargo to be laid on the French vessels in her ports.” She expresse 
 
 ’Ellis's Letters, 2d series, vol. iii. 
 
 “Despatches of LAubespine de Chasteauneuf. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 417 
 
 her desire u to render everything agreeable, and referred all matters of 
 complaint, in the commercial relations of the two countries, to four 
 commissioners of her cabinet, with whom she requested him to confer.” 
 
 All this time the ambassador was endeavouring to escape, without 
 entering into two subjects, on whicli he was reluctant to commit him¬ 
 self, by discoursing with so subtle a diplomatiste as Elizabeth ; one was 
 the death of the queen of Scots, the other the affair of the pretended 
 plot, in which not only the name of his secretary, Destrappes, but his 
 own had been involved. Elizabeth, however, was not to be circum¬ 
 vented. The more she found him bent on getting away, the more per¬ 
 tinacious was she in her purpose of detaining him, till she had com¬ 
 pelled him to speak on those delicate points. He essayed to take his 
 leave, but she prevented him by calling Walsingham, to conduct him to 
 the council-chamber. She then detained his excellency, playfully, by 
 the arm, and said, laughing, “ Here is the man who wanted to get me 
 murdered !” Seeing the ambassador smile, she added, u that she had 
 never believed he had any share in the plot, and all she complained of 
 was, that he had said, 1 he was not bound to reveal anything to her, 
 even though her life was in danger,’ in which, however,” she said, “ he 
 had only spoken as an ambassador, but she considered him to be a man 
 of honour, who loved her, and to whom she might have entrusted her 
 life.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth then acknowledged, “ that she was now aware that the plot 
 was only the trick of two knaves—one of whom, Mody, was wicked 
 enough to commit any bad action for money; the other, for the sake 
 of those to whom he belonged, she would not name,” (alluding to Staf¬ 
 ford, the person udio had denounced the plot.) She observed, at the 
 same time, “ that allowance ought to be made for the times, and the 
 irritation of sovereigns,” and assured L’Aubespine, “ that she now loved 
 and esteemed him more than ever, and as she had before written to his 
 sovereign against him, she would now write again a letter in his favour, 
 with an assurance that she was convinced that he was incapable of such 
 an act. After which amende , she trusted, the king would grant an 
 audience to her ambassador, and give orders for the release of the ves¬ 
 sels of her subjects.” 
 
 “ Madame,” replied L’Aubespine, “ I have come hither to treat of the 
 affairs of the king my master, and for no other purpose. I have never 
 considered that the duties of a man of honour differ from those of an 
 ambassador. I never said that I would not reveal any conspiracy against 
 your person, were 1 to see it in danger, but that an ambassador was not 
 impelled to reveal anything,unless he chose to do so; and neither for 
 hat nor any other thing could lie be amenable to the laws of the 
 :ountry. That you consider me innocent is a great satisfaction to me, 
 ind even that you are pleased to bear testimony, in my behalf, to my 
 ting. I entreat you, however, to allow me to send Destrappes to him, 
 hat the matter may be properly cleared up, for the satisfaction of his 
 najesty and my acquittal.” 2 As Elizabeth did not particularly relish 
 
 ' Private letter of L'Aubesoine de Chasteauneuf to Henry III. 3 Ibid. 
 
 2 B 
 
418 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ’lie idea of such an investigation, she adroitly turned it off, with an 
 assurance, * 4 that there was no need of further acquittal ; that she was 
 convinced of the wrong that had been done him, for which she was 
 much grieved,” dismissing the subject with the following compliment 
 to Destrappes’ professional abilities as an advocate: u Tell him 1 hope 
 never to have a cause to plead in Paris, where he might have an oppor¬ 
 tunity of revenging the offence 1 have given him.” 
 
 44 1 thought,” continues the ambassador, “ to have taken my leave of 
 the said lady without making any answer respecting Destrappes, or 
 entering into the subject of the queen of Scotland ; but she took my 
 hand, and led me into a corner of the apartment, and said, ‘ that since 
 she had seen me she had experienced one of the greatest misfortunes 
 and vexations that had ever befallen her, which was, the death of her 
 cousin-german;’ of which she vowed to God, with many oaths, 4 that 
 she was innocent; that she had indeed signed the warrant; but it was 
 only to satisfy her subjects, as she had never intended to put her to 
 death, except in case of a foreign invasion, or a formidable insurrection 
 of her own subjects. That the members of her council, four of whom 
 were in presence , had played her a trick which she could never forgive,’ 
 and she swore, by her Maker's name, 4 that, but for their long services, 
 and for the supposition that they had acted out of consideration for the 
 welfare and safety of her person and state, they should all have lost their 
 heads.’ ” 1 
 
 L’Aubespine does not specify the persons thus alluded to by Eliza¬ 
 beth, but three of them were undoubtedly Burleigh, Leicester, and 
 Walsingham; the other was either Hatton or the lord-admiral, both of 
 whom were, indeed, deeply implicated in the intrigues which led to the 
 execution of the unfortunate Mary. 44 The queen begged me,” pursues 
 L’Aubespine, 44 to believe that she would not be so wicked as to throw 
 the blame on an humble secretary, unless it were true.” She declares, 
 44 that this death will wring her heart as long as she lives, on many 
 accounts, but principally, sire, for the respect she has for the queen, 
 your mother, and monseigneur, your brother, whom she so dearlv 
 loved.” After this tender allusion to her late fascinating suitor, Alencon, 
 whose memory few historians have given the illustrious spinster credit 
 for cherishing with such constancy of regard, Elizabeth made many 
 professions of amity for Henry III. 4 * She protested,” says L’Aubespine, 
 44 that she would not meddle, in any way, with the affairs of your sub¬ 
 jects, but that then she should consider her own security; that the 
 Catholic king was daily making offers of peace and friendship, but she 
 would not listen to them, knowing his ambition ; on the contrary, she 
 had sent Drake to ravage his coasts, and was considering about sending 
 the earl of Leicester to Holland, to show that she was not afraid of 
 war; with so many other observations against those of the League, that 
 your majesty may easily conceive, from the length of this despatch, that 
 she had well prepared herself for this audience, in which she detained 
 me for three good hours, as I let her say all she pleased.” This was 
 
 1 Letter of LAubespine to Henry TIL 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 419 
 
 certainly very civil of his excellency, but he did not carry his politeness 
 so far as to leave her majesty’s sayings unanswered. “ I told her,” pur¬ 
 sues he, “that I was very glad that she desired the friendship of your 
 majesty, knowing how serviceable it had been to her formerly; that I 
 Delieved you entertained similar sentiments on your part; but it was 
 necessary that I should tell her frankly that, if she desired your friend¬ 
 ship, she must deserve it by deeds, and not by words, since to assist 
 with money and ammunition those who are in arms against you, to in¬ 
 stigate the German troops to enter France, to refuse to do justice to any 
 of your plundered subjects, to treat your ambassador as she had treated 
 me for the last four months, was not courting your friendship in the 
 way that it should be sought. Madame,” said I, “ there are three sove¬ 
 reigns in Christendom : the king, my master, the catholic king, and your 
 majesty; under these three, Christianity is divided. You cannot strive 
 against the other two without great evil to yourself; with one you are 
 at open war, and the other has great reason to believe, that the war 
 which distracts his kingdom is fomented by your means, and this opi¬ 
 nion can only be changed by deeds, not words.” 
 
 Elizabeth protested, “that she was not assisting the king of Navarre 
 against the king of France, but against the house of Guise, who were 
 his foes, and were leagued with the king of Spain and the prince of 
 Parma, who, after they had effected his ruin, meant to attack her; but 
 she would be ready to repel them, and would not relinquish her hold on 
 the Low Countries, swearing an oath,” continues the ambassador, “ that 
 she would not suffer either the king of Spain nor those of Guise to 
 mock the poor old woman, who, in her female form, carried the heart of 
 a man.” 
 
 Then she proposed that a council should be held for the adjustment 
 of religious differences, which she offered to attend in person. 
 
 “These differences,” she said, “ were not so great as were supposed, 
 and might be adjusted ; and that it was her opinion, that two Christian 
 sovereigns, acting in unison, might settle everything on a better prin¬ 
 ciple, without heeding either priests or ministers, insinuating that Henry 
 and herself might be considered as the heads of the two religions which 
 then divided Christendom.” 1 
 
 L’Aubespine again reproached her with her interference in the domes¬ 
 tic dissension in France, and after a few more amicable professions on 
 her part, the conference ended, little to the satisfaction of either party, 
 for the ambassador evidently considered it an insult to his understand¬ 
 ing, that she should expect him, even to pretend, to give her credit for 
 her good intentions, and she perceived not only that she had failed to 
 deceive him, but that he did not think it worth his while to dissemble 
 with her. 
 
 Elizabeth was too well aware of Henry Ill’s weakness, both as a 
 monarch and a man, to entertain the slightest uneasiness on the score 
 of his resentment. Her great and sole cause of apprehension was, lest 
 a coalition should be formed against her between Spain, Scotland, and 
 
 1 Despatches of L’Aubespine de Chasteauneuf. 
 
420 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 France for the invasion of England, under the pretext of avenging the 
 murder of the Scottish queen. From this danger, she extricated herself 
 with her usual diplomatic address, by amusing the court of Spain with 
 a deceptive treaty, in which she affected to be so well disposed to give 
 up her interest in the Netherlands, for the sake of establishing herself 
 on amicable terms with her royal brother-in-law, that her Dutch allies 
 began to suspect it was her intention to sacrifice them altogether. 
 
 The threatening demeanour of the king of Scotland she quelled, by 
 artfully bringing forward an embryo rival to his claims on the succession 
 of the English throne, in the person of his little cousin, lady Arabella 
 Stuart. This young lady, whom Elizabeth had scarcely ever seen, and 
 never, certainly, taken the slightest notice of before, she now sent for 
 to her court, and though she was scarcely twelve years of age, she made 
 her dine in public with her, and gave her precedence of all the countesses, 
 and every other lady present. This was no more than the place which 
 Arabella Stuart was, in right of her birth, entitled to claim in the Eng¬ 
 lish court, being the nearest in blood to the queen, of the elder female 
 line, from Henry VII., and next to the king of Scotland, in the regular 
 order of succession to the throne of England. 
 
 L’Aubespine, in his despatch of the 25th of August, 1587, relates the 
 manner in which queen Elizabeth called the attention of his lady (who 
 had dined with her majesty, on the preceding Monday, at the same 
 table) to her youthful relative. “After dinner, the queen being in a 
 lofty, grand hall with Madame L’Aubespine de Chasteauneuf, and all the 
 countesses and maids of honour near her, and surrounded by a crowd 
 of gentlemen, her majesty asked the ambassadress, ‘ if she had noticed a 
 little girl, her relation, who w r as there,’ and called the said Arabella to 
 her. Madame de Chasteauneuf said much in her commendation, and 
 remarked how well she spoke French, and that she ‘appeared very 
 sweet and gracious. ” 
 
 “ ‘ Regard her well,’ replied the queen, ‘ for she is not so simple as 
 you may think. One day, she will be even as I am, and will be lady- 
 mistress ; but I shall have been before her.’ ” 
 
 These observations were doubtless intended, as L’Aubespine shrewdly 
 remarks, to excite the apprehensions of the king of Scots, and to act as 
 a check upon him. 
 
 Some years later, the innocent puppet of whom Elizabeth had made 
 this artful use, became an object of jealous alarm to herself, and would, 
 probably, have shared the fate of all the other royal ladies who stood in 
 juxtaposition to the throne, if her own life had been prolonged a few 
 months. 
 
 This dark chapter of the annals of the maiden monarch closed with 
 the farce of her assuming the office of chief mourner, at the funeral of 
 her royal victim, when the mangled remains of Mary Stuart, after being 
 permitted to lie unburied and neglected for six months, were at last in¬ 
 terred, with regal pomp, in Peterborough Cathedral, attended by a train 
 of nobles, and ladies of the highest rank, in the English court. The 
 countess of Bedford acted as queen Elizabeth’s proxy on that occasion. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 421 
 
 tnd made the offering in her name. * 1 “ What a glorious princess!” ex¬ 
 claimed the sarcastic pontiff, Sixtus V., when the news reached the 
 Vatican,—■“ it is a pity,” he added, “ that Elizabeth and I cannot marry, 
 nir children would have mastered the whole wtjrltl.” 
 
 It is a curious coincidence, that the Turkish sultan, Amurath III., 
 vithout being in the slightest degree aware of this unpriestly, or, as 
 lurnet terms it, this profane jest on the part of Sixtus, was wont to say, 
 
 ■ that he had found out a means of reconciling the dissensions in the 
 Christian churches in Europe, which Was, that queen Elizabeth, who 
 vas an old maid, should marry the pope, who was an old bachelor.” 2 
 
 Sixtus entertained so high an opinion of Elizabeth’s regnal talents, that 
 ,e was accustomed to say, “ there were but three sovereigns in Europe 
 vho understood the art of governing—namely, himself, the king of Na- 
 arre, and the queen of England; of all the princes in Christendom, but 
 wo, Henry and Elizabeth, to whom he wished to communicate the 
 lighty things that were revolving in his soul, and as they were heretics, 
 e could not do it.” 3 He was even then preparing to reiterate the ana- 
 lemas of his predecessors, Pius V. and Gregory XIII., and to proclaim 
 general crusade against Elizabeth. 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 enewed influence of the earl of Leicester with Elizabeth — An impostor pre¬ 
 tends to be their son—Hostile proceedings of Spain—Philip II. sends an insult¬ 
 ing Latin tetrastic to Elizabeth — Her witty reply—The Armada — Female 
 knight made by queen Elizabeth—The queen's prayer—Her heroic deportment 
 —Leicester's letter to her—Her visit to the camp at Tilbury—Enthusiasm of 
 her subjects—Defeat and dispersion of the Spanish fleet—Medals struck on the 
 occasion—Death of Leicester — His legacy to the queen — She distrains his 
 goods—Elizabeth goes in state to St. Paul’s, to return thanks for the defeat of 
 the Armada-—Her popularity—Way of life—Her love of history—Character¬ 
 istic traits and anecdotes of Elizabeth—Margaret Lambrun’s attempt on her 
 life—Her magnanimity—Religious persecutions—Her imperious manner to 
 the House of Commons—Arbitrary treatment of the earl of Arundel—Her love 
 for Essex, and jealousy of lady Mary Howard—The escapade of Essex—Joins 
 the expedition to Lisbon-—His return—Increasing fondness of the queen—Her 
 
 1 Archteologia, vol. i., p. 355. See also, as more generally accessible, Letters 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, edited by Agnes Strickland, vol. ii., p. 323, second 
 ition. 
 
 ! Bishop Goodman's Court of King James, vol. i., p. 367. 
 
 1 Perefixe Hist.Henry le Grand. 
 
422 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 anger at his marriage—His temporary disgrace, and expedition to France— 
 Elizabeth's letter to Henry IV., describing Essex's character — Her politica 
 conduct with regard to France—Takes offence with Henry—Her fierce lette 
 to him—She favours the Cecil party—Sir Robert Cecil's flattery to the queen— 
 Her progress—SplendicPenter tain meat at Elvetham—Her unkind treatment 0 ] 
 Hatton—Endeavours to atone for it in his last illness—His death—Angry ex 
 pressions against Essex to the French ambassador—Recals him home—Hi 
 expostulation—She insists on his return—He sends Carey to her—Essex re 
 turns—Their reconciliation—Elizabeth visits Oxford and Ricote—Her friend 
 ship for lady Norris. 
 
 It is worthy of observation, that while Burleigh, Walsingham, Davi 
 son, and even Hatton, experienced the effects of the queen’s displeasure 
 which was long and obstinately manifested towards the members of he 
 cabinet, even to the interruption of public business, Leicester escaped al 
 blame, although as deeply implicated in the unauthorized despatch ol 
 the warrant, for the execution of the Scottish queen, as any of his col 
 leagues. It seemed as if he had regained all his former influence ove 
 the mind of his royal mistress since his return from the Netnerlands 
 yet he had evinced incapacity, disobedience, and even cowardice, durin] 
 the inauspicious period of his command there. English treasure am 
 English blood had been lavished in vain, the allies murmured, and th 
 high-spirited and chivalric portion of the gentlemen of England com 
 plained, that the honour of the country was compromised in the hand 
 of a man, who was unworthy of the high charge that had been confide 
 to his keeping. Instead of punishing him, his partial sovereign had be 
 stowed preferments and places of great emolument upon him. As if f 
 console him for the popular ill-will, she made him lord steward of he 
 household, and chief justice in eyre south of the Trent, and finally ser 
 him back with a reinforcement of 5000 men, and a large supply o 
 money. 1 
 
 Matters had gone from bad to worse in his absence, even to the de 
 sertion of a large body of English troops to the king of Spain. Leicestt 
 endeavoured to make up for his incapacity, both as a general and 
 governor, by ostentatious fasting, and daily attending sermons. Th 
 evil tenour of his life, from his youth upward, and his treacherous ur 
 derhand practices against those illustrious patriots, Barneveldt and Mat 
 rice, prince of Orange, rendered these exhibitions disgusting to persor 
 of integrity and true piety. He lost the confidence of all parties. On 
 disaster followed another, and the fall of Sluys completed the measui 
 of public indignation. Articles of impeachment were prepared again, 
 him at home, and the queen was compelled to recall him, that he migl 
 meet the inquiry. 
 
 That the royal lioness of Tudor was roused by the disgrace the inilitar 
 character of England had suffered under his auspices, to the utterance ( 
 some stern threats of punishment, may be easily surmised, for Leice 
 ter hastened to throw himself at her feet on his return, and, with tears 
 his eyes, passionately implored her “ not to bury him alive, whom si 
 had raised from the dust;” 2 with other expressions meet only to 1 
 
 Camden ; Lingard. 
 
 5 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 423 
 
 addressed by the most abject of slaves to an oriental despot. Elizabeth 
 was, however, so completely mollified by his humiliation, that she for¬ 
 gave and reassured him with promises of her powerful protection. The 
 next morning, when summoned to appear before the council to answer 
 the charges that were preferred against him, he appeared boldly, and 
 instead of kneeling at the foot of the table, took his usual seat at the 
 board; and when the secretary began to read the list of charges against 
 him, he rose and interrupted him, by inveighing against the perfidy of 
 his accusers; and, appealing to the queen, came off triumphantly.' Lord 
 Buckhurst, by whom his misconduct had been denounced, received a 
 severe reprimand, and was ordered to consider himself a prisoner in his 
 own house, during the royal pleasure. The haughty peer, though nearly 
 related to the queen, submitted to this arbitrary and unjust sentence with 
 the humility of a beaten hound ; and even debarred himself from the 
 solace of his wife and children’s company during the period of his dis¬ 
 grace, which lasted during the residue of Leicester’s life. 2 
 
 The many instances of partial favour manifested by the queen towards 
 Leicester, through good report and evil report, during a period of up¬ 
 wards of thirty years, gave colour to the invidious tales that were con¬ 
 stantly circulated in foreign courts, and occasionally in her own, of the 
 nature of the tie which was supposed to unite them. It has frequently 
 been asserted by the scandalous chroniclers of that day, and even insinu¬ 
 ated by the grave documentarian Camden, that Elizabeth had borne chil¬ 
 dren to the earl of Leicester; and the report of an English spy, at 
 Madrid, to lord Burleigh, certifies that, about this period, a young man, 
 calling himself Arthur Dudley, was then resident at the court of Spain, 
 who had given it out, “that he was the offspring of queen Elizabeth, by 
 the earl of Leicester; pretending that he was born at Hampton Court, 
 and was delivered by the elder Ashley into the hands of one Sotheron, 
 a servant of Elizabeth’s old governess, Mrs. Ashley, with charge to 
 Sotheron, that he should not reveal the matter upon pain of death, but 
 bring the babe up as his own, which he had done; but finally confided 
 the secret to the youth, who, in consequence, took upon himself the 
 character of her majesty’s son.” The writer of this letter notices, “ that 
 the youth,” as he calls him, “ is about seven-and-twenty years of age, 
 and is very solemnly warded and kept at the cost to the king of six 
 crowns a day;” adding, “ If 1 had mine alphabet,” meaning his cipher, 
 “I would say more touching his lewd speeches.” 3 
 
 Dr. Lingard has, with great care, gleaned a few more particnlars 
 touching this mysterious person, from the Spanish records of Simancas, 4 
 by which it appears that he had been, in the first instance, arrested as a 
 suspicious person at Pasage, by the Spanish authorities there, and being 
 sent as a prisoner to Madrid, he was required to give an account of him¬ 
 self in writing. This he did in English, and sir Francis Englefield trails- 
 lated his narrative into Spanish for the king. This document is dated 
 17th of June, lf>87, and proves that Burleigh’s spy had obtained very 
 
 'Camden; Sidney Papers. 2 Camden ; Sidney Papers ; Lingard. 
 
 ‘Ellis's Lotters, 2d series, vol. iii., p. 135, 13G. 
 
 4 Lingard's Hist, of England, vol. viii., 4th edition. Appendix, x., p. 458. 
 
424 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 accurate information as to the statement of the adventurer, which is, 
 “ that he, Robert Dudley, is the reputed son of Robert Sotheron, once 
 a servant of Mrs. Ashley, residing at Evesham, in Worcestershire. By 
 order of Mrs. Ashley, Sotheron went to Hampton Court, where he was 
 met by N. Harrington, and told by her, ‘ that a lady at court had been 
 delivered of a child ; that the queen was desirous to conceal her disho¬ 
 nour, and that Mrs. Ashley wished him to provide a nurse for it, and to 
 take it under his care.’ Being led into the gallery near the royal closet, 
 he received the infant from her, with directions to call it Arthur, and 
 intrusted it to the care of a miller’s wife, at Mousely, on the opposite 
 bank of the Thames, and afterwards conveyed it to his own house. 
 Some years later, Sotheron conducted the boy to a school in London: 
 whence he was sent to travel on the Continent; and, in 1583, he 
 returned to his reputed father at Evesham.” 
 
 He now concluded that there was some mystery respecting his birth, 
 from the different manner in which he and his supposed brothers and 
 sisters had been educated, but could not draw the secret from Sotheron 
 till a few days before the old man’s death, when he learned from him 
 that he was the son of queen Elizabeth and the earl of Leicester. He 
 then consulted sir John Ashley and sir Drue Drury, who advised him to 
 keep his secret, and return to the Continent. This he had done, yet not 
 before he had obtained an interview with Leicester; 1 but what passed 
 between them is not stated, nor indeed any particulars of what became 
 of this young man. Dr. Lingard observes, “ that Philip did not consider 
 him an impostor, appears from this,—that we find him, even as late as a 
 year after his apprehension, treated as a person of distinction, very 
 solemnly warded, and served with an expense to the king of six crowns 
 (almost two pounds) a day.” 
 
 If Philip really believed this person to be the illegitimate son of his 
 royal sister-in-law, he was certainly treating him with a greater degree 
 of civility than could reasonably have been expected of any nominal 
 uncle, under such circumstances. What, however, could be the motive 
 of the haughty Spanish monarch in thus countenancing the said Arthur 
 Dudley ? Was it his brotherly affection for Elizabeth, or a tender re¬ 
 spect for the memory of his deceased consort, Mary of England, that 
 induced Philip to lavish money and marks of distinction on so disrepu¬ 
 table a family connexion of the female Tudor sovereigns? The more 
 probable supposition is, that Philip availed himself of the cunningly- 
 devised tale of an audacious impostor, to injure the reputation of his 
 fair foe, by pretending to believe iiis statement, which seems, indeed, as 
 if contrived to give a colour to the horrible libels that were soon after 
 printed and circulated against queen Elizabeth, during the preparations 
 for the invasion of her realm by the Armada. Rapin, who wrote up¬ 
 wards of a century later, notices, w that it was pretended, that there were 
 then in England descendants from a daughter of queen Elizabeth by the 
 earl of Leicester,” but makes no allusion to a son. 
 
 ’Translated by Lingard from the Records of Simanja. See Hist. England hi 
 Elizabeth, vol. viii., p. 400. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 425 
 
 The breach between Philip and Elizabeth was every day becoming 
 wider, and, though they endeavoured to beguile each other with deceit¬ 
 ful negotiations for a peace, the Spaniard was daily increasing his naval 
 appointments for the mighty expedition, with which he fondly imagined 
 he should overwhelm his female antagonist; and Elizabeth, meantime, 
 was like an active chess-queen, checking his game, in every unguarded 
 point, by means of her adventurous maritime commanders, who, from 
 their bold and unexpected exploits, might be compared in their move¬ 
 ments to the knights in that game. Drake, at this threatening crisis, 
 sailed fearlessly into Cadiz harbour, and burned, sunk, or destroyed 
 upwards of eighty of Philip’s vessels, which he facetiously termed 
 “singing the don’s whiskers;” he then bore on triumphantly to the 
 coast of Portugal, and, in the mouth of the Tagus, defied the admiral 
 of Spain to come out with all his fleet, and do battle with him on the 
 sea; and, finally, returned home laden with the spoils of the St. Philip, 
 (the largest of all the Spanish treasure-ships,) returning with her pre¬ 
 cious lading from the New World. 
 
 Although Drake had been commissioned by the queen for these daring 
 enterprises, she would not openly avow it, because it was inconsistent 
 with the pacific treaty that was still in the course of negotiation between 
 her and Spain, but tacitly allowed the stigma of piracy to sully the 
 well-earned laurels of her brave seamen. 
 
 When Philip’s gigantic preparations were sufficiently advanced to inti¬ 
 midate, as he imagined, the most courageous female sovereign that ever 
 swayed a sceptre, he offered Elizabeth, by his ambassador, the following 
 insulting conditions of peace, in a Latin tetrastic, which was to be con¬ 
 sidered his ultimatum: 
 
 “Te veto ne pergas Bello defendere Belgas, 
 
 Quae Djaeus ereperit, nunc restituantur oportet: 
 
 Quas pater overtit, jubea te cendere cellas : 
 
 Religio papoe fac restituatur ad unquam.” 
 
 Which may be thus rendered in English :—• 
 
 “ Belgic rebels aid no more, 
 
 reasures seized by Drake restore; 
 
 And whate’er thy sire o'erthrew 
 In the papal church, renew.” 
 
 il Jld Grcpcasi bone rex fient mandata knlendas ,” was the contemptuous 
 rejoinder of Elizabeth, of which the popular version is as follows: 
 
 “Mighty king! lo, this thy will 
 At latter Lammas we ’ll fulfil.” 
 
 The literal sense is, “Your order, good king, shall be obeyed in the 
 jays when the Greeks reckoned by kalends,” meaning never; for ka¬ 
 lends were not known among the Greeks, and site shrewdly appoints a 
 ime past for the performance of that which is yet to be done. Horace 
 Walpole extols this classic jest, as one of the most brilliant of the 
 naiden monarch’s impromptu repartees; but it certainly requires a little 
 explanation, to render it intelligible to persons less accustomed to the 
 sharp encounter of keen wits than Philip of Spain and queen Elizabeth 
 
 An encounter of a sterner nature was now about to take place, be 
 
42G 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 tween the “ royal vestal throned by the West,” and the haughty suitor 
 whom she had thirty years before rejected as a consort. Though Philip 
 had wooed and wedded two younger and fairer princesses, since his 
 unsuccessful courtship of herself, Elizabeth never ceased to speak of 
 him as a disappointed lover of her own, and coquettishly attributed his 
 political hostility to no other cause. Jt was not, however, in the spirit 
 of Theseus, that the Spanish monarch prepared to do battle with the 
 royal amazon, but with the vengeful intention of stripping her of her 
 dominions, establishing himself on the throne of England, and sending 
 her, like another Zenobia, in chains to Rome, to grace a public triumph 
 there. Such was, at any rate, the report of one of Burleigh’s spies, who 
 states, that J. Dutche, formerly of the queen’s guard, but now mace- 
 bearer to cardinal Allen, told him, “ that he heard the cardinal say, that 
 the king of Spain gare great charge to duke Medina, and to all his cap¬ 
 tains, that they should in nowise harm the person of the queen; and 
 that the duke should, as speedily as he might, take order for the convey¬ 
 ance of her person to Rome, to the purpose that his holiness, the pope, 
 should dispose thereof in such sort as it should please him.” 1 
 
 This was, indeed, a premature arrangement on the part of the confe¬ 
 derate powers of Spain and Rome, a modern and practical illustration of 
 the fable of disposing of the bearskin before the bear was taken. Eliza¬ 
 beth met the threatening crisis, like a true daughter of the conquering 
 line of Plantagenet, and graced a triumph of her own, when those, who 
 had purposed her humiliation, were themselves scattered and abashed. 
 The events of this spirit-stirring epoch must, however, be briefly re¬ 
 counted. 
 
 In the hope of depriving Elizabeth of the services of at least a third 
 of her subjects, pope Sixtus V. had reiterated the anathema of his pre¬ 
 decessors, Pius and Gregory, and proclaimed withal, a crusade to Papal 
 Europe, against the heretical queen of England. Elizabeth was advised 
 to avert the possibility of a Catholic revolt, by a general massacre of the 
 leading men of that persuasion throughout her realm. She rejected the 
 iniquitous counsel with abhorrence, and proved her wisdom, even in a 
 political sense, by her decision, for the Catholic aristocracy and gentry 
 performed their duty, as loyal liegemen, on that occasion, and were libe¬ 
 ral in their voluntary contribution of men and money, for the defence of 
 queen and country, from a foreign invader. 2 
 
 Cardinal Allen, by birth an Englishman, gave general disgust to all 
 good men of his own faith, at this time, by the publication of a furious 
 libel against Elizabeth, couched in the coarsest language, reviling her by 
 the names of •' usurper, the firebrand of all mischief, the scourge of God, 
 and rebuke of woman-kind.” It was falsely reported, that Elizabeth 
 had sent a private agent to Rome, to negotiate the preliminaries of a re¬ 
 conciliation with the pontiff; but so far was the royal lioness of Tudor, 
 from stooping from the lofty attitude she had assumed, that she retorted 
 the papal excommunication, by causing the bishop of London, to ana¬ 
 thematize the pope in St. Paul’s cathedral. 
 
 1 Burleigh MS. in Strype. 
 
 Camden, 566 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 427 
 
 Philip II. now openly asserted his rival claim to the throne of Eng¬ 
 land, as the legitimate heir of the line of Lancaster, through his descent 
 from Philippa Plantagenet, queen of Portugal, and Catharine Plantagcnet, 
 queen of Castille, the daughters of John of Gaunt. This antiquated pre¬ 
 tension, however laughable it might have been under other circumstances, 
 was sufficient to create uneasiness in a reigning sovereign, who was 
 threatened with the descent of so formidable an invading force, from the 
 pretender. It proved, in the end, a favourable circumstance to Elizabeth, 
 as it not only deterred the king of Scots from allying himself with Philip, 
 but bound him to her cause by the strong ties of self-interest, as he was 
 the undoubted heir of the line, whence her title was derived. 
 
 While every day brought fresh rumours of the increase of the over¬ 
 whelming armament, with which the Spanish monarch fondly thought 
 to hurl the last of the Tudors from her seat of empire, and degrade 
 England into a province of Spain, Elizabeth rallied all the energies of 
 her fearless spirit, to maintain the unequal contest valiantly. The tone 
 of her mind at this period, was to be perceived, even from the following 
 trifling incident. Going one day to visit Burleigh, at his house in the 
 Strand, and being told he was confined to his bed with the gout, she 
 desired to be conducted to his apartment. When the tapestry was 
 raised, that covered the little door that led to his chamber, it was feared 
 that her majesty’s lofty head-tire would be disarranged in passing under, 
 and she was therefore humbly requested by Burleigh’s man to stoop. 
 
 “ For your master’s sake,” she replied, “ I will stoop, but not for the 
 king of Spain.” 
 
 The mightiest fleet that had ever swept the ocean, was at that time 
 preparing to sail from the coast of Spain, consisting of 130 men of war, 
 having on board 19,290 soldiers, 8350 mariners, 2080 galley-slaves, be¬ 
 sides a numerous company of priests to maintain discipline and stir up 
 religious fervour in the host. There was not a noble family in Spain 
 that did not send forth, in that expedition, son, brother, or nephew, as 
 a volunteer, in quest of fame and fortune. 1 A loftier spirit animated the 
 queen and people of the threatened land. All party feelings—all secta¬ 
 rian divisions and jealousies were laid aside, for every bosom appeared 
 overflowing with that generous and ennobling principle of exalted pa¬ 
 triotism which Burke has truly called “ the cheap defence of nations.” 
 
 The city of London, when required, by her majesty’s ministers, to 
 furnish a suitable contingent of ships and men to meet the exigence of 
 the times, demanded—“ How many ships and men they were expected 
 to provide ?” “Five thousand men and fifteen ships,” was the reply. 
 The lord-mayor requested two days for deliberation, and then, in the 
 name of his fellow-citizens, placed 10,000 men at arms, and thirty well- 
 appointed vessels, at the command of the sovereign : 2 conduct which 
 appears more deserving of the admiration of posterity than the proceed¬ 
 ings of the churlish patriots, who, half a century later, deluged three 
 realms in blood, by refusing to assist their needy sovereign to maintain 
 the honour of England, by contributing a comparatively trivial contin- 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 a Stowe’s Annals. 
 
428 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 gent, towards keeping up his navy, during a war, into wnich he had 
 been forced by a parliament that refused to grant the supplies for carry¬ 
 ing it on. 
 
 The illustrious lord-mayor and his brethren, thought not of saving 
 their purses, under the plea that the demand of the crown had not been 
 sanctioned by the vote of parliament; they gave like princes, and pre¬ 
 served their country from a foreign yoke. The example of the gene¬ 
 rous Londoners was followed by all the wealthy towns in England, and 
 private individuals also contributed to the utmost of their means. 
 
 Elizabeth took upon herself the command of her forces in person. 
 She was the nominal generalissimo of two armies. The first, com¬ 
 manded by the earl of Leicester, by the title of lieutenant-general, con¬ 
 sisting of 23,000 men, was stationed at Tilbury; the other, meant for 
 the defence of the metropolis, and termed the Army Royal, or Queen’s 
 Body Guard, was placed under lord Hunsdon. She chose, for her lord 
 high admiral, baron Effingham, whose father, lord William Howard, and 
 whose grandfather, Thomas duke of Norfolk, had filled the same station 
 with great distinction. Sir Francis Drake was her vice-admiral. 
 
 Stowe describes, in lively terms, the gallant bearing of the newly- 
 raised bands of militia, as they marched towards the rendezvous at Til¬ 
 bury. “At every rumour of the approach of the foe, and the prospect 
 of doing battle with them, they rejoiced,” he says, “like lusty giants 
 about to run a race.” Every one was in a state of warlike excitement, 
 and Elizabeth herself was transported, by the enthusiasm of the moment, 
 into the extraordinary act of bestowing the accolade of knighthood on 
 a lady, who had expressed herself in very valiant and loyal terms on the 
 occasion. This female knight was Mary, the wife of sir Hugh Chol- 
 mondeley, of Vale Royal, and was distinguished by the name of “ the 
 bold lady of Cheshire.” 1 
 
 While female hearts were thus kindling with a glow of patriotism, 
 which disposed the more energetic of the daughters of England to emu¬ 
 late the deeds of Joan of Arc, if the men had waxed faint in the cause 
 of their threatened country, the Spanish fleet sailed from the mouth of 
 the Tagus, in the full confidence of victory, having received from the 
 haughty monarch, who sent it forth for conquest, the name of the 
 Invincible Armada. 
 
 One battle on sea and one on land the Spaniards deemed they should 
 have to fight, and no more, to achieve the conquest of England. Little 
 did they know of the unconquerable spirit of the sovereign and people 
 of the land which they imagined was to be thus lightly won; and when 
 presumptuously relying on the fourfold superiority of their physical 
 force, they forgot that the battle is not always to the strong. The ele¬ 
 ments, from the first, fought against the Invincible Armada, and guarded 
 England. 
 
 The 29th of May, 1588, beheld the mighty array of tall vessels leave 
 the hay of Lisbon. Off Cape Finisterre, a storm, from the west, scat¬ 
 tered the fleet along the coast of Gallicia, and, after much damage had 
 
 ’See Nichols’ Progresses of James I., vol. iii., p. 406. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 429 
 
 been done, compelled the duke of Medina Sidonia, the inexperienced 
 grandee by whom this stupendous naval force was commanded, to run 
 into the harbour of Corunna for the repair of his shattered vessels. This 
 disaster was reported in England as the entire destruction of the Armada, 
 and Elizabeth, yielding to the natural parsimony of her disposition, sent 
 orders to her lord admiral, lord Howard of Effingham, to dismantle, im¬ 
 mediately, four of her largest vessels of war. That able and sagacious 
 naval chief promised to defray the expense out of his private fortune, 
 and detained the ships. 1 Ilis foresight, firmness, and generous patriotism 
 saved his country. On the 19th of July, after many days of anxious 
 watching, through fog, and adverse winds, Howard was informed by the 
 bold pirate, Fleming, that the Armada was hovering off the Lizard Point, 
 and lost no time in getting out of harbour into the main sea. “The 
 next day,” says Camden, “ the English descried the Spanish ships, with 
 lofty turrets, like castles, in front like a half-moon, the wings thereof 
 spreading out about the length of seven miles, sailing very slowly, 
 though with full sails, the winds being, as it were, tired with carrying 
 them, and the ocean groaning with the weight of them.” 
 
 On the 21st, the lord admiral of England, sending a pinnace before, 
 called the “ Defiance,” denounced war by discharging her ordnance; 
 and presently, his own ship, called the “Ark Royal,” thundered thick 
 and furiously upon the admiral (as he thought) of the Spaniards, but it 
 was Alphonso de Leva’s ship. Soon after, Drake, Hawkins, and Fro¬ 
 bisher played stoutly, with their ordnance, upon the hindmost squadron. 
 But while the first day’s battle of this fierce contest was thus gallantly 
 commenced, by England’s brave defenders, on the main, within sight of 
 the shore, England’s stout-hearted queen performed her part no less 
 courageously on land. The glorious achievements of the naval heroes 
 who for eighteen days grappled with the Invincible upon the waves, and 
 finally quelled the overweening pride of Spain, have been recorded by 
 Camden, and all the general historians of the age; the personal proceed¬ 
 ings of queen Elizabeth, at this time, must occupy the attention of her 
 biographer. 
 
 During the awful interval, the breathless pause of suspense which in¬ 
 tervened between the sailing of the Spanish fleet, after its first dispersion, 
 ind its appearance in the Channel, Elizabeth, who had evidently not 
 forgotten the pious example of her royal step-mother, queen Katharine 
 Parr, composed the following prayer for thp use of the threatened church 
 ind realm of England :— 
 
 “We do instantly beseech thee, of thy gracious goodness, to be merciful to the 
 Church militant here upon earth, and at this time compassed about with most 
 itrong and subtle adversaries. O let Thine enemies know that Thou hast received 
 3ngland, which they most of all for Thy gospel's sake do malign, into Thine 
 iwn protection. Set a wall about it, O Lord, and evermore mightily defend it. 
 -,et it be a comfort to the afflicted, a help to the oppressed, and a defence to Thy 
 fflurch and people, persecuted abroad. And forasmuch as this cause is new in 
 land, direct and go before our armies, both by sea and land. Bless them, and 
 irosper them ; and grant unto them Thy honourable success and victory. Thou 
 
 Lingard. 
 
430 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 art our help and shield : 0 give good and prosperous success to all those that 
 fight this battle against the enemies of Thy gospel.” 1 
 
 This prayer was read in all churches, on every Friday and Wednes¬ 
 day, for deliverance and good success. Fasting and alms-giving were 
 also recommended, by the royal command, from all the pulpits. 
 
 The following glorious national lyric, from the pen of an accomplished 
 literary statesman, conveys a masterly description of the tumultuous 
 ‘excitement which thrilled every pulse in England, at this epoch :— 
 
 THE SPANISH ARMADA. 
 
 BY THOMAS MACAULAY, ESQ.., M.P. 
 
 “ It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, 
 
 There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay, 
 
 Her crew had seen Castille's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, 
 
 At earlies' twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile. 
 
 At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace, 
 
 But the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. 
 
 Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; 
 
 The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe’s lofty hall; 
 
 Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, 
 
 And, with loose rein and bloody spur, rode inland many a post. 
 »***»• 
 
 With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes, 
 
 And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gayly dance the bells, 
 
 As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. 
 
 Look, how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, 
 
 And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down; 
 
 So stalk'd he when he turn’d to flight, on that famed Picard field, 
 
 Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa's bow, and Ctesar’s eagle shield 1 
 So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turn'd at bay, 
 
 And, crush’d and torn, beneath his paws the princely hunters lay. 
 
 ‘Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight!—ho! scatter flowers, fair maids! 
 Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute!—ho! gallants, draw your blades! 
 
 Thou sub, shine on her joyously !—ye breezes, waft her wide !— 
 
 Our glorious semper eadem —the banner of our pride !’ 
 
 The freshening breeze of eve unfurl'd that banner’s massy fold, 
 
 The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty scroll of gold; 
 
 Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea; 
 
 Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be; 
 
 From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lyme to Milford Bay, 
 
 That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; 
 
 For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread 
 High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone—it shone on Beachy Head ; 
 
 Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, 
 
 Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. 
 
 The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves. 
 
 The rugged miners pour'd to war from Mendip s sunless caves; 
 
 O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourn’s oaks, the fiery herald flew, 
 
 And roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu; 
 
 Right sharp and quick the bells, all night, rang out from Bristol town, 
 
 And, ere the day, three thousand horse had met on Clifton down. 
 
 The sentinel on Whitehall gate look'd forth into the night, 
 
 And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light; 
 
 1 Public form of prayer in Strype. 
 
ELIZA BETn. 
 
 431 
 
 The bugles note and cannons’ roar the deathlike silence broke, 
 
 And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke; 
 
 At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires— 
 
 At once the wild alarum clash'd from all her reeling spires: 
 
 From all the batteries of the Tower peal'd loud the voice of fear, 
 
 And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer; 
 
 And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, 
 
 And the broad stream of flags and pikes flash'd down each roaring street • 
 And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, 
 
 As fast, from every village round, the horse came spurring in 
 
 And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went, 
 
 And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. 
 
 Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright coursers forth, 
 
 High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the north ; 
 
 And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; 
 
 All night from tower to tower they sprang—they sprang from hill to hill. 
 
 Till the proud Peak unfurl'd the flag o'er Darwin’s rocky dales,— 
 
 Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales; 
 
 Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height; 
 
 Till stream'd in crimson on the wind the Wrekin s crest of light; 
 
 Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane, 
 
 And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain; 
 
 Till Belvoir’s lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, 
 
 And Lincoln sped the message on o’er the wide vale of Trent; 
 
 Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burn'd on Gaunt's embattled pile, 
 
 And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.” 
 
 The beacon telegraph here described, was not the only medium, 
 thereby the people of England received intelligence of the conflict in 
 he Channel. 
 
 One of the signs of the time of the Armada, was the publication of the 
 irst genuine newspaper,entitled, “The English Mercurie,” imprinted by 
 Christopher Barker, the queen’s printer, by authority, for the prevention 
 jf false reports: 1 it is dated July ‘23, 1588, from Whitehall. It con- 
 ained despatches from sir Francis Walsingham, stating, “that the Spa- 
 lish Armada was seen, on the 20th ult., in the chops of the Channel, 
 naking for its entrance, with a favourable gale; that the English fleet, 
 insisting of eighty sail, was divided into four squadrons, commanded 
 )y the high admiral Howard, in the 4 Ark Royal,’ and the other divisions 
 )y admirals sir Francis Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher. The Armada 
 '.mounted to at least 150 sail of tall ships, but so undaunted was the 
 .pirit of the English sailors, that when the numbers of the enemy were 
 lescried from the top-mast of the 4 Ark Royal,’ the crew shouted for 
 ;oy.” A narrative of the attack and defeat of the unwieldy Spanish 
 orce, July 2 1st, follows, and the official assurance is added, 44 that if 
 he Armada should rally again, and attempt a landing, such preparations 
 vere made, not only at Blackheath and Tilbury, but all along the Eng- 
 ish coast, that nothing was to be apprehended.” The whole is wound 
 ip with the detail of a loyal address presented to the queen, at Westmin- 
 ter, by the lord-mayor and corporation of the city of London—a com- 
 
 ‘Tliis celebrated Mercury, which—on what grounds I know not—has incurred 
 tie suspicion of being a forgery of modern times, is preserved in a collection in 
 ae British Museum. It is printed in Roman characters, not in the black letter. 
 

 4 *>9 ELIZABETH. 
 
 position worded in generalities so very successfully, that with the simple 
 variation of the word “ Spaniards,” it has served as a model for all such 
 addresses ever since. The queen’s answer is likewise couched in terms 
 that have, by imitation, become conventional, although, at the time 
 spoken, they were the original breathings of her own intrepid spirit. 
 “1 do not doubt,” she said to the citizens, M of your zealous endeavours 
 to serve your sovereign on the present very important occasion : for my 
 part, I trust to the goodness of my cause, and am resolved to run all 
 risks with my faithful friends.” A series of these official journals were 
 published while the Spanish fleet was in the Channel. These were, 
 however, only extraordinary gazettes, not regularly published, but they 
 were directed by the queen and Burleigh, with great policy—for instance, 
 a letter from Madrid is given, which speaks of putting Elizabeth to death, 
 and describes the instruments of torture on board the Spanish fleet. 
 Under the date of July 26,1588, there is this intelligence :—“ Yesterday, 
 the Scots’ ambassador being introduced to sir Francis Walsingham, had 
 a private audience of her majesty, to whom he delivered a letter from 
 the king, his master, containing the most cordial assurances of his reso¬ 
 lution to adhere to her majesty’s interests and those of the protestant 
 religion.” 
 
 Some allusion to a prior attempt, on the part of Elizabeth and her 
 ministers, to render the press an official oracle of the crown, by sending 
 forth printed circulars, announcing such occurrences as it might be 
 deemed expedient to make known to the great body of the people, is 
 contained in a letter from Cecil to Nicholas Whyte, dated Sept. 8, 1569, 
 in which the premier says— 
 
 “ I send you a printed letter of truth.” 1 This, as Mr. Wright, whose 
 acute observation first drew attention to the circumstance, observes, is 
 full twenty years before the publication of the “ Armada Mercury.” 
 
 Little did queen Elizabeth and Burleigh imagine, when they devised 
 and published the first crude attempt at a government newspaper, how 
 soon the agency of the periodical press would be employed in the cause 
 of civil and religious liberty, and rendered, through the medium of inde¬ 
 pendent journals, a more powerful instrument for checking the oppres¬ 
 sion of rulers, than the swords of an opposing army. 
 
 The ardent desire of the queen to proceed to the coast, for the pm 
 pose of being the foremost to repel the invaders, in the event of the 
 hosts of Spain effecting a landing, was, in the first instance, overruled 
 by her council, and she took up her abode at her palace of Havering 
 Bower, a central station between the van and rear of her army, and at a 
 convenient distance from the metropolis. The eligibility of this situa¬ 
 tion was pointed out to her, at this crisis, by her favourite, Leicester, in 
 an epistle, which unites, in a remarkable manner, the character of a love- 
 letter with a privy-council minute of instructions, and completely directs 
 the royal movements, under the veil of flattering anxiety for her safety. 
 There is, however, sound sense and graceful writing in this interesting 
 specimen of ministerial composition : 
 
 ’Wright's Queen Elizabeth and her Times. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 433 
 
 “ My most dear and gracious lady,' 
 
 “ It is most true, that these enemies that approach your kingdom and person 
 are your undeserved foes; and being so, hating you for a righteous cause, there 
 is the less fear to be had of their malice or their forces; for there is a most just 
 God, that beholdeth the innocency of your heart, and the cause you are assailed 
 for is His, and that of His church, and He never failed any that do faithfully put 
 their trust in His goodness. He hath, to comfort you withal, given you great 
 and mighty means to defend yourself, which means, I doubt not, your majesty 
 will timely and princely use them ; and your good God, which ruleth over all, 
 will assist you and bless you with victory. 
 
 “It doth much rejoice me to find by your letters your noble disposition, as 
 well in present gathering your forces as in employing your own person in this 
 dangerous action. And because it pleaseth your majesty to ask my advice touch¬ 
 ing your army, and to acquaint me with your secret determination touching your 
 person, I will plainly, and according to my poor knowledge, deliver my opinion 
 to you. For your army, it is more than time it were gathered about you, or so 
 near you, that you may have the use of it upon a few hours’ warniug; the rea¬ 
 son is, that your mighty enemies are at hand, and if God suffer them to pass by 
 your fleet, you are sure they will attempt their purpose in landing with all 
 expedition. And, albeit your navy be very strong, yet as we have always 
 heard the other is far greater, and their forces of men much beyond yours, else 
 it were in vain for them to bring only a navy provided to keep the sea, but 
 furnished so as they both keep the seas with strength sufficient, and to land such 
 a power as may give battle to any prince ; and no doubt if the prince of Parma 
 ■come forth, their forces by sea shall not only be greatly augmented, but his power 
 to land shall the easier take effect, wheresoever he will attempt; therefore, it is 
 most requisite for your majesty to be provided for all events with as great a force 
 as you can devise; for there is no dallying at such a time, nor with such an 
 enemy, since you shall hazard your own honour, beside your person and country, 
 and must offend your gracious God, that gave you these forces and power, an 
 you use them not when ye should. 
 
 “ Now, for the placing of yopr army, no doubt I think about London the meet- 
 DSt, for mine own part, and suppose others will be of the same mind ; and your 
 majesty do forthwith give the charge thereof to some special nobleman about 
 you, and likewise to place all your chief officers, that every man shall know 
 what he shall do, and gather as many good horses, 2 above all things, as you can, 
 hud the oldest, best, and readiest captains to lead, for therein will consist the 
 jreatest hope of success under God; and as soon as your army is assembled, 
 liat they be, by and by, exercised, every man to know his weapon.” 
 
 Let us here pause, to consider how multifarious were Elizabeth’s du- 
 ies at this crisis, and how heavy was her responsibility in the task of 
 officering this undisciplined landwelir , for militia they could scarcely be 
 ailed; and if the feudal system had not in some degree still prevailed, 
 low unmanageable would these untrained masses of men and horses 
 lave proved, which had to be got into efficient training after the dark 
 rescent of the Armada had been espied bearing down the Channel, with 
 favouring wind ! England was fortunately defended by a navy. 
 Leicester’s career in the Netherlands afforded an indifferent specimen 
 
 1 Hanlwicke State Papers, Miscellaneous, vol. i. p. 575. In the original ortho- 
 raphy, Leicester prefixes an h to some words commencing with a vowel, as hit 
 >r it: no doubt he pronounced them thus, according to the intonation of the mid- 
 Minties, from whence his fathers came. 
 
 5 The unorganized state of the English army, especially the cavalry, may be 
 tcertained from this curious passage. It was the queen's part to appoint the 
 licers as well as the generals 
 
 3 c 
 
434 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 of his military prowess; how the fortunes of England might have sped 
 under the auspices of such a chief, if the Spanish armament had ejected 
 a landing, it is difficult to say. As a leader of tournaments, reviews, and 
 martial pageants, he was certainly unrivalled, and the queen, at this cri¬ 
 sis, reposed unbounded confidence in him, and acted in perfect con¬ 
 formity to his advice, which was, as the event proved, most judicious: 
 
 “All tilings,” continues he, “ must be prepared for your army, as if they should 
 have to march upon a day's warning, specially carriages, and a commissary of 
 victuals, and your master of ordnance. Of these things, but for your majesty's 
 commandment, others can say more than I; and, partly, there is orders set down. 
 
 “ Now, for your person, being the most dainty and sacred thing we have in 
 this world to care for, much more for advice to be given in the direction of it, a 
 man must tremble when he thinks of it, specially, finding your majesty to have 
 that princely courage to transport yourself to your utmost confines of your realm 
 to meet your enemies, and to defend your subjects. I cannot, most dear queen, 
 consent to that, for upon your well doing consists all and some, for your whole 
 kingdom; and, therefore, preserve that above all. Yet will I not that (in some 
 sort) so princely and so rare a magnanimity should not appear to your people 
 and the world as it is. And thus lar; if it may please your majesty, you may 
 do: withdraw yourself to your house at Havering, and your army, being about 
 London, as at Stratford, East Ham, Hackney, and the villages thereabout, shall 
 be, not only a defence, but a ready supply to these counties, Essex and Kent, if 
 need be. In the meantime, your majesty, to comfort this army and people, of 
 both these counties, may, if it please you, spend two or three days, to see both 
 the camp and forts. It (Tilbury) is not above fourteen miles, at most, from 
 Havering Bower, and a very convenient place for your majesty to lie in by the 
 way, (between Tilbury and London.) To rest you at the camp, I trust you will 
 be pleased with your pore lieutenant's cabin; 1 and within a mile (of it) there is 
 a gentleman’s house, where your majesty also may lie. Thus shall you comfort, 
 not only these thousands, but many more that shall hear of it; and so far. but no 
 farther, can I consent to adventure your person. By the grace of God, there can 
 be no danger in this, though the enemy should pass by your fleet; and your 
 majesty may (in that case) without dishonour, return to your own forces, their 
 being at hand, and you may have two thousand horse well lodged at Romford, 
 and other villages near Havering Bower, while your foot men (infantry) may 
 lodge near London. 
 
 “Lastly, for myself, most gracious lady, you know what will most comfort a 
 faithful servant; for there is nothing in this world I take that joy in. that I do in 
 your good favour; and it is no small favour to send to your pore servant thus tc 
 visit him. I can yield no recompence, but the like sacrifice I owe to God. 
 which is. a thankful heart: and humbly, next my soul to Him, to offer body, life 
 and all. to do you acceptable service. And so will I pray to God, not only fot 
 present victory over all your enemies, but longest life, to see the end of all those 
 who wish you evil, and make me so happy as to do you some service. 
 
 “From Gravesend, ready to go to your pore, but most willing soldiers, this 
 Saturday, the 27th day of July. 
 
 “ Your majesty's most faithful and ever obedient servant, 
 
 “ R. Leicester. 
 
 “ P. S. I have taken the best order possible with the (sub) lieutenants of Ken 
 to be present at Dover themselves, and to keep there 3 or 4000 men to suppl) 
 my lord admiral, if he come thither, and with anything else that be needs, tha 
 is to be had. I wish there may be some quantity of powder, to lie in Dover fo 
 ail needs.” 
 
 1 Meaning himself, and his residence at Tilbury. He was lieutenant-genera 
 under the queen, who was generalissimo. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 435 
 
 Gravesend was then fortified, and a bridge of barges drawn across the 
 Thames, both to oppose the passage of the invading fleet, should any 
 portion of the expedition have succeeded in entering the Nore, and to 
 afford a means of communication for supplies of men and munition from 
 Kent and Essex. Everything wore a martial and inspiring aspect, and 
 all hearts were beating high with loyal and chivalric enthusiasm. 
 
 A picturesque description is given, by the contemporary poet, James 
 Aske, of the deportment of the noble young volunteers, who had betaken 
 themselves to the camp at Tilbury, in the earnest hope of performing 
 good and loyal service for their country and queen : 
 
 “ Now might you see the field, late pasture-green, 
 
 Wherein the beasts did take their food and rest, 
 
 Become a place for brave and worthy men; 
 
 Here noblemen, who stately houses have, 
 
 Do leave them void, to live within their tents; 
 
 Here worthy squires, who lay on beds of down, 
 
 Do cabin now upon a couch of straw ; 
 
 Instead of houses strong, with timber built, 
 
 They cabins make of poles, and thin green boughs; 
 
 And where, of late, their tables costly were. 
 
 They now do dine but on an earthie bank ; 
 
 Ne do they grieve at this, so hard a change, 
 
 But think themselves thereby thrice happy made.” 
 
 The day on which Elizabeth went, in royal and martial pomp, to visit 
 her loyal camp at Tilbury, has generally been considered the most in¬ 
 teresting of her whole life. Never, certainly, did she perform her part, 
 as the female leader of an heroic nation, with more imposing effect than 
 on that occasion. A few lines from the contemporary poem, “ Eliza- 
 betha Triumphans,” which affords a few additional particulars connected 
 with the royal heroine’s proceedings at that memorable epoch of her 
 life, may be acceptable to the admirers of that great sovereign: 
 
 “ On this same day—a fair and glorious day—• 
 
 Came this, our queen—a queen most like herself, 
 
 Unto her camp (now made a royal camp) 
 
 With all her troop, (her court-like, stately troop ;) 
 
 Not like to those who couch on stately down, 
 
 But like to Mars, the god of fearful war; 
 
 And, heaving oft to skies her warlike hands, 
 
 Did make herself, Bellona-like, renowned. 
 
 The lord-lieutenant notice had thereof. 
 
 Who did, forthwith, prepare to entertain 
 The sacred goddess of the English soil.” 
 
 From the same metrical chronicle we find, that Elizabeth and her 
 train came by water to Tilbury, and that Leicester with the other offi¬ 
 cers, whom she had appointed as the commanders of her forces, were 
 waiting to receive her when the royal barge neared the fort: 
 
 “ The earl of Leicester, with those officers 
 Which chosen were to govern in the field, 
 
 At water-side, within the Block House stay’d, 
 
 In readiness there to receive our queen, 
 
 Who, lanoed, now doth pass along her way; 
 
 1 “ Elizabetha Triumphans,” by James Aske. 
 
436 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 She thence some way, still marching kinglike on; 
 
 The cannons at the Block House were discharged; 
 
 The drums do sound, the fifes do yield their notes; 
 
 And ensigns are displayed throughout the camp. 
 
 Our peerless queen doth by her soldiers pass, 
 
 And shows herself unto her subjects there. 
 
 She thanks them oft for their (of duty) pains, 
 
 And they, again, on knees, do pray for her; 
 
 They couch their pikes, and bow their ensigns down, 
 
 When as their sacred royal queen passed by.” 
 
 Midway, between the fort and the camp, her majesty was met by sir 
 Roger Williams, the second in command, at the head of two thousand 
 horse, which he divided into two brigades, one to go before her, and the 
 other behind to guard her person, and, together with two thousand foot 
 soldiers, escorted her to master Rich’s house, about three miles from the 
 camp, where she was to sleep that night. Aske continues: 
 
 “The soldiers which placed were far off 
 From that same way through which she passed along, 
 
 Did hallo oft, ‘The Lord preserve our queen!’ 
 
 He happy was that could but see her coach, 
 
 The sides whereof, beset with emeralds 
 And diamonds, with sparkling rubies red, 
 
 In checkerwise, by strange invention, 
 
 With curious knots embroider'd with gold; 
 
 Thrice happy they who saw her stately self, 
 
 Who, Juno-like, drawne with her proudest birds, 
 
 Passed along through quarters of the camp.” 
 
 The grand display was reserved for the following morning, when the 
 female majesty of England came upon the ground, mounted on a stately 
 charger, with a marshal’s truncheon in her hand, and forbidding any of 
 her retinue to follow her, presented herself to her assembled troops, who 
 were drawn up to receive their stout-hearted liege lady on the hill, near 
 Tilbury church. She was attended only by the earl of Leicester, and 
 the earl of Ormond, who bore the sword of state before her, a page fol¬ 
 lowed, carrying her white plumed regal helmet. She wore a polished 
 steel corslet on her breast, and below this warlike boddice descended a 
 fardingale of such monstrous amplitude, that it is wonderful how her 
 mettled war-horse submitted to carry a lady encumbered with a gaber¬ 
 dine of so strange a fashion, 1 but in this veritable array the royal heroine 
 rode, bare-headed, between the lines, with a courageous but smiling 
 countenance; and when the thunders of applause, with which she was 
 greeted by her army, had a little subsided, she harangued them in the 
 following popular speech: 
 
 “ My loving people,—We have been persuaded by some that are care¬ 
 ful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed mul¬ 
 titudes for fear of treachery; but, 1 do assure you, I do not desire to 
 live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have 
 always so behaved myself, that under God I have placed my chiefest 
 strength, and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects; 
 
 1 It is thus Elizabeth appears in an engraving of the times, in the Grainger 
 portraits, only wearing her helmet. 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 437 
 
 and, therefore, I am come amongst you as you see at this time, not for 
 my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of 
 the battle, to live or die amongst you all—to lay down for my God, and 
 for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in 
 the dust. I know 1 have the body of a weak, feeble woman ; but I have 
 the heart and stomach of a king'—and of a king of England too, and 
 think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should 
 dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dis¬ 
 honour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms—I myself will 
 be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the 
 leld. I know already, for your forwardness, you have deserved re¬ 
 wards and crowns, and, we do assure you, on the word of a prince, 
 hey shall be duly paid you. For the meantime, my lieutenant-general 
 shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble 
 ir worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, 
 )y your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall 
 shortly have a famous victory over these enemies of my God, of my 
 kingdoms, and of my people.” 
 
 The soldiers, many of whom, be it remembered, were volunteers of 
 jentle blood and breeding, unanimously responded to this address, by 
 xclaiming, “ Is it possible that any Englishman can abandon such a 
 dorious cause, or refuse to lay down his life in defence of this heroic 
 irincess ?” 1 2 
 
 Elizabeth was then fifty-five years old—she had borne the sceptre 
 nd the sword of empire with glory for thirty years. Time, which had 
 aded her youthful charms, robbed the once plump cheek of its round- 
 jess, and elongated the oval contour of her face, had, nevertheless, 
 ndeared her to her people, by rendering her every day more perfect in 
 he queenly art of captivating their regard, by a gracious and popular 
 emeanour. She had a smile and a pleasant speech for every one who 
 pproached her with demonstrations of affection and respect. Her high 
 iale forehead was, indeed, furrowed with the lines of care, and her 
 ofly features sharpened, but her piercing eye retained its wonted fires, 
 nd her majestic form was unbent by the pressure of years. The pro 
 estants hailed her as a mother in Israel—another Deborah ; for the 
 and had had rest in her time. The persecuted catholics felt like patri- 
 >ts, and forgot their personal wrongs, when they saw her, like a true 
 aughter of the Plantagenets, vindicating the honour of England, undis- 
 layed by the stupendous armament that threatened her coast, and 
 nited with every class and denomination of her subjects in applauding 
 nd supporting her, in her dauntless determination. Perhaps there was 
 ot a single man among the multitudes, who that day beheld their 
 laiden monarch’s breast sheathed in the warrior’s iron panoply, and 
 eard her declaration, “ that she would be herself their general,” that 
 id not feel disposed to exclaim— 
 
 “Where's the coward that would not dare 
 To fight for such a queen V’ 
 
 1 Meaning the pride and courage of a king. 
 
 ’ Madame Keralio s Life of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
43S 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The wisdom and magnanimity of the union of rival creeds and ad¬ 
 verse parties in one national bond of association, for the defence of thei: 
 threatened land, doubtless inspired the immortal lines with whicl 
 Shakspeare concluded his historical play of King John, which, fron 
 the many allusions it contains to the state of the times, was evidently 
 written at the epoch of the Armada: 
 
 This England never did nor never shall 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 
 Now those her princes are come home again— 
 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
 
 And we shall shock them ! nought shall make us rue, 
 If England to herself do rest but true.” 
 
 Although the news from her majesty’s fleet was of the most cheent^ 
 nature, the Armada was still formidable in numbers and strength, ani 
 serious apprehensions were entertained of the landing of the prince o 
 Parma, with the Flemish armament and flotilla, while the English nav’ 
 was engaged in battling with Medina Sidonia in the Channel. We fin< 
 from a paragraph, in a letter from sir Edward Ratclifle, that while th 
 queen was dining with Leicester in his tent, a post entered with th 
 report, that the duke was embarked for England with all his forces, am 
 would be there with all speed. This news was presently publishei 
 through the camp. 1 
 
 “Her majesty,” says Ratclifle, 2 in another part of his letter, “hat! 
 honoured our camp with her presence, and comforted many of us witi 
 her gracious usage. It pleased her to send for me to my lord general’: 
 tent, and to make me kiss her hand, giving me many thanks for my for 
 wardness in this service, telling me, ‘ 1 showed from what house I wa 
 descended,’ and assuring me, ‘ that before it was long, she would mak' 
 me better able to serve her;’ which speech being spoken before manj 
 did well please me, however the performance may be.” 3 
 
 While Elizabeth was at Tilbury, Don Pedro Valdez, the second 
 command in the Spanish fleet, whose ship was taken by sir Franci 
 Drake, in the action of July 22d, was by his bold captor sent to si 
 Francis Walsingham, to be presented to her majesty, as the first pledg 
 of victory. Whether Drake’s earnestly expressed desire was complie 
 with to the letter is doubtful; 4 but, it is certain, that the unluck 
 Spaniard’s name was very freely used by Elizabeth’s ministers, for th 
 delusion of the credulous souls who had been persuaded, that the sol 
 
 i, 
 
 1 Cabala, 3d ed. p v 
 
 8 Letter of Sir E. Ratclifle to the earl of Sussex, in Essex. 
 
 8 Sir Edward Ratclifle was probably the gentleman of whom lord Bacon relatt 
 the following incident:—‘‘Queen Elizabeth, seeing one of her courtiers (whoi 
 Bacon calls ‘Sir Edward') in her garden, put her head out of her window, an 
 asked him, in Italian, ‘What does a man think of when he thinks of nothing? 
 
 “Sir Edward, who was a suitor for some grants which had been promisee 
 but delayed, paused a little, as if to consider, and then answered. ‘ Madame, h v 1 
 thinks of a woman’s promises.’ 
 
 “ The queen drew in her head, saying, ‘‘Well, Sir Edward, I must not confut 
 you.' He never obtained the preferment he sued for.” 
 
 4 See Drake's despatch, in Wright, vol. ii., p. 3S2. 
 
ELIZABETH. 439 
 
 object of the Spanish invasion was the pleasure of inflicting tortures and 
 death upon the whole population of England. 
 
 “ The queen lying in the camp one night, guarded by her army,” 
 writes Dr. Lionel Sharp, one of the military chaplains, “ the old trea¬ 
 surer (Burleigh) came thither, and delivered to the earl (Leicester) the 
 examination of Don Pedro, which examination, the earl of Leicester 
 delivered to me, to publish to the army in my next sermon.” 1 A piece 
 of divinity, which doubtless would have been well worth the hearing. 
 The paragraph, concocted by Burleigh for this popular use, purported 
 to be the ferocious replies of Don Pedro, in his examination before the 
 privy-council. Being asked what was their intent in coming out, he 
 stoutly answered, “ What but to subdue your nation, and root you all 
 out!” “ Good,” said the lords,“ and what meant you to do with the 
 catholics?” “We meant,” he replied, “to send them, good men, 
 directly to heaven, as all you that are heretics to hell,” &.c. The news 
 of the final defeat and dispersion of the Armada, was brought to her 
 majesty while she was yet at Tilbury, on the 8th of August, by those 
 gallant volunteers, the young earl of Cumberland, and her maternal 
 kinsman, Robert Carey, who had joined the fleet as volunteers at Ply¬ 
 mouth, and distinguished themselves in the repeated fierce engagements 
 in the Channel, between the ships of England and Spain. 2 
 
 A mighty storm—a storm, which, to use the emphatic expression of 
 Strada, “shook heaven and earth”—finally decided the contest, and 
 delivered England from the slightest apprehension of a rally, and fresh 
 ittack, from the scattered ships of the Armada. The gallant Howard 
 chased them northward as long as he could, consistently with the safety 
 of his own vessels and the want of ammunition, of which the parsi¬ 
 monious interference of the queen, in matters really out of a woman’s 
 ■province, had caused an insufficient supply to be doled out to her brave 
 seamen. But winds and waves fought mightily for England, and while 
 not so much as a single boat of ours was lost, many of the stateliest 
 ships of Spain were dashed upon the shores of Ireland and Scotland, 
 where their crews perished miserably. 3 
 
 But to return to Elizabeth’s visit to Tilbury: “Our royal mistress 
 nath been here with me,” writes Leicester to the earl of Shrewsbury, 
 
 1 Cabala. 
 
 5 A brief, but very spirited narrative of these successive naval triumphs of 
 Snglish valour and nautical skill over the superior force of Spain, is given by 
 Robert Carey, in his autobiography, which fills up one or two omissions in Cam- 
 len's eloquent account of the operations of the rival fleets. 
 
 ’One of the Armada ships, called the “Florida,” was wrecked on the coast of 
 Morven, in that memorable storm on the 7th of August, 1588, and her shattered 
 lulk has lain there ever since. During my late visit to Scotland, a very amiable 
 ady, Miss Morris, whose family reside on the spot, presented me with a pretty 
 ittle broach, in the form of a cross, made of a fragment of the timber of tha; 
 /essel, Spanish oak, black and polished as ebony, and set in gold, which wil 
 ■ver be worn by me as a memorial, not only of the signal deliverance of Eng- 
 and and her Elizabeth, but of the gratifying manner in which I was welcomed 
 m this, my first historical pilgrimage to the hospitable land of the mountain and 
 he stream. 
 
440 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “ to sec her camp and people, which so inflamed the hearts of her good 
 subjects, as I think the weakest person among them is able to match the 
 proudest Spaniard that dares land in England. But God hath also fought 
 mightily for her majesty, and I trust they be too much daunted to fol¬ 
 low their pretended enterprise.” 1 
 
 The queen had given the post of captain-general of the cavalry to 
 Essex, an inexperienced youth, not yet two-and-twenty, and, on the 
 day of her visit to the camp, treated him with peculiar marks of her 
 regard. Elizabeth’s farewell to her army is thus gracefully described by 
 Aske:— 
 
 “ When Phoebus’ lights were in the middle part 
 ’Twixt east and west, fast hasting to his home, 
 
 Our soveraigne, her sacred, blissful queen, 
 
 Was ready to depart from out her camp; 
 
 Against whose coming every captain was 
 There prest to show themselves in readiness 
 To do the will of their high general. 
 
 There might you see most brave and gallant men, 
 
 W'lio lately were beclad in Mars his clothes, 
 
 In ranked then in courtlike, costly suits, 
 
 Through whom did pass our queen, most Dido-like, 
 
 (Whose stately heart doth so abound in love, 
 
 A thousand thanks it yields unto them all,) 
 
 To waterside to take her royal barge. 
 
 Amidst the way, which was the outward ward 
 Of that, her camp, her sergeant-major stood, 
 
 Among those squadrons which there then did ward. 
 
 Her eyes were set so earnestly to view, 
 
 As him unseen she would not pass along; 
 
 But calls him to her rich-built coach’s side, 
 
 And, thanking him, as oft before she had, 
 
 Did will him do this message from her mouth.” 
 
 The message is merely a brief repetition of her former address to the 
 troops. 
 
 The long continuance of dry weather, which had rendered the en¬ 
 campment of the army on the banks of the Thames so agreeable to the 
 gallant recruits and volunteers who were there assembled, is noticed in 
 the “ Elizabetha Triumphans,” and also the storm of thunder and light¬ 
 ning, accompanied with heavy rain, which befell the same evening the 
 queen departed from Tilbury. This was, doubtless, the skirts of one 
 of the tempests which proved so fatal to the scattered ships of the Ar¬ 
 mada. James Aske, after recording the embarkation of the queen on the 
 Thames, thus quaintly describes the thunder following the royal salute 
 at her departure :— 
 
 “ Where, once im-barged, the roaring cannons were 
 Discharged, both those which were on Tilbury Hill, 
 
 And also those which at the Block House were, 
 
 And there, even then, the fore white mantled air, 
 
 From whence the sun shed forth his brightest beams, 
 
 Did clothe itself with dark and dusky hue, 
 
 And with thick clouds barr'd Phoebus’ gladsome streams 
 From lightning, then, the earth with glorious show, 
 
 1 Wright. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 441 
 
 It pours forth showers in great and often drops. 
 
 Signs of the grief for her (departure thence; 
 
 And Terra now, her highness’ footstool late, 
 
 Refuseth quite those drops desired before, 
 
 To moisten her dried up and parched parts, 
 
 And of herself, e’en then, she yielded forth 
 Great store of waters from her late dried heart, 
 
 Now deeply drown'd for this the parted loss 
 Of this her sacred and renowned queen.” 1 
 
 Great crowds of noblemen and gentlemen met, and welcomed tbe 
 queen, at her landing, at Westminster, and attended her to St. James’s 
 Palace, and, day after day, entertained her with warlike exercises, tilts, 
 and tourneys. Everything then assumed a martial character. 
 
 Appropriate medals were struck in commemoration of the victory, 
 with the device of a fleet flying under full sail, with this inscription, 
 •* Venil , vidit, fiigit ”—“ It came, it saw, and fled.” Others, in compli¬ 
 ment to the female sovereign, bore the device of the fire-ships, scattering 
 the Spanish fleet, with this legend, “Dux fcetnina facti ”—“ It was done 
 Dy a woman.” 
 
 This was an allusion to the generally-asserted fact, that the idea of 
 tending the fire-ships into the Spanish fleet originated with queen Eliza- 
 >eth herself. 
 
 It has been finely observed, by mademoiselle Keralio, in reply to the 
 letracting spirit in which the Baron de Sainte-Croix speaks of Eliza- 
 leth’s exultation in the victory, as not owing to her, but the elements: 
 ■ It was not to the elements, but to her that the victory was due. Her 
 ntrepidity of demeanour, the confidence she showed in the love of her 
 ubjects, her activity, her foresight, inspired the whole nation with an 
 rdour which triumphed over all obstacles. She inflamed their imagina- 
 ions, by representing objects according to their wishes. The generosity 
 ■f the English nation contributed its part to the success. Effingham 
 ■rofited by the faults of Medina, and the apathy of Parma, and the diffi- 
 ulty experienced by the Spanish seamen, in manoeuvring their floating 
 asties. 
 
 “The experiment he employed produced an effect he had scarcely 
 ared to promise himself. He pursued the remaining Spanish ships, 
 /hich his valour had scattered in disorder. The elements did the rest, 
 
 is true, but then the fleet of Medina was already vanquished, and flying 
 efore that of Howard.” 
 
 Very fully did the people of England appreciate the merits of their 
 
 ‘In culling these extracts from the poem which celebrates the glories of Eng- 
 nd’s Elizabeth, twelve hundred lines of bathos have been wadea through, for 
 e sake of adding the interesting little facts that are there chronicled, aided by 
 e letters of Leicester and Ratcliffe, to the brief narrative general history has 
 ven of Elizabeth's visit to her camp. As a contemporary document, the “ Eli- 
 tbctha Triumphans” is valuable for costume and minor incidents; but its staple 
 immodity consists in vituperation against the popes by whom Elizabeth had 
 ten anathematized; and he fairly out-curses them all, besides transforming 
 eir bulls into horned beasts. It affords, however, a sample of the popular 
 yle of poetry ol that epoch. 
 
442 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sovereign on this occasion, and by them she was all but deified in the 
 delirium of their national pride and loyalty. 
 
 Mention is made by Stowe, of a foolish little tailor of the city of Lon¬ 
 don, who, about that time, suffered his imagination to be so much in¬ 
 flamed, by dwelling on the perfections of his liege lady, “ that he whined 
 himself to death for love of her.” Lord Charles Cavendish, one of the 
 wits of the court, alluded to this ridiculous circumstance, in the follow¬ 
 ing impromptu, which is merely quoted as a confirmation of the tale: 
 
 “I would not, willingly, 
 
 Be pointed at in every company, 
 
 As was the little tailor that to death 
 Was hot in love with Queen Elizabeth.” 
 
 The king of Scotland not only remained true to the interests of his 
 future realm at the time of the threatened Spanish invasion, but he cele¬ 
 brated the defeat of the Armada in a sonnet, which possesses some 
 poetic merit, and as the production of a royal muse is highly curious; 
 but he carefully abstains from complimenting queen Elizabeth : 
 
 “ The nations banded 'gainst the Lord of Might, 
 
 Prepared a force and set them in the way; 
 
 Mars dressed himself in such an awful plight, 
 
 The like thereof was never seen, they say: 
 
 They forward came in such a strange array— 
 
 Both sea and land beset us everywhere, 
 
 Their brags did threat our ruin and decay; 
 
 What came thereof, the issue did declare: 
 
 The winds began to toss them here and there; 
 
 The seas began in foaming waves to swell; 
 
 The number that escaped, it fell them fair; 
 
 The rest were swallow'd up in gulph of Hell. 
 
 But how were all these things so strangely done? 
 
 God looked at them from out his heavenly throne.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth bestowed a pension on her brave kinsman, the lord-admiral 
 Howard, and provided for all the wounded seamen. She told Howard 
 “ that site considered him and his officers as persons born for the pre¬ 
 servation of their country.” The other commanders and captains she 
 always recognised whenever she saw them, graciously saluting them by 
 their names. Her young kinsman, Essex, site made knight of the gar¬ 
 ter. Her great reward was, however, reserved for Leicester, and for 
 him she created the office of lord-lieutenant of England and Ireland— 
 an office that would have invested him with greater power than any 
 sovereign of this country had ever ventured to bestow on a subject—so 
 strangely had he regained his influence over her mind since his return 
 from the Netherlands. The patent for this unprecedented dignity was 
 made out, and only awaited the royal signature, when the earnest 
 remonstrances of Burleigh and Hatton deterred her majesty from com¬ 
 mitting so great an error. Leicester was bitterly disappointed, and pro¬ 
 bably did not forego the promised preferment without an angry alterca¬ 
 tion with his sovereign; for it is stated that she became so incensed 
 with him that she declined all reconciliation, and brought him into a 
 
 1 Mules' Catalogue of Honour, 239. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 443 
 
 despondency which ended in his death . 1 He quitted the court in dis¬ 
 gust, and being seized with a burning fever, probably one of the au¬ 
 tumnal endemics, caught in the Essex salt-marshes, while disbanding 
 the army at Tilbury, he died on the fourth of September, at Cornbury 
 park, in Oxfordshire, on his way to Kenilworth . 2 
 
 Others have asserted that his death was caused by a cup of poison 
 which he had prepared for his countess, of whom he had become fran- 
 fricly jealous; but my lady Lettice, having by some means acquainted 
 herself with his intention, took the opportunity of exchanging his me¬ 
 dicine, during a violent fit of indigestion, for the deadly draught he had 
 drugged for her. She next married his equerry, sir Christopher Blount, 
 the object of his jealousy . 3 
 
 Leicester had been remarkable for his fine person, but he had grown 
 corpulent and red-faced during the latter years of his life. He was 
 fifty-five years of age at the time of his death. His will is a very curi¬ 
 ous document, especially that portion of it which regards queen Eliza¬ 
 beth : 
 
 “ And first of all, before and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my 
 most dear and most gracious sovereign, whose creature, under God, I have been, 
 and who hath been a most bountiful and princely mistress unto me, as well as 
 advancing me to many honours, as in maintaining me many ways, by her good¬ 
 ness and liberality; and as my best recompence to her most excellent majesty 
 can be, from so mean a man, chiefly in prayer to God, so, whilst there was any 
 breath in my body, I never failed it, even as for mine own soul. And as it was 
 my greatest joy in my lifetime to serve her to her contentation, so it is not unwel¬ 
 come to me, being the will of God, to die, and end this life in her service. And 
 yet, albeit I am not able to make any piece of recompence for her great good¬ 
 ness, yet will I presume to present unto her a token of an humble and faithful 
 heart, as the least that ever I can send her, and with this prayer withal, that it 
 may please the Almighty God, not only to make her the oldest prince that ever 
 reigned over England, but to make her the godliest, the virtouest, and the worthiest 
 in his sight, that he ever gave over any nation, that she may indeed be a blessed 
 mother and nurse to this people and church of England, which the Almighty 
 God grant, for Christ’s sake. The token I do bequeath unto her majesty, is the 
 jewel with three fair emeralds, with a fair large table diamond in the midst, 
 without a foil, and set about with many diamonds, without foil, and a rope of 
 fair, white pearl, to the number of six hundred, to hang the said jewel at, which 
 pearl and jewel was once purposed for her majesty, against her coming to Wan- 
 sted, but it must now thus be disposed, which I do pray you, my dear wife, to 
 see performed and delivered to some of those whom I shall hereafter nominate 
 and appoint to be my overseers for her majesty.” 4 
 
 ’Bohun. ’Camden. 
 
 ’Anthony A. Wood's Athenae, by Bliss, ii., p. 94. Leicester had been publicly 
 accused of poisoning this lady’s first husband, Walter, earl of Essex, and many 
 others. Pennant, after relating Leicester's persecution of Sir Richard BuHteley, 
 says, “the earl made up his quarrel by inviting Sir Richard to dinner with him.” 
 But lie did eat or drink of nothing but what he saw the earl of Leicester taste, 
 remembering Sir Nicholas Throgmorton , who was said to be poisoned by a Jig, eaten 
 at his table. 
 
 ‘The probate of this will bears date 6th Sept., 15S8. It is printed at length 
 in the Sydney Papers. He there styles his son by his forsaken wife, the lady 
 Douglas Sheffield, “ my base son, Robert Dudley.” This, his only surviving son, 
 assumed a loftier title than Leicester, calling himself “the duke of Warwick,” 
 
444 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 The dying favourite might have spared himself the trouble of be¬ 
 queathing this costly legacy to his royal mistress, together with the 
 elaborate preamble of honeyed words that introduced this bequest; for 
 though she received the unexpected tidings of his death with a passion¬ 
 ate burst of tears, her avarice got the better of her love, and she 
 ordered, in the same hour, her distringas to be placed on his personal 
 effects, and had them sold by public auction, to liquidate certain sums 
 in which he was indebted to her exchequer—a proceeding which says 
 little for her sensibility or delicacy. 
 
 A brief description of a few of the gifts which Leicester was accus¬ 
 tomed to present to his royal mistress at new-year’s tide, may possibly 
 be interesting to the fair readers of the “ Lives of the Queens of Eng¬ 
 land.” His name is generally placed at the head of the list of the 
 courtiers, male and female, who thus sought to propitiate her favour. 
 In the fourteenth year of her reign, he gave—• 
 
 “ An armlet, or shackle of gold, all over fairly garnished with rubies and dia¬ 
 monds, having widiin, in the clasp, a watch, and outside, a fair lozenge diamond, 
 without a foil, from which depended a round jewel, fully garnished with dia¬ 
 monds and a pendent pearl, weighing upwards of sixteen ounces. This was 
 inclosed in a case of purple velvet, embroidered with Venice gold, and lined 
 with green velvet.” 1 
 
 The next year, he gave her a rich carcanet or collar of gold, enriched 
 with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. His new-year’s gift in the year 
 1574 savours more of a love-token, being— 
 
 “ A fan of white feathers, set in a handle of gold, garnished, on one side, with 
 two very fair emeralds, and fully garnished with diamonds and rubies; the 
 other side garnished with rubies and diamonds, and on each side a white bear, 
 (his cognizance,) and two pearls hanging, a lion ramping, with a white muzzled 
 bear at his foot.” 
 
 The ragged staves, his badge, are audaciously introduced with true- 
 love knots of pearls and diamonds, in a very rich and fantastic head¬ 
 dress, which he presented to his royal mistress in the twenty-second 
 year of her reign, together with thirty-six small buttons of gold, with 
 ragged staves and true-love knots. It is to be hoped, for the honour of 
 female royalty, that Elizabeth never degraded herself by using these 
 jewels, since the ragged staves were worn by his vassals, retainers, and 
 serving-men as the livery-badge of the aspiring, but parvenue house of 
 Dudley, in imitation of the princely line of Beauchamp. 
 
 In the list of Elizabeth’s jewels, published by sir H. Ellis, we also 
 observe, “a little bottle of amber, with a gold foot, and on the top 
 thereof a bear with a ragged staff.” 
 
 In the twenty-third year of Elizabeth’s reign, Leicester gives— 
 
 “A chain of gold, made like a pair of beads, containing eight long pieces, 
 garnished with small diamonds, and fourscore and one smaller pieces, fully gar 
 nished with like diamonds, and hanging thereat a round clock, fully garnished 
 with diamonds, and an appendage of diamonds hanging thereat.” 
 
 A more splendid device for a lady’s watch and chain could scarcely 
 have been imagined ; but the watch or round clock, as it is there styled, 
 
 1 Sloane MS., No. 814, British Museum. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 445 
 
 must have been of considerable size. This was the third or fourth 
 jewel, with a watch, presented by Leicester to the queen. One of these 
 was in a green enamel case, to imitate an apple. 
 
 A series of public thanksgivings took place in the city of London, to 
 celebrate the late national deliverance; but it was not till the twenty- 
 fourth of November that her majesty went in state to St. Paul’s for that 
 purpose. She was attended on that occasion, by her privy-council, 
 bishops, judges, and nobles; the French ambassador, and many other 
 honourable persons, all on horseback. She was herself seated solus in 
 a triumphal car, like a throne, with a canopy over it, supported by four 
 pillars. The canopy being in the form of an imperial crown. In front 
 of the throne were two low pillars, whereon stood a lion and a dragon, 
 supporters of the arms of England. 1 This chariot throne was drawn 
 by two milk-white steeds, attended by the pensioners and state footmen. 
 Next to the royal person, leading her majesty’s horse of estate, richly 
 caparisoned, rode her gay and gallant new master of the horse, Robert 
 Devereux, earl of Essex, who appeared to have succeeded his deceased 
 stepfather, the earl of Leicester, not only in that office but in the post 
 of chief favourite. After him, came a goodly train of ladies of honour, 
 and on each side of them the guard on foot, in their rich coats, with 
 halberds in their hands. 
 
 When the queen reached Temple Bar, Edward Schets Corvinus, an 
 officer of her privy-chamber, presented her majesty a jewel, containing 
 i crapon, or loadstone, set in gold, which she graciously accepting, said, 
 
 It was the first gift she had received that day,”—an observation, which, 
 considering Elizabeth’s constitutional thirst for presents, had in it, pro¬ 
 bably, a covert tone of reproach. She got nothing more that day, how¬ 
 ever, except a book intituled “ The Light of Britain,” a complimentary 
 effusion to her honour and glory, presented to her by Ilenry Lite, of 
 Litescarie, gentleman, the author thereof. 
 
 Over the gate of Temple Bar, were placed the city waits, to salute her 
 najesty with music. At the said bar, the lord-mayor and his brethren, 
 he aldermen in scarlet, received and welcomed their sovereign to her 
 city and chamber; and after going through the usual ceremonials with 
 .he city keys and sword, delivered the sceptre into her hand, which, after 
 certain speeches she re-delivered to him, and he, taking horse, bare the 
 same before her to St. Paul’s. The streets, through which her majesty 
 jassed, were hung with blue cloth; and on one side of the way, from 
 he Temple to St. Paul’s, were marshalled the city companies with their 
 banners; on the other, stood the lawyers and gentlemen of the inns of 
 court. 
 
 “Mark the courtiers!” said Francis Bacon, who was present with his 
 irethren of the black robe, “ those who bow first to the citizens are in 
 lebt; those who bow first to us are at law.” But how those unlucky 
 vights bowed who were both at law and in debt, the English sage did 
 lot describe. 2 It was, however, a day on which private troubles were, 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses, vol. iii., from a contemporary tract. 
 5 Lord Bacon's Works. 
 
446 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 for the most part, forgotten, in the general gush of national joy and na 
 tional pride, which glowed in every English heart. 
 
 The queen dismounted from her chariot-throne at the great west doot 
 of St. Paul’s cathedral, between the hours of twelve and one, where she 
 was received by the bishop of London, the dean of St. Paul’s, and othei 
 of the clergy, to the number of upwards of fifty, all in rich copes, 1 the 
 gorgeous vestments of the church of Rome being still used on great 
 festival occasions. 
 
 On entering the church, Elizabeth knelt down and made her hearty 
 prayers to God, which prayers being finished, she was, under a rich 
 canopy, brought through the long west aisle, to her traverse in the choir, 
 the clergy singing the litany, which being ended, she was brought to a 
 closet made for the purpose out of the north wall of the church, towards 
 the pulpit cross, where she heard a sermon made by Dr. Pierce, bishop 
 of Salisbury. The text of this sermon is said to have been from the 
 appropriate words, “ Thou didst blow with thy winds, and they were 
 scattered.” The banners and other trophies from the conquered Armada 
 were hung up in the church. After the service was concluded, her ma¬ 
 jesty returned through the church to the bishop of London’s palace, 
 where she dined, and returned in the same order as before, but with 
 great light of torches. 
 
 The last of the Mercuries, relating to the Spanish Armada, bears the 
 date of this memorable day, and under the head of London, it details the 
 royal visit to the city, and the public thanksgiving for the glorious suc¬ 
 cess of the English fleet. One of Burleigh’s new year’s gifts to queen 
 Elizabeth, on the first of the next January, bore reference to the victory, 
 being a plate of gold, graven on one side with astronomical designs, and 
 on the other with a ship called the Triumph. This gift was in a case 
 of murrey velvet, embroidered with a ship, and had strings and tassels 
 of Venice gold, silver, and silk. 
 
 Cups and porringers, of white porcelain, ornamented with gold, are 
 among the gifts to Elizabeth this year, but the greater portion of the 
 nobility and all the bishops made their offerings in money, out of con¬ 
 sideration, doubtless, of the impoverished state of the exchequer. Bi¬ 
 shop Goodman gives the following description of Elizabeth’s depo-t- 
 xnent, a few weeks after the dispersion of the Armada :— 
 
 “ I did then live in the Strand, near St. Clement’s church, 2 when sud¬ 
 denly there was a report, (it was then December, about five, and very 
 dark,) that the queen was gone to council, and I was told, ‘ If you will 
 see the queen, you must come quickly.’ Then we all ran, when the 
 court gates were set open, and no man hindered us from coming in; 
 there we staid an hour and a half, and the yard was full, there being a 
 great number of torches, when the queen came out in great state. Then 
 we cried— 
 
 “ ‘ God save your majesty!’ 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
 •Tnis scene probably took place at Somerset House. Bishop Goodman's Court 
 of James, vol. i., pi 163. 
 
ELIZABETH. 447 
 
 “ And the queen turned to us, and said, ‘ God bless you all, my good 
 people 15 
 
 “ Then we cried again, ‘ God save your majesty!’ And the queen 
 said airain to us, ‘Ye may well have a greater prince, but ye shall never 
 have a more loving prince.’ And so the queen and the crowd there, 
 looking upon one another awhile, her majesty departed. This wrought 
 such an impression upon us, for shows and pageants are best seen by 
 torch-light, that all the way long we did nothing but talk of what an 
 admirable queen she was, and how we would all adventure our lives in 
 her service. Now this was in a year when she had most enemies, and 
 how easily they might have gotten into the crowd and multitude to do 
 her mischief.” Bishop Goodman goes on to argue, from facts, that the 
 numerous persons sacrificed for intended conspiracies against the life of 
 Elizabeth, were victims to the state-tricks of the ministers, and that 
 neither the queen nor the government really deemed that she was ever 
 in any danger. 
 
 About this era, she established the custom of remaining at Richmond 
 palace till her coronation day. On that anniversary she removed to the 
 metropolis, going, by water, to Chelsea, and dining by the way with 
 Charles Howard, lord admiral; she then set out in her coach, at dark 
 night, from Chelsea to Whitehall, the road being lined with people to 
 behold her entry, and the lord-mayor and aldermen coming, in their 
 state dresses, to meet her by torch-light. 
 
 Elizabeth occasionally made Chelsea palace her resting-place, on the 
 way from Richmond to London.' 
 
 She frequently spent the winter in London, and, according to the 
 witness of a contemporary, who has written much in her praise, led no 
 idle life. Before day, every morning, she transacted business with her 
 secretaries of state and masters of requests. She caused the orders in 
 council, proclamations, and all other papers relating to public afiairs, to 
 be read, and gave such orders as she thought fit on each, which were 
 set down in short notes, either by herself or her secretaries. If she met 
 with anything perplexing, she sent for her most sagacious councillors, 
 and debated the matter with them, carefully weighing the arguments on 
 each side, till she was able to come to a correct decision. When wea¬ 
 ried with her morning work, she would take a walk in her garden, if the 
 sun shone, but if the weather were wet or windy, she paced her long 
 galleries, in company with some of the most learned gentlemen of her 
 court, with whom she was wont to discuss intellectual topics. There 
 was scarcely a day in which she did not devote some portion of her 
 
 1 At the end of the Duke's Walk, Chelsea, was an aged elm, called the queen’s 
 tree, so named from the accident of a violent shower of rain coming on while 
 queen Elizabeth was walking with lord Burleigh, when she took shelter under 
 this large elm. After the rain was over, she said. “Let this be called the queen’s 
 tree.” It was mentioned by this name in the parish books of Chelsea, in l. r '®6, 
 and had an arbour built round it by a person named Bostock, at the charge of 
 the parish. A gigantic mulberry tree is still shown in Mr. Druce’s garden, at 
 Chelsea, as queen Elizabeth's tree, from the tradition, that it was planted oy 
 her hand. Lord Cheyne s extract from Chelsea parish books, quoted in Faulk¬ 
 ner’s Chelsea. 
 
time to reading history, or some other important study. She would 1 
 commonly have some learned man with her, or at hand, to assist her, 
 whose labour and talents she would well reward. 1 
 
 Thus she spent her winter. In summer-time, when she was hungry, 
 she would eat something that was light of digestion, with the windows 
 open, to admit the gentle breezes from the gardens, or pleasant hills. 
 Sometimes she would do this alone, but oftener with the favoured few, 
 whose company she preferred. She ate very little, and in her declining 
 life, became still more abstemious. She seldom drank anything but 
 common beer, fearing the use of wine, lest it should cloud her faculties. 
 She strictly observed all the fast days, and then allowed no meat to be 
 served up. When she dined in public, she ordered her table to be 
 served with the greatest magnificence, and the side tables to be adorned 
 with costly plate, taking great pride in displaying her treasures, espe¬ 
 cially when she entertained the foreign ambassadors. Her nobles then 
 waited upon her very reverentially'. The cupbearer never presented the 
 cup without much ceremony, always kneeling when he gave or took it; 
 but this was by no means remarkable, as she was always served on the 
 knee. Songs and music were heard during the banquet. 2 
 
 If she dined in private, she generally in summer reposed herself for a 
 short time on an Indian couch, curiously and richly covered; but, in 
 the winter, she omitted her noon sleep. At supper, she would relax 
 herself with her friends and attendants, and endeavour to draw them 
 into merry and pleasant discourse. After supper, she would sometimes 
 listen to a song, or a lesson or two played on the lute. She would then 
 admit Tarleton, a famous comedian, and other persons of the kind, to 
 divert her with stories of the town, and any droll occurrences that befel; 
 but would express her displeasure, if any uncourteous personality were 
 used towards any one present, or the bounds of modesty transgressed. . 
 Tarleton, however, either from the natural presumption of his character, 
 or suborned by r Burleigh, took the liberty of aiming his sarcastic shafts 
 at two of the men most distinguished by the favour of royalty'. First, 
 he, as before related, glanced at Raleigh’s influence with the queen, and 
 then unawed by her majesty’s frown, he went on to reflect on the over¬ 
 great power and riches of the earl of Leicester, which was received with 
 such unbounded applause by all present, that Elizabeth affected to hear 
 it with unconcern, but was inwardly so deeply offended, that she for¬ 
 bade Tarleton and the rest of her jesters from coming near her table any 
 more. 3 
 
 Elizabeth had had a previous warning of the folly of sovereigns, in 
 allowing persons of more wit than manners, the opportunity of exer¬ 
 cising their sharp weapons against royalty. One of her jesters, named 
 Pace, having transgressed once or twice in that way, she had forbidden 
 him her presence. One of his patrons, however, undertook to make his 
 peace with her majesty, and promised in his name, that he would con¬ 
 duct himself with more discretion if he were permitted to resume his 
 office for the amusement of the court, on which the queen allowed him 
 
 1 Bohun’s Character of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 449 
 
 to be brought in. As soon as she saw him, she exclaimed, “ Come on, 
 Pace, now we shall hear of our faults!” 
 
 “What is the use of speaking of what all the town is talking?” 
 growled the incorrigible cynic. 1 
 
 Elizabeth not unfrequently indulged in jests herself. Every one is 
 familiar with the impromptu couplet she made on the names of four 
 knights of the county of Nottinghamshire: 
 
 “ Gervase the gentle, Stanhope the stout, 
 
 Markham the lion j and Sutton the lout.” 
 
 She detested, as ominous, all dwarfs and monsters, and seldom could 
 be induced to bestow an appointment, either civil or ecclesiastical, on a 
 mean-looking, ugly man. “She always,” says lord Bacon, “made 
 sedulous inquiries regarding the moral qualifications of any candidate 
 for preferment; and, then considered his mien and appearance. Upon 
 one of these occasions, she observed to me, ‘ Bacon, how can the magis¬ 
 trate maintain his authority, if the man be despised ?’ ” 
 
 “ My lord Bacon’s soul lodgeth well!” she observed, one day, after 
 contemplating the ample brow of her lord-keeper. She always forbade 
 her gouty premier to rise or stand in her presence, when she saw he 
 was suffering from his malady, with this facetious remark ; “ My lord, 
 we make use of you, not for your bad legs, but your good head.” 2 
 
 At the sales of crown property, the queen used to say, “ her commis¬ 
 sioners behaved to her as strawberry venders to their customers, who 
 laid two or three great strawberries at the mouth of the pottle, and all 
 the rest were little ones, so they gave her two or three good prices at 
 the first, and the rest fetched nothing.” 3 
 
 This great queen was very fond of singing-birds, apes, and little dogs ; 
 but her better taste and feeling manifested itself in her love for children. 
 It has been seen, that when a prisoner in the Tower, she was wont to 
 divert her cares and anxious forebodings, by talking with the warder’s 
 little ones, whose affections she certainly wholly captivated, at that time, 
 by her endearing behaviour; and when age brought with it the painful 
 conviction of the deceitfulness of court flatterers, her 6ick heart was 
 soothed by the artless prattle of guileless infancy, and she exhibited 
 almost maternal tenderness, when she was brought into personal contact 
 with the children of her nobles. “You would scarcely believe me,” 
 writes one of the Shrewsbury retainers to his lord, when describing the 
 demeanour of her majesty at a recent fete, “ if I were to write how much 
 her majesty did make of the little lady, your daughter, with often kiss¬ 
 ing (which her majesty seldom useth to any), and then amending her 
 dressing with pins, and still carrying her in her own barge, and so home¬ 
 ward from the running. Her majesty said (and true it is) she was very 
 like the lady, her grandmother.” 4 
 
 In moments, when her mind required relaxation of a graver charac- 
 er, Elizabeth displayed her sound judgment in the pleasure she took in 
 he conversation of learned travellers, with whom she would talk pub- 
 
 1 Bacon. a Lloyd, State Worthies. 
 
 ’ Bacon’s Apophthegms. 4 Lodge, vol. ii 
 
 2 D 
 
450 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 licly, and ask them many questions concerning the government, cus¬ 
 toms, and discipline used abroad. Sometimes she recreated herself with 
 a game of chess, dancing, or singing. Occasionally she played at cards 
 and tables, and if she won, she would be sure to demand the money. 
 When she retired to her bed-chamber, she was attended by the married 
 ladies of her household, among whom are particularly mentioned the 
 marchioness of Winchester, the countess of Warwick, and lady Scroop. 
 The entree of this apartment was chiefly, we are told, confined to Lei¬ 
 cester, Hatton, Essex, the lord-admiral, and sir Walter Raleigh. When 
 she found herself sleepy, site would dismiss those, who were there, with 
 much kindness and gravity, and so betake herself to rest. Some lady 
 of good quality, who enjoyed her confidence, always lying in the same 
 chamber, and besides her guards, who were constantly on duty, there 
 was always a gentleman of good quality, and some others up in the next 
 chamber, who were to wake her in case anything extraordinary hap¬ 
 pened. 1 
 
 She was subject,” says her warm panegyrist, Bohun, “ to be vehe¬ 
 mently transported with anger; and when she was so, she would show 
 it by her voice, her countenance, and her hand. She would chide her 
 familiar servants so loud, that they who stood afar off might sometimes 
 hear her voice. And i( was reported, that for small offences, she would 
 strike her maids of honour with her hand.” This report is confirmed 
 by the witness of her godson, Harrington, and many other contempora¬ 
 ries, who enjoyed the opportunity of being behind the scenes in the 
 virgin court. 
 
 It is to be observed, however, that the stormy explosions of temper, 
 to which queen Elizabeth occasionally gave way, were confined to the 
 recesses of her palace. They were indulged without restraint in the 
 bed-chamber, they shook the council-room, and they were sometimes 
 witnessed in the presence-chamber, but they never were seen or heard 
 beyond those walls. Her ladies complained that they had felt the weight 
 of the royal arm ; foreign ambassadors, as well as her own courtiers, 
 have reported her fierce rejoinders, her startling oaths; but to her peo¬ 
 ple, she was all sunshine and good humour. Her strength, her wealth, 
 her greatness, were centred in their affection; and she was too wise to 
 incur, by any impatient gesture, or haughty expression, the risk of alien¬ 
 ating the love with which they regarded her. 
 
 In her progresses, she was always most easy of approach; private 
 persons, and magistrates, men, women, and children, came joyfully, and 
 without any fear, to wait upon her, and to see her. Her ears were then 
 open to the complaints of the afflicted, and of those who had been in 
 any way injured. She would not suffer the meanest of her people to 
 be shut out from the places where she resided, but the greatest and the 
 least appeared equal in her sight. She took with her own hand, and 
 read with the greatest goodness, the petitions of the meanest rustics, 
 and disdained not to speak kindly to them, and to assure them that she 
 would lake a particular care of their affairs. 2 
 
 1 Bohun. 
 
 5 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 451 
 
 She never appeared tired, nor out of temper, nor annoyed at the most 
 unseasonable or uncourtly approach, nor was she offended with the most 
 impudent and importunate petitioner. There was no disturbance to be 
 seen in her countenance, no reproaches nor reproofs escaped her, nor 
 was there anything in the whole course of her reign, not even the glo¬ 
 rious success of her navy against the boasted armament of Spain, that 
 more won the hearts of her people than her condescension and facility 
 of access, and the gracious manner in which she demeaned herself 
 towards all who came to offer the unbought homage of their love and 
 loyalty. 
 
 It is a pleasure to be able to call attention, with deserved praise, to 
 one instance of true magnanimity on the part of queen Elizabeth, al¬ 
 though it appears to rest on the authority of a popular historical tradi¬ 
 tion. Among the attendants of Mary queen of Scots was a Scotchwo¬ 
 man, named Margaret Lambrun, whose husband had also been in the 
 service of that unfortunate queen, to whom he was so greatly attached, 
 that his death was attributed to his excessive grief for the tragic fate of 
 his royal mistress. Margaret, on this bereavement, took the desperate 
 resolution of revenging the death of both on queen Elizabeth. For this 
 purpose she put on male apparel, and, assuming the name of Anthony 
 Sparke, proceeded to the English court, carrying a brace of loaded pis¬ 
 tols concealed about her, at all times, intending to shoot queen Elizabeth 
 with one, and to evade punishment by destroying herself with the other. 
 One day, when her majesty was walking in the garden, Margaret endea¬ 
 voured to force her way through the crowd, to approach close enough 
 to the royal person to perpetrate her design, but, in her agitation, she 
 dropped one of the pistols. This being observed by the yeomen of the 
 guards, she was instantly seized, but when they were about to hurry 
 her away to prison, Elizabeth, not suspecting the sex of the intended 
 assassin, said “ she would examine the prisoner herself.” 
 
 When Margaret was brought before her, she asked her name and coun¬ 
 try, and what had incited her to such a crime. Margaret, undauntedly, 
 acknowledged who she was, and what she had intended. The queen 
 heard her with unruffled calmness, and granted her a full and uncondi¬ 
 tional pardon. The president of the council protested that so daring an 
 offender ought to be punished, wdiereupon, Margaret, with the character¬ 
 istic caution of her country, implored her majesty to extend her good¬ 
 ness one degree further, by granting her a safe-conduct, with permission 
 to retire to France, and this request was graciously complied with by 
 the queen, 1 who, in this instance, chose to obey the impulse of her own 
 feelings rather than the stern promptings of her minister. 
 
 It is ever to be lamented that Elizabeth stained the glorious year ot 
 the Armada with a series of cruel persecutions on the score of religion. 
 January 14th, 1588, a wretched deist, named Francis Wright, alias Kit 
 of Wyntondham, was burned alive, in the castle ditch, at Norwich. He 
 was the fourth who had suffered, in the same place, within the last five 
 years, for promulgating erroneous opinions. 2 The same year, six catho- 
 
 ! AJams Biograomcal Dictionary. ’ Bloomfield’s Norwich. 
 

 452 ELIZABETH. 
 
 lie priests were hanged, drawn, and quartered; four laymen, who had 
 embraced protestantism, lor returning to their old belief; four others, 
 and a gentlewoman of the name of Ward, for concealing catholic priests, 
 besides fifteen of their companions, who were arraigned for no other 
 offence than their theological opinions . 1 Very heavy and repeated fines 
 were levied on those whom it was not considered expedient to put to 
 death. The fines of recusants formed a considerable item in the crown 
 revenues at that period, and they were, of course, hunted out with keen 
 rapacity by an odious swarm of informers, who earned a base living bv 
 augmenting the miseries of their unfortunate fellow-creatures. 
 
 Another intolerable grievance of Elizabeth’s government was the cus¬ 
 tom of borrowing privy-seal loans, as they were called; but a more op¬ 
 pressive mode of taxation can scarcely be imagined. Whenever hei 
 majesty’s ministers heard of any person who had amassed a sum oi 
 ready money, they sent, to the next magistrate of the district, paper? 
 sealed with her privy-seal, signifying her gracious intention of becoming 
 his debtor to a certain amount . 4 The privy-seal loan papers sometime? 
 offered ten and twelve per cent, interest, but no other security than the 
 personal one of the sovereign for the payment of either principal or in¬ 
 terest. and. in case of death, left the liquidation of the debt to the honoui 
 of the successor to the crown. We have seen how heavily the unpaic 
 privy-seal debts laid on the conscience of queen Man,' I. in the hour oi 
 death. This expedient was first resorted to by cardinal Wolsev, tc 
 supply the exigencies of his profligate sovereign, Henry VIII. Such wa? 
 the inauspicious dawn of a system of facile involvement. 
 
 There was the less necessity for partial and unconstitutional extor¬ 
 tions from private individuals in the golden days of good queen Bess, 
 since her parliaments were exceedingly liberal in according supplies 
 That which met February 1589. granted her two subsidies of two shil¬ 
 lings and eight-pence in the pound, besides four-tenths, and a fifteenth 
 The convocation of the clergy granted her six shillings in the pound on 
 all church property. It is true that this parliament objected to grant the 
 supplies till some abuses in the exchequer, and also in the conduct oi 
 the royal purveyors, should be reformed, observing, “ that otherwise 
 they were aware that they should be dissolved as soon as they hac 
 
 * Stowe; Lingard. 
 
 * Lodge, vol. ii., 356, presents a most curious instance of the transfer of a privy 
 seal, which was sent to an unfortunate man at Leek, in Staffordshire, who wa? 
 impoverished by law-suits. From this unpromising subject, Master Richar: 
 Bagot proposes, out of justice or revenge, to transfer the royal imposition to ar 
 old usurer, who bore the appropriate cognomen of Reynard Devil, (which name 
 civilly spelled, is Reginald Deville.) “Truly, my lord,'' writes Bagot, “a mar 
 that wanteth ability to buy a nag to follow his own causes in law to London, 
 pity it were to load him with the loan of any money to her majesty; but as fot 
 Reynard Devil, a usurer by occupation, without tciff or charge, and worth tOOO/ 
 he will never do good in his country; it were a charitable deed in your lordship 
 to impose the privy seal on him. He dwelleth with his brother, John Devil, at 
 Leek, aforesaid.” Now, this country gentleman, like Cyrus with the great coat 
 and little coat, certainly dealt more in equity titan law, and the whole aflau 
 proves the absolute despotism of Elizabeth and her privy council. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 453 
 
 rssed the bill for the subsidies.” The queen took umbrage at the 
 easures under consideration. Burleigh told the house “ that her ma- 
 :sty inisliked the bills.” On which a committee of the commons, with 
 ie speaker, waited upon her with palliative apologies, and professions 
 ’ loyal affection, under which Elizabeth plainly detected an intention 
 ' carrying the matter through, and, with unconstitutional haughtiness, 
 Id them, “ that the regulations of her household and revenues belonged 
 fly to herself; that she had as much skill and power to rule and 
 rvern them, as her subjects had to rule and govern theirs, without the 
 d of their neighbours, but, that out of her loving-kindness to her 
 rople, who were dearer to her than herself, she had taken steps for the 
 erection of these abuses.” 
 
 If Mary Stuart had not been removed, it is plain that Elizabeth would 
 >t have ventured either to interfere with the business before the house, 
 to speak of the free realm of England as if it had been her personal 
 tate, and her jurisdiction over it subject to no restraining influence 
 >m the representatives of the people. Elizabeth was, at this period, 
 
 : secure of the strength of her position, that she felt she could not 
 uly do as she pleased, but say what she pleased ; the more dangerous 
 idulgence of the royal will of the two. 
 
 On the 29th of March this parliament was dissolved, preparatory to 
 Is arraignment of the earl of Arundel in Westminster hall, before a 
 sleet number of peers and privy-councillors, appointed by Elizabeth 
 k his trial, if such it may be termed, after five years imprisonment in 
 is Tower. The heads of his impeachment were, “ that he had main- 
 ined a correspondence with cardinal Allen; that he had attempted to 
 ’thdraw privily from the realm; that he was privy to pope Sixtus’s 
 111 against the queen; and that he had caused a mass to be said in his 
 jison for the success of the Spanish Armada, and had even composed 
 special prayer himself on that occasion.” 
 
 The noble prisoner, pale and emaciated with sickness and long con- 
 lement, was brought into court by sir Owen Hopton, the lieutenant of 
 t5 Tower, sir Drue Drury, and others, the axe being carried before 
 In. He made two obeisances when he presented himself at the bar. 
 r iere the clerk of the court told him he was indicted of several of¬ 
 fices, and said, “ Philip Howard, earl of Arundel, late of Arundel in 
 t? county of Sussex, hold up thy hand.” He held up his hand very 
 l;h, saying, “Here is as true a man’s heart and hand as ever came into 
 ts hall.” 
 
 So frivolous was the evidence against this unfortunate nobleman, that 
 a emblematical piece found in his cabinet, having on one side a hand 
 s iking a serpent into the fire, with this motto, “ If God be for us, who 
 sill be against us ?” and on the other a rampant lion, without claws, 
 ai with this inscription, “Yet a lion,” 1 was produced" in court, as one 
 pof of his evil intentions. The earl replied, “ that this was a toy 
 g en to him by his man,” and greatly must he have marvelled how, by 
 ■> t subtlety, such a device could have been construed into treason 
 
 1 Camden. 
 

 454 ELIZABETH. 
 
 against the queen. It. wad, indeed, of a piece with the pretence o 
 which his accomplished grandfather, Surrey, was brought to the bloc 
 by the sanguinary tyrant, Henry VIII. It was also urged against Arun 
 del, that he had written a letter to the queen, reflecting severely on »h 
 justice of the laws by.which his father and grandfather suffered death 
 and that he had assumed the title of Philip duke of Norfolk on th 
 advice of cardinal Allen. 1 * 
 
 The witnesses against Arundel were Bennet, the priest, who had sail 
 the mass at his request, and Gerard and Shelley, who were present a 
 it. These accused him of having offered up his prayers for the succes 
 of the expedition. Arundel declared, “ that his prayers were only fo 
 the preservation of himself and his fellow-catholics from the genera 
 massacre to which report had said they were doomed, in the event oi 
 the Spaniards effecting a landing,” then fixing his eyes upon Gerard, an. 
 adjuring him “ to speak nothing but the truth, as he must one day appea 
 before the tribunal of the living God, to answer for what he should the; 
 say,” he so daunted and disconcerted the witness, that he lost his utter 
 ance, and was unable to repeat his first assertion. 
 
 Against the testimony of Bennet, the earl produced one of his ow! 
 letters, in which he acknowledged that his confession was false, and ha. 
 been extorted by threats of torture and death. Yet every one of th 
 lords commissioners appointed for the trial of this ill-treated noblemai 
 when asked to give their verdict, placed his hand upon his breast, an' 
 said, “ Guilty, upon my honour!” Then the earl of Derby, who wa 
 special high steward of the court, pronounced the barbarous and igno 
 minious sentence decreed by the laws of England against traitors, wit 
 all its revolting minutiae. 
 
 “Fiat voluntas Dei” responded the noble prisoner, in a low voice 
 and making an obeisance, not to the packed junta who had, for the mo¬ 
 nart, assisted in sending his lather to the block, but to the throne, Ji 
 was led out of court, with the edge of the axe towards him. He pet' 
 tioned the queen, after his sentence was pronounced, to be permitted t 
 see his wife and son, a child of five years old, whom he had never scet 
 No answer was returned to his piteous supplication by Elizabeth, whos 
 hatred to lady Arundel was deadly and implacable, even amounting to 
 repugnance to breathing the same air with her, since whenever she wa 
 going to take up her abode at St. James’s palace, she invariably sent ht 
 commands to lady Arundel to leave London. 1 
 
 Elizabeth was in the habit of accepting new years’ gifts from th 
 unfortunate earl. One that appears among the list of these offering 
 was, “a jewel of gold garnished with small diamonds and rubies,slant 
 mg upon a slope, with small pearls pendent. 1 ’ 3 A more costly preset 
 was received by her majesty in the season of his sore adversity, whe 
 he had been stripped and impoverished by a fine of 10,000/., but wt 
 apparently anxious to testify his loyalty and good-will to his angr 
 queen. It was a carcanet or collar of gold, containing seven pieces c 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 * Contemporary MS. Life of the Countess of Arundel, in the Norfolk Archive 
 
 s List of new- year's gifts, in Sloaue MSS 
 
ELIZABETH 455 
 
 gold, six true love-knots of small sparks of diamonds, and many pearls 
 of various bigness. 
 
 The regard manifested for Arundel by the hapless queen of Scots, 
 was probably the head and front of his offending. Elizabeth, after all. 
 did not take his life. She had never ceased tq upbraid Burleigh, with 
 having, by his ceaseless importunity, induced her to shed his lather’s 
 blood—that blood which was kindred with her own, and she could 
 scarcely have forgotten that this unfortunate peer was the grandson and 
 representative of an earl of Arundel, to whose generous protection she 
 was, in all probability, indebted for the preservation of her life, when 
 herself a persecuted captive in the Tower. Her relentings on this point 
 could scarcely be termed mercy, for she kept the axe suspended over 
 the expecting victim for the residue of his wretched existence, so that 
 every day he was in a state of suspense, expecting to receive a sum¬ 
 mons to the scaffold at an hour’s notice. He was never permitted to 
 behold again his devoted wife, or the unknown son, for whom his fond 
 heart had yearned in his lonely prison-house, with the strong instinct 
 of paternal love.' In this long-lingering bitterness of death, Elizabeth 
 was so pitiless as to keep her unhappy kinsman for upwards of six 
 years, till sickness, brought on by pining sorrow, combined with want 
 of air and exercise, terminated his life. * 2 
 
 How greatly his imprisonment had been embittered by the gratuitous 
 harshness of the functionary who had him in ward, may be gathered 
 from his pathetic entreaties to the lieutenant of the Tower, who came 
 to see him, a few days before his death, not to use other prisoners as 
 hardly as he had treated him. “You must think, master lieutenant,” 
 said the dying earl, “that when a prisoner comes hither to this Tower, 
 he bringeth sorrow with him. Oh, then, do not add affliction to afflic¬ 
 tion ; there is no man whatsoever that thinketh himself to stand surest, 
 but may fall. It is a very inhuman part to tread on him whom mis¬ 
 fortune hath cast down. The man that is void of mercy, God hath in 
 great detestation. Your commission is only to keep with safety, not to 
 kill with severity.” 
 
 He was buried at the queen’s expense, in the same grave with his 
 unfortunate father, the beheaded duke of Norfolk, in the Tower church, 
 and the funeral service, that was devised for him, consisted, not of the 
 beautiful and consoling form prescribed in our liturgy, for the burial 
 rite, but of a series of unchristian-like insults to the dead. Among the 
 sentences with which the chaplain, on his own authority, commenced 
 this novel funeral service, were these words:—“Yet as it is said in the 
 Scriptures, 4 Go and bury yonder cursed woman, for she is a king’s 
 daughter,’ so we commit his body to the earth, yet giving God hearty 
 thanks that he hath delivered us of so great a fear. 3 
 
 The national spirit of England had been so fiercely roused, by the 
 
 'Camden; Lingard; Howard Memorials; MS. Life of Philip Howard, Earl 
 of Arundel. 
 
 2 MS. Life of Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, at Norfolk House, Dallaways, 
 Sussex. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 456 
 
 threatened invasion of the Armada, that nothing less than some attempt 
 at retaliation would satisfy the people. Don Antonio, titular king of 
 Portugal, was still a suppliant, at the court of Elizabeth, for assistance 
 from her to establish him on the throne of his ancestors, and the last 
 prayer of parliament to the queen, before its dissolution, was, that she 
 would send an expedition to make reprisals on the king of Spain for his 
 hostilities. Elizabeth liked the policy, but not the cost of such a mea¬ 
 sure. She said, “ she was too poor to bear the burden herself, but her 
 brave subjects were welcome to fit out an armament, for the liberation 
 of Portugal from the Spanish yoke, provided they would do it at their 
 own expense, and she would lend them ships of war.” 1 
 
 Drake, Norris, and other valiantly-disposed gentlemen, took her 
 majesty at her word, and formed an association for this purpose. Eliza¬ 
 beth subscribed six thousand pounds towards the adventure, and on the 
 18th of April, 1589, a gallant armament sailed from Plymouth for Lis¬ 
 bon, having on board the claimant of the crown of Portugal, and many 
 noble young English volunteers, who were eager to assist in humbling 
 the pride of Spain. To these ardent aspirants for glory was unex¬ 
 pectedly added the queen’s reigning favourite, Robert Devereux, earl of 
 Essex, who had made his escape from court, and, unknown to his royal 
 mistress, put to sea in a ship-of-war called the “ Swiftsure,” and joined 
 the fleet while it was detained by contrary winds. 2 Two years before, 
 the young earl had, in like manner, stolen from the silken fetters of his 
 courtly servitqde, with the intention of signalizing himself -by relieving 
 the town of Sluys, which was, at that lime, besieged by the Spanish 
 forces, but the queen sent his young kinsman, Robert Carey, after him, 
 to forbid his voyage: Carey overtook him at Sandwich, and, with much 
 difficulty, prevailed upon him to return. It is doubtful whether the 
 proffer of the crown matrimonial of England would have induced Essex 
 to have given up his present enterprise, so thoroughly transported was 
 he with the desire of playing the knight-errant on this occasion. 
 
 As soon as Elizabeth discovered the flight of her wilful favourite, she 
 despatched the earl of Huntingdon, with all speed, to follow and bring 
 the truant back, but he was already out of the reach of pursuit. He 
 was the foremost man to leave the boats, and struggle through the 
 opposing breakers, to the attack of the castle of Penicha, and, wading 
 up to the shoulders, first reached the land. The castle presently sur¬ 
 rendered to the English adventurers, and sir Henry Norris advanced so 
 far as to take the suburbs of Lisbon, but for want of the promised 
 co-operation of the king of Morocco, and indeed of the Portuguese 
 themselves, who probably liked not the prospect of such an alliance, 
 and, above all, on account of the deficiency of the munitions of war in 
 their own fleet, they were unable to follow up the brilliant successes 
 with which they commenced the campaign. Essex, with all the ardour 
 of a young chivalric novice, burning to perform deeds of high emprise, 
 advanced to the gates of Lisbon, and beating a thundering summons 
 there, challenged the governor to come forth, and encounter him hand 
 
 s Lodge; Camden ; Lingurd. 
 
 1 Camden; Lingard ; Mackintosh. 
 
ELIZABETH. 457 
 
 to hand, in single combat. No notice was, of course, taken of this 
 romantic defiance by the Spaniard. 1 
 
 Sickness broke out in the English army, and a fearful mortality en¬ 
 sued. Six thousand out of eighteen thousand were left on that ill- 
 omened coast, victims to the pestilence, and the fleet returned to Ply¬ 
 mouth, without effecting anything compensatory for the loss of valuable 
 lives it had involved. Elizabeth has been severely blamed for allowing 
 the expedition to be undertaken at all, unless provided with the means 
 of maintaining the honour of England. She had not yet learned wisdom 
 on that point, although the experience of all her foreign expeditions had 
 proved that she should have counted the costs of her warfare at first, and, 
 if she thought them too high, pursued a more pacific policy. But half¬ 
 measures always prove in the end dear economy, and Elizabeth was 
 exactly the person “ to spoil the ship for a half-penny-worth of tar.” 
 
 She had amused herself, during the absence of Essex, with progresses 
 and all sorts of recreations, calculated to impress her court and people 
 with ideas of her juvenility, instead of the cares and infirmities of ad¬ 
 vancing years. “The queen is well, I assure you,” writes sir John 
 Stanhope, one of the gentlemen of her privy-chamber, “ six or seven 
 galliards in a morning, besides music and singing, is her ordinary exer¬ 
 cise. 2 She commanded lord Howard to return thanks for a well-trained 
 palfrey she had sent her, saying, “ she took it kindly and most gra¬ 
 ciously, that he should think of a thing that she did so greatly want, and 
 that she never in her life had one she had taken a greater liking for.” 
 “ Her majesty hath not yet ridden on him, but meaneth, the next time 
 she rideth, to prove him. And, my lord, the day of the remove to the 
 palace of Nonsuch, (which was on the 19th,) her majesty commanded 
 me to ride on him, and I assure your lordship I could not give more 
 commendations than he doth deserve.” Thus was the gallant lord ad¬ 
 miral Howard, of Effingham, useful in proving the paces of a royal 
 lady’s palfrey, as well as destroying an hostile Armada. Our naval 
 heroes in these days, though equally renowned on the quarter-deck 
 have not so much equestrian skill. 
 
 Essex, having absented himself for several months from his duties as 
 master of the horse, which office involved constant personal attendance 
 on the queen, dreaded that some signal mark of her displeasure would 
 be directed against him on his return. Nothing indeed less than fine 
 tnd imprisonment could be anticipated, after the severe punishment that 
 tad been inflicted on the ill-fated earl of Arundel, for the contempt of 
 essaying to leave England without the royal permission. Essex was, 
 towever, a privileged man, and the queen was so overjoyed at his re¬ 
 urn, that, instead of chastising, she loaded her beloved truant with 
 avours and caresses, and consoled him by some valuable grants for his 
 lisappointment, on learning that sir Christopher Hatton had been pre- 
 erred to the vacant chancellorship of Cambridge in his absence. 3 Essex 
 vas naturally of a generous, careless temper, but his personal extrava- 
 ;ance had already involved him in debts to so large an amount, that he 
 
 * Camden. 
 
 a Lodge, vol. ii., p. 386. 
 
 8 Aikin. 
 
458 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 found himself in a manner necessitated to avail himself of the weakness 
 of his royal mistress, by obtaining from her, as his predecessor, Leices¬ 
 ter, had done, a plurality of lucrative places and monopolies. It was 
 one of the great inconsistencies of Elizabeth’s character, that while she 
 was parsimonious, even to childishness, in matters of such vital impor¬ 
 tance to the honour of England, as the victualling and supplying fleets, 
 that were to be employed, either on foreign service or the defence of her 
 realm, with a needful quantity of ammunition, she lavished her bounty, 
 with unsparing profusion, on the selfish succession of favourites who 
 surrounded the throne, and, like the allegorical daughters of the horse- 
 leech- were never tired of crying, “ Give, give!” 
 
 That Elizabeth’s affection for Essex betrayed her, not only into jea¬ 
 lousy of one of her fairest maids of honour, but great irascibility of 
 temper against the supposed object of his personal preference, may be 
 seen by the details, given by one of her courtiers, of her conduct to¬ 
 wards the young lady, who, being her majesty’s near relation, and the 
 court beauty withal, appears to have conducted herself, by-the-bye, with 
 a singular want of duty and attention to her royal mistress. 
 
 “Her highness,” writes Mr. Fenton to sir John Harrington, “ spake 
 vehemently, and with great wrath, of her servant, the lady Mary How¬ 
 ard, forasmuch as she had refused to bear her mantle at the hour her 
 highness is wonted to air in the garden, and on small rebuke, did vent 
 such unseemly answer as did breed great choler in her mistress. Again, 
 on another occasion, she was not ready to carry the cup of grace during 
 the dinner in the privy-chamber, nor was she attending at the hour of 
 her majesty’s going to prayer; all which doth now so disquiet her high¬ 
 ness, that she swore, 4 she would no more show her any countenance, 
 but out with all such ungracious flouting wenches;’ because, forsooth, 
 she hath much favour and marks of love from the young earl, which is 
 not so pleasing to the queen, who doth still exhort all her women to 
 remain in the virgin state as much as may be. I adventured to say, so 
 far as discretion did go, in defence of our friend, and did urge much in 
 behalf of youth and enticing love, which did often abate of right mea¬ 
 sures in fair ladies; all which did nothing soothe her highness’ anger, 
 who said, 4 I have made her my servant, and she will now make herself 
 my mistress; but, in good faith, William, she shall not, and so tell 
 her.’ ” 
 
 44 In short,” pursues the kind-hearted but simple writer, 44 pity doth 
 move me to save this lady, and would beg such suit to the queen, from 
 you and your friends, as may win her favour to spare her on future 
 amendment. If you could speak to Mr. Bellot, or my lord-treasurer, on 
 this matter, it might be to good purpose, when a better time doth offer 
 to move the queen than I had, for words were then of no avail, though 
 as discreetly brought as I was able. It might not be amiss to talk to 
 this poor young lady to be more dutiful, and not absent at prayers and 
 meals, to bear her highness’ mantle anti other furniture, even more than 
 all the rest of the servants, to make ample amends by future diligence, 
 and always to go first in the morning to her highness’ chamber, foras¬ 
 much as such kindness will much prevail to turn away all former dis- 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 459 
 
 pleasure. She must not entertain my lord the earl in any conversation, 
 but shun his company; and, moreover, be less careful in attiring her 
 own person, for this seemeth as more done to win the earl than her 
 mistress’ good will.” 1 
 
 The reader will remember, that lady Mary Howard was the envied 
 possessor of the rich velvet kirtle, with the costly border or flounce, 
 which Elizabeth had taken a whimsical method of admonishing her not 
 to wear any more. It was probably some lurking resentment caused 
 by this prohibition, that occasioned the pretty little maid of honour to 
 demean herself so undutifully to her royal mistress in regard to her 
 cloak and grace-cup. The flirtations with Essex, who was the hero as 
 well as the Adonis of the court, a noble bachelor, and the mark for 
 every lady’s eye, were natural enough, but were evidently the great 
 matter of offence to her majesty. 
 
 “ If we consider,” continues Fenton, “ the favours showed her family, 
 there is ground for ill-humour in the queen, who doth not now bear 
 with such composed spirit as she was wont, but since the Irish affairs 
 seemeth more froward than commonly she used to bear herself towards 
 her women, nor doth she hold them in discourse with such familiar 
 matter, but oftetjt chides them for small neglects, in such w’ise as to 
 make these fair maids cry and bewail in piteous sort, as 1 am told by 
 my sister Elizabeth.” 2 
 
 Burleigh, who had fancied that the death of his ancient rival, Leices¬ 
 ter, would have left him the undisputed lord of the ascendant in the 
 council-chamber, was bitterly annoyed at finding himself circumvented 
 and defeated in the royal closet, by the influence his late ward'had ac¬ 
 quired over the mind of the queen, who was thirty-three years his senior. 
 The courtiers, both old and young, regarded the favour enjoyed by 
 Essex with jealous eyes, and many were the devices used to divert her 
 attention from him. On the anniversary of her majesty’s accession to 
 the throne, after a series of jousts and chivalric exercises had been per¬ 
 formed, old sir Henry Lee, who had so long supported the office of the 
 queen’s champion at all tilts and tourneys, made a public resignation of 
 his office to the gallant young earl of Cumberland. They both advanced 
 to the foot of the gallery where the queen was seated, attended by her 
 ladies and officers of state, to view the games, while the following ele¬ 
 gant song was sung by a concealed performer: 
 
 “ My golden locks hath time to silver turned. 
 
 Oh, time, too swift, and swiftness never ceasing! 
 
 My youth ’gainst age, and age at youth both spurned, 
 
 But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing: 
 
 Beauty and strength and youth, flowers fading been; 
 
 Duty, faith, love, are fruits and evergreen. 
 
 My helmet now shall make a hive for bees, 
 
 And lover’s song shall turn to holy psalms; 
 
 A man-at-arms must now sit on his knees, 
 
 And feed on prayers that are oM age’s alms 
 And so from court to cottage I depart; 
 
 My saint is sure of mine unspotted heart. 
 
 1 Nugae Antiquae, vol. i., p. 232. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
460 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 And when I sadly sit in homely cell, 
 
 I ll teach my saints this carol for a song: 
 
 Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, 
 
 Cursed be the souls that think to do her wrong! 
 
 Goddess, vouchsafe this aged man his right, 
 
 To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.” 
 
 Meanwhile there arose, as if by magic, before the royal balcony, a 
 pavilion of white taffeta, supported on pillars resembling porphyry, in 
 imitation of a temple of the Vestal Virgins. Within it rose a rich altar, 
 loaded with offerings for her majesty, and before the gate stood a crowned 
 pillar wreathed with eglantine, supporting a votive tablet inscribed “To 
 Eliza.” 
 
 The gifts and tablets being with great reverence presented to the 
 queen, and the aged knight disarmed by his pages, he offered up his 
 armour at the foot of the pillar; then kneeling, presented the earl of 
 Cumberland to her majesty, praying her to be pleased to accept him for 
 her knight in his place. The queen having graciously signified her 
 assent, sir Henry Lee invested his brave young substitute with his arms, 
 and mounted him on his horse. This done, he clothed himself in a long 
 velvet gown, and covered his head, in lieu of a helmet, with a buttoned 
 cap of the country fashion. 1 The queen presented her glove to the 
 gallant representative of the proud house of Clifford, who had nobly 
 distinguished himself in the triumphant fight with the Spanish Armada. 
 He ever after wore the royal gage in his burgonet, and queen Elizabeth 
 always spoke of him as “ her knight.” 
 
 Cumberland, nevertheless, soon perceived that neither he, nor any 
 other gallant of the court, had any chance of entering the lists success¬ 
 fully against the favoured Essex, who was then in the zenith of his 
 power and influence with the queen. To what fatal heights, both for 
 herself and him, the infatuation of such a princess might have elevated 
 the object of her last and most engrossing passion, may be imagined if 
 he had been of a disposition to humour her infatuation. But Essex, in 
 the first generous pride of manhood, had not yet lost that delicacy of 
 feeling which forms the poetry of early life, ere the bright impulses of 
 love and chivalry are choked by worldcraft, and its degrading ends and 
 aims. He would, at that time, have thought foul scorn of himself had 
 he been capable of sacrificing the pure and holy sympathies of conjugal 
 affection on the sordid altar of ambition or avarice. Well had it been 
 for Essex, if he had never condescended to barter his happiness, as a 
 husband and father, for the glittering trammels in which he finally suf¬ 
 fered himself to be entangled. 
 
 While, however, all the courtiers were burning with envy, at the un¬ 
 disguised marks of fondness which the queen publicly lavished on her 
 youthful favourite, he secretly loved and was beloved by the fair widow 
 of sir Philip Sidney. This lady was the only daughter of that celebrated 
 
 1 Not long after old Sir Henry Lee had resigned his office of especial champion 
 of the beauty of his sovereign, he fell in love with her new maid of honour, the 
 fair Mrs. Anne Vavasour, who, though in the morning flower of her charms, and 
 esteemed the loveliest girl in the whole court, drove a whole bevy of youthful 
 lovers to despair, by accepting this ancient relic of the age of chivalry. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 461 
 
 statesman, sir Francis Walsingham, who was just dead, worn out with 
 his long and arduous official labours, and having spent his fortune in 
 the service of the queen. Sir Philip Sidney had been the model on 
 which Essex had endeavoured to form his own character; and much 
 that was noble, generous, and of fair promise in him may be, perhaps, 
 attributed to his imitation of that stainless knight, while his faults were, 
 after all, less than might have been expected from the pupil of Leicester. 
 When Essex discovered that he, and he alone, had the power of con¬ 
 soling lady Sidney for the loss of the hero for whom she had mourned 
 upwards of four years, he did not hesitate to dry her tears by plighting 
 himself to her in marriage, though at the risk of forfeiting the favour of 
 his enamoured queen. 
 
 These nuptials were solemnized with great secrecy; for though Essex 
 was disinterested enough to wed the woman of his heart, he had not the 
 moral courage to avow to his royal mistress what he had dared to do. 
 
 The nineteenth of November, being St. Elizabeth’s day, was always 
 kept by the courtiers of queen Elizabeth as a national festival in honour 
 of her name, and in opposition to the ungallant decision of pope Pius 
 V., who had struck the name of St. Elizabeth out of the Romish calen¬ 
 dar, to indicate, as some have insinuated, his ill-will to Elizabeth of 
 England. 
 
 In the year 1590, grand jousts and tilting took place on that day, in 
 the presence of the queen, viscount Turenne, the new French ambassa¬ 
 dor, and an unusually splendid company. The earls of Cumberland 
 and Essex, and lord Borough, challenged all comers for six courses, and 
 Essex shone forth as the pre-eminent cavalier on that occasion. The 
 fact of his having presumed to take to himself a wife had not then 
 reached the royal ear, though it could scarcely, at that time, be termed 
 a secret, since lady Walsingham, with prudential care for her daughter’s 
 fair fame, had caused her to be treated in her house as the countess of 
 Essex, for the last month. 
 
 The paroxysms of rage with which Elizabeth was transported when 
 the tidings at last reached her, may be imagined from the hints which 
 John Stanhope, one of the gentlemen of the privy-chamber, conveys to 
 lord Talbot of her demeanour soon after: 
 
 “ If,” says he, “ she could overcome her passion against my, lord of 
 Essex for his marriage, no doubt she would be much the quieter; yet 
 doth she use it more temperately than was thought for, and, God be 
 thanked, doth not strike all she threats. The earl doth use it with 
 good temper, concealing his marriage as much as so open a matter may 
 be; not that he denies it to any, but for her majesty’s better satisfaction 
 isj)}ea,s pd that my lady shall live very retired in her mother’s house.” 1 
 #*'The important movements of the political game, which, in conse¬ 
 quence of the changes that had followed the assassination of Henry III. 
 of France, was playing for the crown of that realm, between her old 
 antagonist, Philip of Spain, and her favourite protege, Henry of Navarre, 
 the hero of the protestant cause, roused Elizabeth from the feminine 
 
 Lodge’s Illustrations, vol. ii., p. 422. 
 
462 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 weakness of amusing her courtiers with her irascibility on account of 
 the marriage of her youthful favourite. She felt the proud importance 
 of her position in the contest, and that she could with one hand raise 
 the drooping fortunes of the gallant Bourbon from the dust, and with 
 the other inflict a death-blow on the overweening pride of Spain. 
 Henry of Navarre wooed her for succour in the tone of a lover; she 
 was, in fact, his only hope, and she came forward to his assistance, like 
 a true friend, in the hour of his utmost need. The sum of two-and- 
 twenty thousand pounds in gold, which she sent to him, arrived at the 
 moment when his Swiss and German auxiliaries were about to disband 
 for want of pay, and Henry, with a burst of surprise and joy at the 
 sight of the money, declared “ that he had never before beheld so large 
 a sum in gold in his life.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth further honoured her royal protege, by embroidering a scarf 
 for him with her own hands, and using every demonstration of affec¬ 
 tionate regard for his person. She led his envoys into her privy-cham¬ 
 ber to display his portrait, which she pronounced to be beautiful, with 
 such expressions of admiration, that they assured her she would like 
 the original better, adding some insinuations which were far from offend¬ 
 ing her; and they recommended their royal master to cultivate her 
 good-will by writing a flattering note to her at least once a fortnight. 
 Elizabeth levied 3000 men to send to his assistance. Essex threw him¬ 
 self at her feet, and implored her to honour him with the command ot 
 those troops. Elizabeth positively refused, though, with the importu¬ 
 nity of a spoiled child, he remained kneeling before her for hours. 2 
 
 She prudently conferred the trust on her old, experienced commander, 
 sir John Norris. When Henry IV. solicited a further reinforcement, he 
 requested his good sister that she would give the command to her gal¬ 
 lant young master of the horse. Elizabeth reluctantly complied, and 
 wrote a very remarkable letter to Henry on the subject—a letter which, 
 although it has escaped the research of all her historians except made¬ 
 moiselle Keralio, is worthy of attention, both as the only one in which 
 she dwells on the peculiar characteristics of Essex, and also from the 
 endearing, yet dignified manner in which she bespeaks the loving care 
 of her ally for her soldiers. It is certainly one of the most interesting 
 and sensible letters ever penned by this great sovereign: 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to Henry IV. op France. 
 
 “27th July, 1591. 
 
 “ According to the promise which I have always kept in your behalf, iny dear¬ 
 est brother, I send 4000 men to your aid, with a lieutenant, who appears to me 
 very competent. His quality, and the place he holds about me, are such, that it 
 is not customary to permit him to be absent from me; but all these reasons I 
 have forgotten on the present occasion, preferring, to our own necessity and con¬ 
 venience, the gratification of your wish; for which cause, I doubt not, you will 
 respond, with an honourable and careful respect for your greatness, by giving 
 him a favourable reception. In regard to his many merits, you may be assured, 
 if (which most I fear) the rashness of his youth does not make him too precipi¬ 
 tate, you will never have cause to doubt his boldness in your service, for he has 
 
 1 Egerton Papers. 
 
 ’Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 463 
 
 given too frequent proofs that he regards no peril, be it what it may; and you 
 are entreated to bear in mind, that he is too impetuous to be given the reins. 
 
 “But, my God, how can I dream of making any reasonable requests to you, 
 seeing you are so careless of your own life: I must appear a very foolish crea¬ 
 ture. Only I repeat to you, that he will require the bridle rather than the spur. 
 Nevertheless, I hope he will be found to possess skill enough to lead his troops 
 on to do you worthy service: and I dare promise that our subjects are so well 
 disposed, and have hearts so valiant, that they will serve you to ruin all your 
 foes, if their good fortune corresponds with their desires. And now for the 
 wages of all these forces, I must make you two requests: the first, on which de¬ 
 pends their lives, your heart being such that nothing ought to be omitted that 
 regards them, that you will cherish them, not as those who serve as mercenaries, 
 but freely from good affection; also, that you will not carry them into too great 
 danger. You are so wise a prince, that 1 am assured you will not forget that 
 our two nations have not often accorded so well, but they would remember their 
 ancient quarrels, not considering themselves of the same country, but separated 
 by a mighty deep ; and that you will so bear it in hand, that no inconveniences 
 shall arise when they arrive. I have, on my part, inculcated good lessons on 
 my people, which, I am assured, they will observe. 
 
 “And now, not to fatigue you with too long a letter, I will conclude with this 
 advice: that, in approaching our coasts, you would not forget to debouche the way 
 to Parma, 1 in all directions where he might enter, for I am assured that he has 
 received orders to press towards the Low Countries, rather than to France. 
 
 “ Your very assured good sister and cousin, 
 
 “E. R.’ :J 
 
 In this last hint, Elizabeth’s policy in sending her troops to the aid of 
 Henry is explained. She had conditioned that her people were not to 
 be employed in the contest between the Huguenot king of France and 
 his malcontent catholic subjects, but only against the Spanish invaders, 
 who had entered Bretagne, and were rather alarming neighbours to Eng¬ 
 land. Henry violated his pact on this point, by directing the English 
 troops against his rebel subjects, in order to obtain, by force of arms, his 
 recognition as sovereign of France, making all other considerations sub¬ 
 servient to that leading object. Elizabeth remonstrated in vain, and at 
 last her patience failed her; and in reply to some contumacious expres¬ 
 sions from Henry IV., she addressed the following indignant language to 
 him:— 
 
 “ I am astonished that any one, who is so much beholden to us for aid in his 
 need, should pay his most assured friend in such base coin. Can you imagine 
 that the softness of my sex deprives me of the courage to resent a public affront* 
 The royal blood I boast could not brook from the mightiest prince in Christen¬ 
 dom such treatment as you have, within the last three months, offered to me. 
 Be not displeased if I tell you roundly, that if thus you treat your friends, who 
 freely, and from pure affection, are serving you at a most important time, they 
 will fail you hereafter at your greatest need. I would instantly have withdrawn 
 my troops, had it not appeared to me that your ruin would have been the result, 
 if the others, led by my example, and apprehending similar treatment, should 
 desert you. This consideration induces me .to allow them to remain a little 
 longer; blushing, meantime, that 1 am made to tire world the spectacle cf a 
 despised princess. 
 
 'The duke of Parma, Philip II's generalissimo in the Netherlands. 
 
 ’ Keraiio. The original is in the perplexed French in which all Elizabeth’s 
 letters to Henry are written. 
 
46 J 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 “I beseech the Creator to inspire you with a better way of preserving your 
 friends. 
 
 ‘•Your sister, who merits better treatment than she has had, 
 
 “E. R.” 1 
 
 Henry knew how to soften, by seductive flattery, the wrath of the 
 royal lioness, by whom his cause had been supported, when he had no 
 other friend, and he always kept on the most agreeable terms with the 
 brave and generous Essex. If the talents of Essex had been equal to 
 his chivalry, he would have won the most brilliant reputation in Europe; 
 but his achievements were confined to personal acts of valour, which 
 procured him, in the French camp, the name of the English Achilles. 2 
 
 “ The old fox,” as Essex always called his former guardian, Burleigh, 
 had done the utmost to widen the breach between him and the queen, 
 and he now made all the advantage he could of his absence, by inces¬ 
 santly entreating her majesty to give the place of secretary of state to 
 his son, Robert Cecil. Essex was the warm friend and patron of Davi¬ 
 son, whose cause he was continually pleading to the queen, and had, by 
 his powerful influence, kept his office vacant, in spite of the veteran pre¬ 
 mier’s pertinacious solicitations to her majesty to bestow it on his own 
 son. The queen took a malicious pleasure in keeping Burleigh in sus¬ 
 pense; and when she went in progress to Theobalds, in May, 1591, 
 where she was entertained with great magnificence, and received many 
 costly presents, she contented herself, at her departure, with bestowing 
 the accolade of knighthood on the crooked little aspirant for the coveted 
 office in her cabinet. 
 
 “I suppose,” writes sir Thomas Wylkes to sir Robert Sidney, “you 
 have heard of her majesty’s great entertainment at Theobalds, her knight¬ 
 ing sir Robert Cecil, and of the expectation of his advancement to the 
 secretaryship; but so it is, as we said in court, the knighthood must 
 serve for both.” 
 
 On the 19th of July, Elizabeth honoured Burleigh with a visit at his 
 house, in the Strand, and they went together to take a private view of 
 the house of the absent Essex, in Covent Garden, a proceeding that had 
 somewhat the appearance of an impertinent piece of espionage. It was 
 probably during this visit that sir Robert Cecil obtained his long-delayed 
 preferment to the place of secretary of state; for, on the second of 
 August, he was sworn of the privy-council at Nonsuch. Soon after, the 
 little man had the honour of entertaining her majesty at his own house, 
 where he endeavoured to propitiate her favour, by getting up one of the 
 most original pieces of flattery that was ever devised for her gratifica¬ 
 tion. A person in the dress of a Post enters with letters, exclaiming— 
 
 “ Is Mr. Secretary Cecil here ? Did you see Mr. Secretary 1 Gentlemen, can 
 you bring me to Mr. Secretary Cecil? 
 
 U A Gentleman Usher. Mr. Secretary Cecil is not here. What business have 
 you with him ? 
 
 “ Post. Marry, sir, I have letters that import her majesty’s service. 
 
 “ Usher. If the letters concern the queen, why should you not deliver them to 
 the queen ? You see she is present, and you cannot have a better opportunity, 
 if the intelligence be so important, and concern herself, as you say.” 
 
 1 Letter from Elizabeth to Henry IV., dated Nov. 9,1591, in Keralio. *Thuanus. 
 
ELIZABETH. 465 
 
 After some high-flown compliments to the various perfections of her 
 majesty, the Post says :— 
 
 “Well, I am half persuaded to deliver the letters to her own hand; but, sir, 
 they come from the emperor of China, in a language that she understands not. 
 
 “ Usher. Why, then, you are very simple, Post. Though it be so, yet these 
 princes, as the Great Turk and the rest, do always send a translation in Italian, 
 French, Spanish, or Latin, and then it’s all one to her. 
 
 "■Post. Doth she understand all these languages, and hath never crossed the 
 seas ? 
 
 "Usher. Art thou a Post, and hast ridden so many miles, and met with so 
 many men, and hast not heard what all the world knows, that she speaks and 
 understands all the languages in the world, which are worthy to be spoken or 
 understood ? 
 
 "Post. It may be that she understands them in a sort, well enough for a lady, 
 but not so well as secretaries should do. 
 
 "Usher. Tush! what talkest thou of secretaries'? As for one of them, whom 
 thou most askest for, if he have any thing that is worth talking of, the world 
 knows well enough where he had it, for he kneels every day where he learns 
 a new lesson. Go on, therefore; deliver thy letters. I warrant thee she will 
 read them, if they be in any Christian language. 
 
 "Post. But is it possible that a lady, born and bred in her own island, having 
 but seen the confines of her own kingdom, should be able, without interpreters, 
 to give audience and answer still to all foreign ambassadors? 
 
 “ Usher. Yea, Post, we have seen that so often tried, that it is here no wonder. 
 But, to make an end, look upon her. How thinkest thou—doest thou see her? 
 Say truly, sawest thou ever more majesty or more perfection met together in one 
 body? Believe me, Post, for wisdom and policy she is as inwardly suitable as 
 externally admirable. 
 
 "Post. Oh, sir, why now I stand back, the rather you have so daunted my 
 spirits with that word ; for first yon say she hath majesty, and that, you know, 
 never likes audacity. Next you say, she is full of policy. Now, what do I know, 
 if policy may not think fit to hang up a Post if he be too saucy? 
 
 '■Usher. Oh, simple Post, thou art the wilfullest creature that liveth. Host 
 thou not know that, besides all her perfections, all the earth hath not such a 
 prince for affability; for all is one.—Come gentleman, come serving-man, come 
 ploughman, come beggar,—the hour is yet to come that ever she refused a peti¬ 
 tion. Will she, then, refuse a letter that comes from so great an emperor, and 
 for her service ? No, no ; do as I bid thee. I should know some things, that 
 have been a quarter-master these fifteen years. Draw near her, kneel down 
 before her, kiss thy letters and deliver them, and use no prattling while she is 
 reading them; and if ever thou have worse words than, ‘ God have mercy, fel¬ 
 low!’ and ‘Give him a reward!’ never trust me while thou livest.” 3 
 
 This dialogue is not only valuable as a great literary curiosity, but as 
 affording a correct description of the etiquette observed by the ministers and 
 officers of queen Elizabeth’s household, in delivering letters, presenting 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses, from Harl. MSS., 286, f. 248, Brit. Mus.—Queen Elizabeth 
 was in the habit of receiving complimentary letters from the sultan Amurath III., 
 from the czar of Muscovy, and the emperors of Morocco and China. In the Ar- 
 chasologia there is a fac-simile of a highly curious letter of hers, addressed “To 
 the Right, High, Mighty and Invincible Emperor of Cathaye.’’ It was intended 
 as the credential of Sir George Waymouth, on his voyage of discovery, in 1662. 
 It has a richly illuminated border, on a red ground, and is signed at the bottom 
 by the queen, in her largest sized hand. The royal arms have lions for support¬ 
 ers at the sides of the shield. The vellum letter was accompanied by separate 
 translations, on paper, in Italian, Latin, and Portuguese. 
 
 2 E 
 
46G 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 papers for her signature, and listening to her instiurtions, which we find 
 sir Robert Cecil did, on the knee. The hearty, popular manner with 
 which Elizabeth was wont to receive any act of service, or small pre¬ 
 sent, from the humbler ranks of her subjects, and which always re¬ 
 minded those, who remembered her father, of bluff king Hal, in his 
 cloth-of-gold days, is, of course, described to the life in this curious per¬ 
 formance. The most surprising part of the matter was, that her majesty 
 could sit quietly to listen to so many fulsome compliments. 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil had deeply studied all the weak points of his royal 
 mistress’s character, and endeavoured, by flattering her to the top of her 
 bent, to render himself so acceptable to her that his personal defects 
 might be overlooked. It is just possible that, that mighty observer of 
 the human heart, in all its erratic movements, Shakspeare, had the de¬ 
 formed secretary, Cecil, in his thoughts when, in defiance of historic 
 truth, he made his royal hunchback, Richard III., prevail with the lady 
 Anne, through the magic of his seductive flattery. It was with that 
 potent weapon that sir Robert Cecil presumed to enter the lists with the 
 handsome, gallant and manly earls of Cumberland and Essex, with 
 Mountjoye, with Carey, and with Raleigh, for the favour of the dainty 
 queen, who certainly regarded ugliness as a greater sin than witchcraft. 
 She was, however, amused at the idea of her new secretary affecting the 
 airs of a lover in the privy-chamber. 
 
 A few days after queen Elizabeth had gratified sir Robert Cecil with 
 the office of secretary, she went in progress, with her court, into Sussex 
 and Hampshire. Her first visit was to Cowdrav, the seat of the viscount 
 Montague, the son of sir Anthony Brown, master of the horse to Henry 
 VIII. Her majesty having dined at Farnham, proceeded with her train, 
 on the 15th of August, to Cowdray, where she arrived about eight 
 o’clock on the Saturday night. She was greeted, as soon as she came 
 in sight, with a loud burst of music, which continued till she stepped 
 on the bridge, where a person in armour was stationed between two 
 figures, carved in wood to represent porters, and holding a club in one 
 hand and a golden key in the other, which he presented to her majesty, 
 at the end of the most bombastic speech, in her praise, that had yet 
 been addressed to her. Wherewithal her highness took the key, and 
 said “she would swear for him there was none more faithful.” She 
 then alighted, and embraced the lady Montague and her daughter, the 
 lady Dormer. The noble hostess was so overpowered by her feelings 
 on this occasion, that she wept upon her majesty’s bosom, exclaiming, 
 “Oh! happy time!—oh! joyful day.” 1 That night the queen took her 
 rest in a stately velvet bed; the chamber in which she slept was hung 
 with tapestry taken from Raphael’s cartoons; the sea-fight in which her 
 great uncle, the valiant sir Edward Howard, met his death in Brest har¬ 
 bour, was painted in fresco on the ceiling. 
 
 Three oxen and one hundred and forty geese furnished forth the Sun 
 day morning’s breakfast for the maiden monarch and her company. 2 On 
 the Monday morning, by eight o’clock, her highness took horse, with 
 
 2 IbiJ. 
 
 ’ Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 467 
 
 all her train, and rode into the park, where a delicate bower was pre¬ 
 pared, under which her own musicians were placed, who accompanied 
 the vocal performance of a nymph, who, with a sweet song, delivered.a 
 cross-bow into the queen’s hand, to shoot at the deer, some thirty in 
 number, that were enclosed in a paddock, to be slaughtered by the fair 
 hands of royal and noble ladies; no wonder their pastimes were of a 
 savage nature, after devouring oxen and roasted geese by wholesale, foi 
 breakfast. Elizabeth killed three or four of the deer with her own hand, 
 and the countess of Kildare one. 
 
 Then rode her grace to Cowdray to dinner, and about six of the clock 
 in the evening, from a turret, saw sixteen bucks, all having fair law, pulled 
 down with greyhounds on a lawn. 
 
 The next day her majesty was entertained at the priory by his lord- 
 ship, who, in a sort of friendly rivalry to his lady, feasted the royal 
 guest at his hunting-seat, where she was greeted, in the pleasance, first 
 by a pilgrim, and secondly by a wild man, clad in ivy, who addressed 
 quaint speeches to her, followed by what she, no doubt, considered 
 something better—an excellent cry of hounds and a buck-hunt. 
 
 On the Wednesday, her majesty and her ladies dined in the forest- 
 walk, at a table four-and-twenty yards long, and were regaled with 
 choice music. Among other devices with which she was entertained, 
 an angler, after making a suitable harangue to the royal guest, netted all 
 the fish in a fair pond, and laid them at her feet. 
 
 Elizabeth dined on the following day in the private walks of the 
 garden, with her ladies and nobles, at a table forty-eight feet long. “ In 
 the evening, the country people presented themselves to her majesty, in 
 a pleasant dance, with pipe and tabor, and the lord and lady Montague 
 among them, to the great pleasure of the beholders, and the gentle 
 applause of her majesty.” 
 
 The royal guest departed on the morrow. As she was going through 
 the arbour to take horse, there stood six gentlemen, whom she knighted, 
 the lord-admiral laying the sword on their shoulders. Lord Montague, 
 his three sons, with the high-sheriff, and all the gentlemen of the 
 county, attended her majesty, on horseback, to the place where she 
 dined. 
 
 Elizabeth next proceeded to Elvetham, the seat of the earl of Hert¬ 
 ford. 1 
 
 The earl, having received a shrewd hint that her majesty meant to 
 come and take him by surprise, on this progress, set three hundred 
 
 1 Whom, in the early part of her reign, she had so cruelly fined and imprisoned, 
 for having presumed to steal a marriage with her kinswoman, lady Katharine 
 Gray. Hertford was released after the death of his broken-hearted consort, in 
 1567, and immediately married one of the more favoured maternal cousins of 
 the queen, lady Frances Howard, sister to the lord-admiral—a lady who had not 
 escaped the breath of slander, on account of her passion for Leicester; but she 
 dying soon after her union with Hertford, he married, thirdly, another lady Fran¬ 
 ces Howard, the heiress of the first viscount Bindon, a young, fair widow, who 
 had stolen a match with the handsome Henry Prannel, the vintner. She was 
 also cousin to the queen, and, notwithstanding her first plebeian match, the 
 proudest woman in England. 
 
468 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 artificers to work to enlarge his house, and make the most magnificent 
 arrangements for her reception, and then humbly solicited her to honour 
 him by becoming his guest. The queen promised to be with him on 
 the 20th of September, in time for the evening banquet. About three 
 o’clock on that day, the earl, attended by three hundred followers, most 
 of them wearing gold chains about their necks, and in their hats black 
 and yellow feathers, set off to meet her majesty, midway between her 
 own house of Odiham and Elvetham Park. The queen took this atten¬ 
 tion in good part, and received him graciously. Half-way between the 
 park-gate and the house, a poet, clad in green, and crowned with laurel, 
 met and welcomed the royal guest with a long Latin poem, which he 
 rehearsed on his knees. His page offered him a cushion to kneel upon, 
 on purpose for him to reject it with a Latin distich, which is thus trans¬ 
 lated :— 
 
 “ Now let us use no cushion but fair hearts, 
 
 For now we kneel to more than common saints.” 
 
 Then six fair virgins, crowned with flowers, three of them representing 
 the graces, and three the hours, with baskets of flowers on their arms, 
 made lowly reverence to the queen, and walked before her to the house, 
 strewing the way with flowers, and singing a sweet song of six parts :— 
 
 “ With fragrant flowers we strew the way, 
 
 And make this our chief holiday; 
 
 For though this clime were blest of yore, 
 
 Yet was it never proud before. 
 
 Oh, beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy! 
 
 Now air is sweeter than sweet balm, 
 
 And satyrs dance about the palm; 
 
 Now earth with verdure newly dight 
 Gives perfect sign of her delight. 
 
 Oh, beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy 
 
 Now birds record new harmony, 
 
 And trees do whistle melody, 
 
 Now everything that nature breeds 
 Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. 
 
 Oh, beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy!” 
 
 The song ended with the queen’s arrival at the hall-door, where she 
 alighted from her horse, and her kinswoman, the countess of Hertford, 
 late widow to the handsome London vintner, Prannel, accompanied with 
 divers honourable ladies, humbly on her knees welcomed her highness 
 to that place, who, embracing her, took her up and kissed her, with 
 many gracious words to her, as well as to the earl, to the great rejoicing 
 of the beholders. 
 
 In the park, on a green hill-side, a summer pavilion was prepared in 
 exquisite taste, with a large state-room for the nobles, and a withdraw- 
 ing-room, at the end, for the queen. The outside of the structure was 
 covered with boughs, and clusters of ripe hazel-nuts; the interior hung 
 with arras; the roof was lined with devices in ivy leaves, and the floor 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 4G9 
 
 strewn with sweet herbs and green rushes. Between this pavilion and 
 the mansion, in a deep valley, a goodly pond was dug, in the figure of 
 a half-moon, and filled with water, having three islands upon it; the 
 first was to resemble a ship, a hundred feet in length, and forty in 
 breadth, having three trees orderly set for masts; the second was a fort, 
 twenty feet square, overgrown with willows; the third was called tbe 
 snail mount, rising to four circles, of green privet hedge. In all these 
 were fireworks, music, and artillery, and the moment her majesty arrived, 
 a volley of a hundred chamber pieces saluted her from the ship, the for¬ 
 tress, and the snail mount. After the morning festival, a fair and rich 
 gift, from the countess of Hertford, was presented to the queen, “ which 
 greatly pleased and contented her highness,” we are told, by the quaint 
 chronicler of w the honourable entertainment of her majesty at Elve- 
 tham.” 1 
 
 The princely pleasures of Kenilworth were almost rivalled on this 
 accasion. All the fabled mythological monsters of the deep were per¬ 
 sonated on the surface of the pond, which they peopled, in boats of 
 ;very size and shape, and battled in grotesque fashions ; the islands by 
 urns represented besieged castles, or fiery monsters vomiting flames. 
 The fairy queen and her train, in allusion to the name of Elvetham, 
 nade their appearance under her majesty’s windows, in the garden with 
 lances and songs, in honour of the royal guest. 
 
 Faiiue’s Song. 
 
 “ Eliza is the fairest queen 
 That ever trod upon this green; 
 
 Eliza’s eyes are blessed stars, 
 
 Inducing peace, subduing wars; 
 
 Eliza’s hand is crystal bright; 
 
 Her words are balm, her looks are light; 
 
 Eliza’s breast is that fair hill 
 Where virtue dwells, and sacred skill! 
 
 Oh, blessed be each day and hour, 
 
 Where sweet Eliza builds her bower!” 
 
 The queen gave noble largess, and expressed her great content at all 
 (he saw and heard. At her departure, the hours and graces attended to 
 )id her farewell, wringing their hands in token of their grief. The poet 
 lad in a black cloak, and with yew boughs in his chaplet, to express 
 hat he was in mourning now, addressed her in a lamentable effusion 
 )f lame verse, and old Nereus came wading from the other end of the 
 iond to her majesty’s coach, and, on his knees, thanked her for her late 
 argess; and as she passed through the park gate a concert of musicians, 
 lidden in a bower, played and sang the following song:— 
 
 O come again, fair Nature's treasure, 
 
 Whose looks yield joy’s exceeding measure; 
 
 O come again, world's star-bright eye, 
 
 Whose presence beautifies the sky; 
 
 O come again, heaven's chief delight, 
 
 Thine absence makes eternal night; 
 
 1 A contemporary tract, embellished with pictures of the pond and its three 
 hands, in Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
470 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 O come again, sweet lively sun, 
 
 When thou art gone, our joys are done!” 
 
 As this song was sung, her majesty, notwithstanding the great rain, 
 stopped her coach, and pulled off her mask, giving great thanks, and 
 assured lord Hertford, “ that the beginning, process, and end of this, his 
 entertainment, was so honourable, that hereafter he should find the 
 reward thereof, in her special favour.” 1 Elizabeth very soon forgot hei 
 promise, and all the return she made to her noble host for the immense 
 expense and trouble he had put himself to on her account, was to pro¬ 
 vide him with lodgings in the Tower, on a very causeless fit of jealousy 
 of his children, by his marriage with her hapless cousin, lady Katherine 
 Gray, whose son, lord Beauchamp, was to her an object of peculiar ill- 
 will, as she suspected him of wishing to be appointed her successor. 
 
 The same autumn died the lord-chancellor, sir Christopher Hatton, 
 of dancing celebrity, whose galliards are remembered, when his legal 
 decisions have been long consigned to oblivion, thanks to the sarcastic 
 records of his contemporary, sir Robert Naunton, and the following 
 playful lines of Gray, which are quoted for the sake of the allusion to 
 Elizabeth’s suspected passion for the handsome lawyer:— 
 
 “ Full oft, within the spacious walls, 
 
 When he had fifty winters o’er him, 
 
 My grave lord-keeper led the brawls, * 3 
 The seals and maces danced before him. 
 
 His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, 
 
 His high-crowned hat, and satin doublet, 
 
 Moved the stout heart of England’s queen, 
 
 Though pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.” 
 
 Hatton lived long enough to experience the fickleness of royal regard, 
 although he was the only one of Elizabeth’s especial favourites who 
 was dutiful enough to remain a bachelor to please his liege lady. His 
 death has been generally attributed to the harsh manner in which queen 
 Elizabeth enforced the payment of a crown debt in the season of his 
 declining health. The insinuation that it was regarded in the light of a 
 default distressed his mind so deeply that he took to his bed. When 
 the queen was informed of the effects of her unkindness, she was 
 touched with compunction for what she had done, and came to visit 
 
 1 Nichols’ Progresses of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 3 “The ancient English dance called a brawl," says Mr. Douce, “was an im¬ 
 portation from France, with which balls were usually opened, the performers 
 first uniting hands in a circle, and then, according to an authority printed in 
 French, 1579, the leading couple placing themselves in the centre of the ring, 
 the gentleman saluted all the ladies in turn, and his partner the gentlemen. 
 Bassompierre declares, that the dnlte de Montpensier, only a very few days 
 before he expired, in 1608, was removed from his bed, purposely to witness one 
 of these dances, which was performed in his own palace by some of the young 
 nobility. Wc may suppose the term brauls was derived from the romps and 
 uproars that the saluting department occasioned. Sir Christopher Hatton, lord- 
 keeper, at the palace of Greenwich, used to open the brawls with queen Eliza- 
 oeth; and his graceful performance, as her partner, appears to have moved the 
 wrath of her half-brother Sir John Perrot. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 471 
 
 him, endeavouring, by the most gracious behaviour and soothing words, 
 to console him. She even carried her condescension so far as to admin¬ 
 ister a posset to him with her own hands ; but there are some wounds 
 which no flattering balms can heal. The royal attentions came too late 
 to revive the dying chancellor—his heart was broken. 1 
 
 Elizabeth, meantime, who had not yet forgiven Essex for his mar¬ 
 riage, hearing that he was a candidate for the chancellorship of Oxford, 
 which became vacant at the death of Ilatton, ordered the university to 
 choose the rival candidate, lord Buckhurst. Essex was deeply mortified, 
 and being then engaged at the siege of Rouen, wrote to one of his 
 friends at home; “ If I die in the assault, pity me not, for I shall die 
 with more pleasure than I live with ; if 1 escape, comfort me not, for 
 the queen’s wrong and unkindness is too great.” 2 
 
 When the king of France sent Du Plessis de Mornay to request more 
 troops of Elizabeth, and something was said by the ambassador imply¬ 
 ing that the earl of Essex was favourable to his master’s wish, she 
 flamed into open anger, used the most bitter expressions against her 
 offending favourite, and finished by saying, “ that the earl of Essex 
 would have it thought that he ruled her realm; but that nothing w r as 
 more untrue, that she would make him the most pitiful fellow in her 
 realm; and instead of sending the king of France more troops, she 
 would recall all those she had lent him.” 3 
 
 The astonished envoy found he had committed a desperate blunder, 
 and endeavoured, by a complimentary speech, to appease the storm he 
 had unwittingly raised; but Elizabeth not being in a humour to listen 
 calmly, rose up abruptly, declared herself very much indisposed, and 
 told him she was compelled, on that account, to cut short the audience. 
 Du Plessis then offered to present her with a memorial which he had 
 previously prepared; but she haughtily bade him give it to her lord- 
 treasurer, and swept out of the room/ 1 She well knew that she was in 
 a position to assume the airs of a paramount sovereign to Henry of Na¬ 
 varre at that moment, and the angry feelings the name of Essex had 
 excited were, without ceremony, vented on his ambassador. j 
 
 She had some reason to be displeased with Henry, who had violated 
 the solemn conditions on which she had assisted him with men and 
 money, by employing them in a different manner from what she had 
 prescribed. Fearing that the occupation of Bretagne by the armies of 
 Spain was a prelude to an invasion of her own shores, she had expressly 
 
 ‘Hatton’s troubles and ill health commenced with his preferment to the office 
 of lord-chancellor; for he had but a common smattering of law, and knew so 
 little of his office, that the advocates refused to plead before him. His natural 
 good sense, patience, and caution, made him, in every case, take advice of able 
 old lawyers. He studied with great application, yet he survived this singular 
 elevation but four years. He probably died of a heart complaint, brought on by 
 excessive anxiety regarding duties for which he was not qualified. He had large 
 estates, which had been granted to him by the queen in the palmy days of his 
 attendance on her person as vice-chamberlain, but was destitute of the sum of 
 ready money necessary to liquidate his responsibility for the crown moneys he 
 had received. 
 
 “Murdin. 8 Mem. Du Plessis Mornay; Rapin. *Ib-d. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 472 
 
 directed that her troops should be employed in repelling the Spanish . L ' 
 force in that province; but as Henry’s first object was to establish his ^ 
 contested claims to the throne of France, he had with selfish policy ft 
 made use of his English auxiliaries for his own interest, rather than that 
 of their queen. 
 
 Elizabeth’s anger against Essex, though imperiously and offensively 
 expressed, was neither more nor less than the feverish irritability of the 
 deep-seated passion, which neither pride, reason, nor the absence of the 1 
 object of it, could subdue. She menaced and reviled him, while she 
 loved him, and eagerly desired his presence. When she heard how i ; 
 much he exposed his person in battle, her affection took the alarm; but 
 as soon as the news reached her that his brother Walter was slain, she • 
 wrote to remand Essex home. 
 
 Much annoyed at this order, Essex sent sir Thomas Darcy, to assure : 
 her majesty, that if he withdrew at such a season, he should be covered 
 with dishonour. He had already been reproached by the besieged with! C ir 
 cowardice, for having failed to avenge his brother’s death; whereupon to 
 he sent Villars, the governor of Rouen, a challenge “ to meet him on ,r > 
 horse or foot, and by personal encounter to decide, which was the bet- to 
 ter man, fought in the better cause, or served the fairest mistress.” to 
 Villars declined the combat in very uncourteous terms, and added, with S f| 
 a sneer, “ that as to the beauty of their mistresses, it was scarcely worth M 
 his while to put himself to much trouble about that.” 1 A remark that to 
 was evidently intended to indicate his contempt for the long-established, to 
 claims of her majesty of England to be treated as a beauty: indeed, as i 1 
 Elizabeth was fast approaching her sixtieth year, the less that was said 
 by her friends of her charms, the better it would have been. 
 
 Soon after the town of Gornye surrendered to the united arms of ® 
 France and England, and Essex sent sir Robert Carey home with letters > 
 to the queen, announcing the news, and entreating further leave of ab- - 
 sence, that this great success might be followed up. Before the arrival 
 of Carey, the queen, who could not brook the slightest opposition to : 
 her commands, had sent Darcy back, with a peremptory order to the ii 
 earl, to return, without delay, as he would answer it at his utmost peril, 
 with commission from her to sir Thomas Layton, to take the command W' 
 of his troops. Carey gives a lively account of his mission. to 
 
 “ I arrived,” says he, “ at Oatlands, early in the morning, before the - 
 queen was stirring, and conferred with her council on the subject of his it 
 errand. They assured me that the queen was so determined, that it to 
 would be perilous to myself if I attempted to urge any persuasions for in 
 the earl’s stay in France. 
 
 “ About ten of the clock,” pursues he, “ the queen sent for me; 1 
 delivered her my lord’s letter. She presently burst out in a rage against 
 mv lord, and vowed, 4 she would make him an example to all the world 
 if he presently left not his charge, and returned upon sir Francis Darcy’s ’ 
 coming to him.’ I said nothing to her till she had read his letter. She 
 seemed meanly (tolerably) well contented with the success at Gornye; 
 
 1 Mezeray. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 473 
 
 and then I said to her, 1 Madam, I know my lord’s care is such to obey 
 all your commands, that he will not make one hour’s stay after sir 
 Francis hath delivered to him his fatal doom; but, madam, give me 
 leave to let your majesty know beforehand, what you shall truly find at 
 his return, after he hath had the happiness to see you, and to kiss your 
 hand.’ ” 1 
 
 Carey then went on to assure the queen, “ that the earl would so 
 keenly feel the disgrace of being recalled from the post of danger, that 
 he would give up public life, forsake the court, and retire to some cell 
 in the country for the rest of his days, which, assuredly, would not be 
 long between his grief for his brother’s death, and her majesty’s dis¬ 
 pleasure, which, both together, would break his heart. Then your ma¬ 
 jesty,” pursued his friend, “ will have sufficient satisfaction for the 
 offence he hath committed against you.” 2 
 
 “She seemed to be somewhat offended with my discourse,” continues 
 Carev, “ and bade me go to dinner. 1 had scarcely made an end of my 
 dinner, but I was sent for, to come to her again. She delivered a letter, 
 written with her own hand, to my lord, and bade me tell him, that, “ if 
 there were anything in it that did please him, he should 'give me 
 hanks for it.” “ It is evident,” observes the noble editor of “ Carey’s 
 Memoirs,” “ that her own heart, not the pleading of Robert Carey, how¬ 
 ever moving, drew from Elizabeth this letter' v ' She satisfied herself with 
 he pleasure of writing to Essex, when she could not, consistently with 
 lis glory, obtain the pleasure of seeing him.” Carey, who was perfect 
 n the delicate art of adapting himself to the humour of his royal mis- 
 ress, humbly kissed her hand, and said, “ he hoped there was that in 
 he letter which would make the most dejected man living a new crea- 
 ure, rejoicing in nothing so much as that he served so gracious a mis- 
 • ress.” 
 
 So peremptory, however, had been the mandate sent to Essex by 
 i Darcy, that he dared not hesitate, and before the departure of Carey with 
 his gracious missive from the queen, he had resigned his command to 
 ir Thomas Layton, and, putting himself into a little skiff at Dieppe, 
 tade all the haste he could to England. Carey, who had used almost 
 lcredible expedition to bring the good tidings of the change in the sove- 
 eign’s mind to his friend, did not arrive till two hours after he had 
 ■ ailed. The earl, who expected to be received with an outburst of royal 
 iry on his return, found himself pleasantly mistaken, for her majesty, 
 harmed with his unlooked-for obedience to her previous summons, used 
 im with such grace and favour, that he stayed a Week with her, passing 
 ite time in jollity and feasting; and, when the time of parting came, 
 te, with tears in her eyes, manifested ^jer affection to him, and, for 
 :pair of his honour, gave him leave to return to his charge again. 3 
 
 When Essex met Carey at Dieppe, he straightly embraced him, telling 
 im “ that when he had need of one to plead his cause, he would never 
 •e any other orator than him.” Carey then delivered the precious, but 
 i yet unopened letter, and Essex said, “ Worthy cousin, I know by her- 
 
 1 Autobiography of Robert Carey, earl of Monmouth. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 474 
 
 self how you prevailed with her, and what a true friend I had of you, 
 which I shall never forget.” Tlus reconciliation between Essex and the 
 queen took place in April, 1592. She kept the annual festival of the 
 garter on St. George’s day, at Greenwich, while he was with her, and 
 was conducted into the chapel by him and the lord-admiral Howard of 
 Effingham, in the robes of the order, her train being borne by the lord- 
 chamberlain and two of her ladies. 1 
 
 Elizabeth visited Oxford again this summer, in the month of Septem¬ 
 ber, to do honour to the new chancellor, Buckhurst. 2 From Oxford she 
 proceeded to Ricote, the seat of lord and lady Norris, who both held a 
 high place in her favour. Ties of no common nature had cemented a 
 bond of friendship between the maiden monarch and this noble pair. 
 Norris was the son of the unfortunate sir Henry Norris, once the fa¬ 
 vourite gentleman-in-waiting to king Henry VIII., and afterwards the 
 victim of his vengeful fury, when, being involved in the accusation that 
 was preferred against queen Anne Boleyn, he had refused to purchase 
 his own life by bearing false witness against that unhappy lady. Lady 
 Norris was the daughter of the generous lord Williams of Tame, who 
 had, in the time of Elizabeth’s great adversity, when under the cloud of 
 her sister’s displeasure, treated her with such protecting kindness and 
 munificent hospitality during her sorrowful journey to Woodstock, that 
 it was impossible it could ever be effaced from her remembrance. Eliza¬ 
 beth’s acquaintance with lady Norris having commenced under circum¬ 
 stances so romantic, had induced a greater degree of personal familiarity 
 than is usual between sovereigns and their subjects, and her majesty was 
 wont to call her caressingly “ her dear crow,” in allusion to the black¬ 
 ness of her hair, or the darkness of her complexion, a hue “ which,” as 
 Fuller observes, “ no whit misbecame the faces of her martial offspring.” 
 
 The queen’s pet name for his lady was played upon by the time- 
 honoured veteran, lord Norris, or at least by his representative, who, in 
 the character of an old soldier, addressed a speech to her majesty, in 
 which, after telling her he was past the age of martial deeds, he says, 
 “ my horse, my armour, my shield, my sword, the riches of a young 
 soldier, and an old soldier’s relics, I should here offer to your highness, 
 but my four boys have stolen them from me, vowing themselves to 
 arms.” Of these, the valiant sir John Norris was then commanding the 
 English forces in France, sir Edward had distinguished himself in the 
 Netherlands. The others were serving in Ireland. “The rumour of 
 their deaths,” pursued the old man, “ hath so often affrighted the crow, 
 mv wife, that her heart hath been as black as her feathers. I know not 
 whether it be affection or fondness, but the crow thinketh her own birds 
 the fairest, because to her they are the dearest. What joys we both 
 conceive neither can express ; suffice it, they be, as your virtues, infinite. 
 And although nothing be more unfit to lodge your majesty than a crow’s 
 nest, yet shall it be most happy to us that it is by your highness made 
 a phcenix nest.” At the end of this quaint speech, the offering of a fair 
 gown was presented to her majesty. 
 
 1 History of the Orders of Knighthood, by Sir H. Nicolas. 
 
 a Nichols 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 475 
 
 The mournful tidings of the death of one of the four brave boys, to 
 whom allusion was proudly made in the old man’s speech, was, a few 
 years after this visit to Ricote, communicated by the queen to lady Nor¬ 
 ris, in the following beautiful letter, in which her majesty affectionately 
 addresses the afflicted friend of her youth, by the quaint sobriquet 
 which was, of course, regarded as an epithet of familiar endearment: 
 “Mine own dear Crow, 
 
 “ Although we have deferred long to represent unto you our grieved thoughts, 
 because we liked full ill to yield you the first reflections of our misfortunes, 
 whom we have always sought to cherish and comfort, yet knowing now that 
 necessity must bring it to your ears, and nature consequently must raise many 
 passionate workings in your heart, we have resolved no longer to smother either 
 our care for your sorrow, or the sympathy of our grief for his death ; wherein, 
 if society in sorrowing work any diminution, we do assure you, by this true 
 messenger of our mind, that nature can have stirred no more dolorous affection 
 in you, as a mother for a dear son, than the grateful memory of his services past 
 hath wrought in us, his sovereign, apprehension of the miss of so worthy a 
 servant. 
 
 “But now that nature’s common work is done, and he that was born to die 
 hath paid his tribute, let that Christian di?Sretion stay the flow of your immode¬ 
 rate grieving, which hath instructed you, both by example and knowledge, that 
 nothing of this kind hath happened but by God’s providence; and let these lines 
 from your loving and gracious sovereign serve to assure you that there shall ever 
 remain the lively character of you and yours that are left, in valuing rightly all 
 their faithful and honest endeavours. 
 
 “ More at this time I will not write of this unsilent subject, but have despatched 
 this gentleman to visit both your lord, and to condole with you in the true sense 
 of our love, and to pray yqu, that the world may see that what time cureth in 
 weak minds, that discretion and moderation help you in this accident, where 
 there is so opportune occasion to demonstrate true patience and moderation.” 1 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 F^ijuji^issn^ff 5 S ¥*—Queen violates the privileges of parliament—Her severe 
 letter to Henry IV. on his change of creed—Her theological studies—Trans¬ 
 lates Boethius—Supposed plot against her life by Lopez—Her letter to Henry 
 IV. in behalf of the son of Don Antonio, of Portugal—Her persecution of the 
 puritans — Henry IV. and her portrait—Court gessip and intrigues — Royal 
 pageantry, fetes, and costly presents to the queen — Her sagacious conduct to 
 her maternal kindred — Disgrace of Robert Carey—His attempts to propitiate 
 the queen — Her stormy interview with him on his return from Scotland — 
 Their reconciliation — Her rage at Raleigh's marriage — Her reception of Dr. 
 
 1 Fuller's Worthies of Oxfordshire, p. 336. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 476 
 
 Rudd’s sermon — Her parsimony, and abridgment of naval and military sup. 
 plies—Quarrels with Essex—Her jealousy of the fair Bridges—Essex's expe¬ 
 dition to Spain—His loving letter to the queen—Growing influence of the lord 
 admiral—She creates him earl of Nottingham—Essex’s discontent—She makes 
 him earl marshal — Her spirited retort to the Polish ambassador—Essex tries 
 to bring his mother to court—Queen’s reluctance to receive her—Essex carries 
 his point — Dispute in council between the queen and Essex — Sba boxes his 
 ears—His petulant behaviour and menace — He retires from court/—Sickness 
 and death of Burleigh—Elizabeth’s grief—Her palaces, dress, animappearance 
 in old age—Elizabeth and her bishops—Her fickleness of purpose—Facetious 
 remark of a Windsor carter, on her frequent change of mind—Her manner of 
 evading an unwelcome suit. 
 
 A new era, in the personal history of queen Elizabeth, commences 
 with the return of the earl of Essex from his French campaigns, in 
 1592-3. She welcomed him with undisguised delight, and lavished 
 favours and distinctions upon him with profuse liberality. He returned 
 an altered man; the delicacy and refinement of youthful honour had 
 given place to sentiments more in unison with the wisdom of the chil¬ 
 dren of this world. His residence in the sprightly camp of the gay and 
 amorous king of France had unfitted him for the duties of domestic life, 
 and accomplished him in all the arts of courtly flattery and dissipation. 
 Lady Essex, the wife of his choice, was neglected and kept in the back¬ 
 ground, while he affected to become the lover of a princess, three-and- 
 thirty years older than himself, as the surest method of rivalling his 
 political adversaries, the Cecils and Raleigh. He was soon recognised 
 as the head of a rival party, — a party that cherished more enlightened 
 views, and sentiments in greater accordance with the progress of educa¬ 
 tion in a civilized country, than the iron rule of Burleigh, or the inqui¬ 
 sitorial policy of the late secretary, Walsingham. England had, indeed, 
 been delivered from foreign foes, and civil strife had been kept down by 
 the terror of the halter and quartering knife, but the oppressive statutes, 
 to compel uniformity of worship, were borne with irritation and impa¬ 
 tience by catholics and puritans alike - , and the latter party were begin¬ 
 ning to evince a determination to seek redress. 
 
 The queen had now governed four years without the aid of a parlia¬ 
 ment, but in the beginning of the year 1593 the exhausted state of her 
 finances compelled her to summon a new one. They assembled Feb¬ 
 ruary 19th, on which occasion her majesty, abandoning the character 
 of a popular sovereign, assumed a tone of absolute despotism, and told 
 them, by her new chancellor, Puckering, “ that they were not called 
 together to make new laws, or lose good hours in idle speeches, but to 
 vote a supply to enable her majesty to defend her realm against the hos¬ 
 tile attempts of the king of Spain.” 1 This was a bold beginning, but 
 she followed it up, when, on the election of the new speaker, the com¬ 
 mons made their usual request of freedom from arrest, liberty of speech, 
 and access to her person, she replied, “ that their first prayer was 
 granted with this qualification, that wit and speech were calculated to 
 do harm, and their liberty of speech extended no further than ‘ ay’ or 
 
 ‘Journals of Parliament. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 477 
 
 4 no,’ and that if any idle heads hazarded* *their estaies by meddling with 
 church and state, the speaker should not receive their bills.” The pe¬ 
 tition of freedom from arrest was granted, with this proviso, 44 that it 
 was not to cover any man’s ill-doings. As for the privilege of access 
 to her presence, that was wholly to depend on the importance of the 
 occasion, and her majesty’s leisure.” 1 It is conjectured, from the me¬ 
 nacing tone of the royal replies, that Elizabeth had reason to suspect 
 the nature of the subjects likely to be discussed by this parliament. In 
 fact, the first thing they did was to frame a petition requesting her ma¬ 
 jesty to settle the succession. The queen followed up her despotic 
 intimation without delay, by committing Wentworth, with whom the 
 motion originated, to the Tower, also sir Thomas Bromley, who se¬ 
 conded him, and the two members who drew up the petition, to the 
 Fleet. 2 
 
 Soon after, James Morris, a bold and zealous puritan law-officer, 
 attempted to introduce two bills for the redress of the abuses in the 
 ecclesiastical courts, and for ameliorating the penal statutes. Several 
 members seconded his motion, but the queen put a sudden end to" the 
 discussion, by sending in great wrath for the speaker, sir Edward Coke, 
 and told him 44 to inform the commons, that parliaments were the crea¬ 
 tures of her will, to summon or dissolve them—to nullify or give effect 
 to their decisions according to her pleasure, that she was indignant at 
 their presumption, and, once for all, forbade the exhibition of any bills 
 touching the reformation of matters of church or state, and commanded 
 him on his allegiance, if such were introduced, to refuse to read them.” 3 
 She then sent a serjeant-at-arms into the house of commons, who ar¬ 
 rested Morris in his place, in her majesty’s name, and carried him off to 
 Tutbury castle. 4 He had, however, a powerful friend in the earl of 
 Essex, to whose intercessions he probably owed his liberty; but when 
 that nobleman, who highly appreciated both his legal talents and his 
 integrity, ventured to recommend him to the queen for the vacant place 
 af attorney-general, her majesty acknowledged his talents, but said, 
 ‘ his speaking against her in the manner he had done, should be a bar 
 igainst any preferment at her hands.” 5 
 
 The commons, having been thus schooled and intimidated, kissed the 
 od, and passed a most unconstitutional bill, framed and sent down to 
 hem by the sovereign herself, 44 for keeping her majesty’s subjects in 
 letter obedience.” They also granted her two subsidies and three- 
 ifteenths. This was not enough to satisfy the royal expectations 
 Three subsidies and six-fifteenths were demanded by sir Robert Cecil, 
 nd, notwithstanding some few objections, were obtained. The queen 
 ras so incensed at the opposition of sir Edward Iloby to the grant, that 
 he imprisoned him till the end of the sessions. Elizabeth dismissed 
 lis parliament in person, on the 10th of April, 1593, in a speech, which 
 
 1 Journals of Parliament. 5 Mackintosh. 3 D'Ewes. 
 
 ‘ He wrote a manly letter of remonstrance to Burleigh. Lodge’s Illustrations, 
 ol. ii. 
 
 * Essex's Letters, in Birch 
 
478 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the boldest man of the Plantagenet line of monarchs would scarcely 
 have ventured to utter, and, from the lips of a female sovereign, it must 
 have had a startling effect on an English senate, even in the days of the 
 last of the Tudors. 
 
 After reflecting, in bitter terms, on the attempts at opposition to her | 
 will, and reiterating the haughty language she had used during the ses- | 
 sions, she spoke of the menaced invasion of the king of Spain with lofty : 
 ♦contempt, and concluded by saying, “I am informed, that when he 
 attempted this last measure, some upon the sea-coast forsook their 
 towns, and fled up higher into the country, leaving all naked and ex¬ 
 posed to his entrance. But I swear unto you, by God, if I knew those 
 persons, or may know them hereafter, I will make them know what it 
 is to be fearful in so urgent a cause.” 
 
 Francis Bacon, whose splendid talents were then beginning to mani¬ 
 fest themselves, had, with his brother Anthony, incurred the displeasure 
 of the queen, and the political animosity of the two Cecils, by speaking 
 on the popular side, in this parliament. Essex indicated his sentiments 
 on the subject, by interceding for them with her majesty, and recom¬ 
 mending them for office, and when she petulantly refused to avail her¬ 
 self of their learning and talents, in any department of her government, 
 because of the opposition they had presumed to offer to the unconstitu¬ 
 tional measures of her ministers, he boldly received them into his own 
 family as secretaries to himself. If any other nobleman had ventured to 
 do such a thing, a star-chamber prosecution and fine would have fol¬ 
 lowed, but Essex was a privileged person. What might he not have 
 done at that moment, when he was at once the darling of the people and 
 the beloved of the queen? A noble field lay open to him — a field in 
 which he might have won a brighter meed of fame than the blood-stained 
 laurels of a military conqueror, if he had chosen to act the part of a tru6 
 patriot, by standing forth as the courageous advocate of the laws and 
 liberties of his country. It was in his power to become a moderator 
 between all parties. Elizabeth, childless, and descending into the vale 
 of years, yet full of energy and love for her people, had been rendered 
 the instrument of the selfish policy of a junta, whose great aim was to 
 establish an arbitrary government, before which even the peers and 
 senate of England should crouch in slavish submission. 
 
 Elizabeth’s good sense and great regnal talents inclined her, in the 
 first instance, to a more popular system of government, and the influ¬ 
 ence of one conscientious and enlightened counsellor might, perhaps, 
 have induced her to finish her reign gloriously, by leaving the legacy 
 of a free constitution to England. Essex had neither the moral courage 
 nor the integrity of mind to risk the loss of the easy and lucrative post 
 cf a royal favourite, by becoming the open leader of an opposition to 
 the Cecil administration. He thoroughly hated both father and son, 
 and omitted no opportunity of undermining their credit with the sove¬ 
 reign, and traversing their measures; but when he might have attacked 
 them boldly and successfully on the ground of public grievances, he 
 was silent, lest he should incur the displeasure of the queen. As a 
 
ELIZABETH. 479 
 
 holder of patents and monopolies,' Essex had much to lose, and a 
 double-minded man is, of course, unstable in all his ways. 
 
 When Elizabeth learned that Henry IV. of France was about to abjure 
 the protestant faith, and profess himself a convert to the church of 
 Rome, she was greatly offended and displeased, and in great haste des¬ 
 patched sir Thomas Wylkes to remonstrate with him in her name; but 
 before the arrival of her envoy the deed was done, and Henry directed 
 his ambassador, Morlant, to soften the matter to Elizabeth as much as 
 he could, by alleging the urgent motives of state necessity, for the 
 change he had been induced to make. 
 
 Elizabeth would not listen, with common patience, to the excuses 
 that were offered, but, in a transport of indignation, penned the follow¬ 
 ing reproachful letter to the royal renegade:— 
 
 To the Kino of France. 
 
 “ Nov. 12, 1593. 
 
 “ Ah, what grief! ah, what regret! ah, what pangs have seized my heart, at 
 the news which Morlant has communicated! My God! is it possible that any 
 worldly consideration could render you regardless of the divine displeasure? 
 Can we reasonably expect any good result can follow such an iniquity ? How 
 could you imagine that He, whose hand has supported and upheld your cause so 
 long, would fail you at your need ? It is a perilous thing to do ill that good may 
 come of it! Nevertheless, I yet hope your better feelings may return, and, in the 
 meantime, I promise to give you the first place in my prayers, that Esau’s hands 
 may not defile the blessing of Jacob. The friendship and fidelity you promise 
 to me, I own I have dearly earned ; but of that I should never have repented, 
 if you had not abandoned your father. I cannot now regard myself as your sis¬ 
 ter, for I always prefer that which is natural to that which is adopted, as God 
 best knows, whom I beseech to guard and keep you in the right way, with 
 better feelings. 
 
 , “ Your sister, if it be after the old fashion : with the new I will have nothing 
 to do. “E. R.”' 
 
 When Elizabeth sent this severe rebuke to Henry of Navarre, she 
 must either have hat! a very short memory herself, or imagined that her 
 politic brother had forgotten her former dissimulation, in conforming to 
 the catholic mode of worship, not otdy during the last years of her sis¬ 
 ter’s reign, when she was, of course, actuated by fear, but during the 
 
 ‘Monopolies were one of the great abuses of Elizabeth’s government, and 
 imposed the severest check on the commercial spirit of an age of enterprise and 
 industry. The moment any branch of trade or corpmerce promised to become 
 i source of profit, some greedy courtier interposed, and solicited of the queen a 
 oatent to become the sole proprietor of it himself. But if it were a mere craft, 
 oeneatli the dignity of the aristocracy to engage in, then wealthy capitalists 
 ipplied to Burleigh for the licence, with offers of golden angels for the purchase 
 rf his goodwill. Even the power of exporting old shoes was restricted, by the 
 queen’s patent, to one individual, who had possessed himself of that rare privi¬ 
 lege by means of either money or favour. See the lists of patents in Lodge's 
 Illustrations of English History, vol. iii., and the letter of George Longe to lord 
 Burleigh, desiring a patent for glass-making. Ellis’ Royal Letters, 2d series, vol. 
 ii., p. 157. 
 
 “British Museum, Cotton. MS., Titus, c. 7, 161. The original is in French. 
 Jamden has given a very loose paraphrase, rather than a translation of this cu¬ 
 rious document. 
 
480 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 first six weeks of her own. She was, however, so greatly troubled at 
 the apostasy of her protege, that, to divert her grief, she entered into a 
 course of theological studies, collating the writings of the ancient fathers 
 with the Scriptures. She had several conferences with the archbishop 
 of Canterbury on the subject, and finally composed her mind by read¬ 
 ing “ Boethius on the Consolations of Philosophy,” of the five first 
 books of which she made a very elegant English translation. 1 
 
 An attempt being made on the life of Henry soon after, by John 
 Chalet, a fanatic student, who accused the college of Jesuits of having 
 incited him to that crime, Elizabeth wrote a very curious letter of con¬ 
 gratulation to his majesty on his happy escape, taking care to introduce 
 an oracular hint as to the future dangers to which his person might be 
 exposed, from the malice of his catholic subjects, whom she insinuates 
 were not very likely to give him credit for the sincerity of his change 
 of creed. She seems to imply that poison would be the next weapo* 
 employed against his life. The reader must always make allowance for 
 the involved and mystified style of Elizabeth’s diplomatic letters, which 
 Henry of Navarre confessed he never could understand. This curious 
 epistle has never before been published; it is written in French, and is 
 without date. 2 * * 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to the Kino op France. 
 
 “ The courteous and honourable reception, my beloved brother, which you 
 have been pleased to vouchsafe to this gentleman, together with the wish you 
 have testified, of showing the same good offices to me, render me so infinitely 
 obliged to you, that words fail me in my attempts to demonstrate my veritable 
 thoughts in regard to you. I entreat you to believe that I should think myself 
 too happy, if Fortune should ever send an hour in which I could, by speech, ex¬ 
 press to you all die blessings and felicity that my heart wishes you; and among 
 the rest, that God may accord to you the grace to make a difference between 
 those that never fail you, and spirits ever restless. It appears to me that grati¬ 
 tude is sacrifice pleasant in the sight of the Eternal, who has extended his mercy 
 more than once to guard you in so narrow an escape, that never prince had a 
 greater. Which, when I heard. I had as much joy as horror of the peril thereof 
 And I have rendered very humble thanks on my bended knees, where solely it 
 was due, and thought that He had sent you this wicked herald to render you 
 more chary of your person, and make your officers of your chamber take more 
 care. I have no need to remind you of some shops, where fine drugs are forth¬ 
 coming, and it is not enough to be of their religion. You staid long enough 
 among the Huguenots, at first, to make them think of the difference, and 70U 
 may well fear! You will pardon always the faults of good affection, which ren¬ 
 ders me so bold in your behalf; and I atn very glad to hear that you dare, with¬ 
 out the licence of licentiates, do so much for your surety and honour, to crush 
 this single seed, 5 which has sown more tares in a dozen years, than all Christian 
 princes can exterminate in as many ages. God grant that they may bo uprooted 
 out of your dominions! Yet no phrenalique (fanatic) can you lead to such just 
 reasoning. I make no doubt but that the Divine hand will avert from you all 
 bad designs, as I supplicate very humbly, and recommend myself a thousand 
 times to your good graces. Your very affectionate sister, 
 
 “ Elizabeth." 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 5 Autograph letter in the Imperial Collection at St. Petersburgh, communicated 
 
 by permission of his Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Russia. 
 
 5 Meaning the severe punishment of the young madman, Chalet. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 481 
 
 About the game juncture a plot against the life of queen Elizabeth 
 was detected, by the vigilance of Essex, who, through the connexion 
 of his secretary, Anthony Bacon, with the underlings of the Spanish 
 cabinet, had received a hint that Ibarra, the new governor of the Nether¬ 
 lands, had suborned her Jew physician, Lopez, to mingle poison in her 
 medicine. This man, who enjoyed a very high degree of her majesty’s 
 confidence, was a Spanish subject, had been taken prisoner in 1558, and 
 had ever since been retained in the queen’s service on account of his 
 professional skill, but was secretly a spy and pensioner of the king of 
 Spain. Elizabeth would not believe the charge, because Dr. Lopez had 
 presented to her a rich jewel which Ibarra had sent to him as a bribe. 
 Essex insisted that this was only a proof of his art, and the queen at 
 length allowed him, in conjunction with the Cecils, to make an investi¬ 
 gation. They proceeded to the house of Lopez, and after searching his 
 papers, and cross-examining him, both Burleigh and his son expressed 
 their conviction that it was a false accusation. On which the queen, 
 sending for Essex, in a passion, and calling him “a rash, temerarious 
 youth,” sharply reprimanded him for bringing, on slight grounds, so 
 heinous a suspicion on an innocent man. Essex left the royal presence 
 in sullen displeasure, and shut himself up in his chamber, which he re¬ 
 fused to quit till the queen had, by many coaxing messages and apolo¬ 
 gies, appeased his offended pride. 
 
 Essex, however, had serious cause for believing his information well 
 grounded, as it was derived from Antonio Perez, the refugee secretary 
 of Philip II., and, on further investigation, he obtained such evidence of 
 the fact, as the confessions of two Portuguese confederates of Lopez, 
 Louis and Ferreira, furnished. Ferreira swore, “ that, by direction of 
 Lopez, he had written a letter to Ibarra and Fuentes, offering to poison 
 the queen for fifty thousand crowns;” and Louis, “ that he had been 
 employed by the same authorities to urge Lopez to perform his pro¬ 
 mise.” There were also letters intercepted which proved a plot to set 
 fire to the English fleet. 1 
 
 When Elizabeth was at length convinced of the reality of the peril, 
 from which she had so narrowly escaped, a pious sentiment was called 
 forth, indicative of her reliance on the Supreme Ruler of the issues of 
 life and death. “ O Lord, thou art my God,” she exclaimed, u my times 
 are in thy hand.” 2 
 
 Lopez acknowledged having carried on a secret correspondence with 
 the Spanish court, but steadily denied having cherished any evil designs 
 against his royal mistress. He suffered death for the suspicion he had 
 incurred, and on the scaffold declared, “ that he loved the queen as well 
 as he did Jesus Christ,” 3 an assertion that was received with a shout of 
 derision by the orthodox spectators of the tragedy, who considered it 
 tantamount to a confession of his treason, as he was a Jew. 4 
 
 Lopez had incurred the ill-will of Elizabeth’s ministers, by exercising 
 a pernicious influence in her foreign policy, especially by deterring her 
 from giving effectual assistance, at the proper time, to don Antonio, the 
 
 •Camden; Lingard; Aikin. 
 
 8 Camden. 
 
 8 Ibid. 
 
 4 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 43*2 
 
 titular king of Portugal. Burleigh, in his letters to Walsingham, com¬ 
 plains bitterly of this Lopez, and intimates that all his measures are tra¬ 
 versed by his secret practices with the queen. 1 Elizabeth lent don An¬ 
 tonio 5000Z. on the security of a valuable diamond, and, to get rid of 
 his daily importunities for its restoration, or that she would be pleased 
 to afford further aid in prosecuting his claims to the Portuguese throne, 
 she was fain to give him back the pledge without obtaining repayment 
 of her money. 2 On the death of don Antonio, 3 * she addressed the fol¬ 
 lowing remarkable letter to Henry IV. of France, in behalf of his chil¬ 
 dren, more especially his eldest son : 
 
 Queen Elizabeth to the King op France. 5 
 
 “If the spirit of one departed could disturb a living friend, I should fear that 
 the late king Anthony (whose soul may God pardon) would pursue me in all 
 places, if I did not perform his last request, which charged me, by all our friend 
 ship, that I should remind you, after his death, of the good and honourable offers 
 which you made to him, while living, that you might be pleased to fulfil them, 
 in the persons of his orphans and son, 1 which I must own to be an office worthy 
 of such a prince, who will not forget, I feel assured, the wishes of him, who can 
 no longer himself return thanks, and that you will not omit the opportunity of 
 being crowned with that true glory, which shall sound the trumpet to your 
 honour. 
 
 “ I am not so presumptuous as to prescribe to you what it befits you to do, but 
 submit the case to your sound judgment, as you must know, better than any one 
 else, what will be most suitable to the state of your realm. Only having acquit¬ 
 ted myself of my charge, I implore you to treat this desolate prince so well, that 
 he may know who it is that has written for him, and have him in your good 
 favour. 
 
 “ Praying the Lord God to preserve you for many years, which is the desire of 
 
 “ Your very affectionate sister, 
 
 11 Elizabeth.” 
 
 The fervent orison for the soul of Don Antonio, in the commence¬ 
 ment of this letter, affords a curious instance of the lingering obser¬ 
 vances of the church of Rome in queen Elizabeth’s practice. The puri¬ 
 tans were much offended with her attachment to crucifixes and tapers, 
 and her observance of saints’ days. They did not confine their censures 
 to private remarks, but published very furious pamphlets animadverting 
 on these points. Edward Deering, one of their divines, preaching before 
 her majesty one day, boldly attacked her from the pulpit, and, in the 
 course of his sermon, told her “ that, when persecuted by queen Mary, 
 her motto was, ‘ tanquam ovis ,’ ‘ like a sheep,’ but now it might be ‘ lan- 
 quam indomita juxencaf ‘like an untamed heifer.’” 6 * The queen, with 
 unwonted magnanimity, took no other notice of his insolence than for¬ 
 bidding him to preach at court again. 
 
 Elizabeth’s aversion to the growing sect of the more rigid portion of 
 
 ’Complete Ambassador. 8 Ibid. 8 In the year 1595 
 
 ‘From the inedited autograph collection of his Imperial Majesty at St. Peters¬ 
 
 burg. 
 
 5 This young prince, Pon Christofero de Crato, served gallantly as a volunteer 
 
 in the naval expedition under Howard and Essex, and so well distinguished 
 
 himself in the storming of Cadiz, that the lord-admiral knighted him on the spot. 
 
 * Harrington's Nug* A.uiquae. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 483 
 
 her protestant subjects, who eschewed surplice and liturgy, strengthened 
 with the strength of that uncompromising body. She perceived that 
 they disseminated republican doctrines in their three-hour-long sermons, 
 and she knew that all the opposition she had ever experienced in the 
 house of commons, proceeded from that party. “Thus,” as Mrs. 
 Jameson truly observes, “ she was most impatient of preachers and 
 preaching—she said, 1 two or three were enough for a whole county.’ ” 
 She appears, in her arbitrary attempts to enforce uniformity of worship 
 and to crush the puritans, to have been influenced by the same spirit, 
 which has led one of the statesmen-authors of the present times to 
 declare, “ that the strength of the dissenters is the weakness of the 
 crown.” Such sentiments are the parents of intolerance, but the divine 
 principles of Christian love and fellowship to all who confess the name 
 of Christ, were scarcely to be expected from the short-sighted policy of 
 Elizabeth’s ecclesiastical government, which alienated the hearts of many 
 a loyal subject, and did violence to the consciences of good and pious 
 men, who could not take the royal edicts as their rule of faith. 
 
 As Elizabeth had dealt with catholic recusants, so dealt she now with 
 puritans ; opposed as they were in practice as well as opinions, the penal 
 statute of the twenty-eighth of her reign, was found capable of slaying 
 both. Barrow, Greenwood, and Penry, three leaders of the puritans, 
 the last named of whom, under the quaint title of Martin Mar-prelate, 
 had published some very bitter attacks on bishops, were executed with 
 many of their followers of less note, and the gaols were crowded with 
 those, who either could not, or would not, pay the fines in which they 
 were mulcted for refusing to attend church. The Norman bishop acted 
 much more sensibly, who, when the Red King wanted him to compel a 
 relapsed Jew to attend mass, drily replied, “Nay, my lord king, an’ he 
 will not serve God, he must e’en serve his own master, the devil, for 
 there is no forcing souls to heaven against their will.” 
 
 Whoever Elizabeth displeased, she took care to keep a very powerful 
 class of her subjects, the lawyers, in good-humour. The gentlemen of 
 Gray’s Inn, with whom the maiden monarch was a great favourite, got 
 up a burlesque masque, called the Prince of Purpoole, for her amuse¬ 
 ment, with great pains and cost, which was played before her on Shrove 
 Tuesday, 1594, at which time, she, with all her court, honoured the 
 performance with her presence. 
 
 After the entertainment was over, her majesty graciously returned 
 thanks to all the performers, especially Henry Helmes, the young Nor¬ 
 folk bencher, who had enacted the hero of the piece, and courteously 
 wished that the performance had continued longer, 1 for the pleasure she 
 took in the sports. The courtiers, fired with emulation, as soon as the 
 masque was ended, began to dance a measure, but were reproved for 
 their presumption by her majesty, who exclaimed, “What! shall we 
 have bread and cheese after a banquet?” 2 She commanded the lord- 
 
 1 The entertainment was printed under the title of Gesta Grayorum, and occu¬ 
 pies forty-five large quarto pages. 
 
 4 Gesta Grayorum. 
 
484 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 chamberlain to invite the gentlemen to her court the next clay, when 
 they were presented in due form, and her majesty gave them her hand 
 to kiss, with most gracious words of commendation to them in par¬ 
 ticular, and in general of Gray’s Inn, “as a house she was much 
 beholden to, for that it did always study for some sports to present / 
 unto her.” 
 
 The same night there was fighting at the barriers, when the earl of 
 Essex led the challengers, and the earl of Cumberland the defenders, in 
 which number the prince of Purpoole was enlisted, and acquitted him¬ 
 self so well, that the prize was awarded to him, which it pleased her 
 majesty to present to this goodly Norfolk lawyer with her own hand, 
 telling him, “ that it was not her gift, for if it had, it should have been 
 better; but she gave it him as that prize which was due to his desert 
 in these exercises, and that, hereafter, he should be remembered with a 
 better reward from herself.” The prize was a jewel, set with seventeen 
 diamonds and four rubies, and its value was a hundred marks. 1 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil, not to be outdone by the benchers of Gray’s Inn in 
 compliments to her majesty, taxed his poetic brain in the composition 
 of an oration, which was addressed to her majesty by a person in the 
 character of a hermit, at a splendid entertainment given by his father to 
 her and her court, at Theobald’s this year. The character was chosen 
 in allusion to one of the queen’s playful letters to Burleigh, in which 
 she styles him the Eremite of Tibbals, and addresses him as “sir Ere¬ 
 mite.” In the course of his long hyperbolical speech, the hermit ad¬ 
 dresses this absurd personal flattery to the royal sexagenarian : 
 
 “ But that which most amazeth me, to whose long experience nothing 
 can seem strange, is that with these same eyes do 1 behold you the self¬ 
 same queen, in the same estate of person, strength, and beauty, in which 
 so many years past I beheld you, finding no alteration, but in admira¬ 
 tion, insomuch, that I am persuaded, when I look about me on your 
 train, that time, which catcheth everybody, leaves only you untouched.” 
 
 After some mystical allusions to the long services and failing strength 
 of the aged Burleigh, the hermit recommends the son to her majesty’s 
 favour, with the modest remark, “that although his experience and 
 judgment be no way comparable, yet, as the report goeth, he hath 
 something in him like the child of such a parent.” The hermit makes 
 a very catholic offering to her majesty in these words: 
 
 “ In token of my poor affection, I present you, on my knees, these poor trifles, 
 agreeable to my profession, by use whereof and by constant faith, I live free 
 from temptation. The first is a bell, not big, but of gold ; the second is a book 
 of good prayers, garnished with the same metal; the third a candle of virgin 
 wax, meet for a virgin queen. With this book, bell, and candle, being hallowed 
 in my cell with good prayers, I assure myself, by whomsoever they shall be 
 kept, endued with a constant faith, there shall never come so much as an imagi¬ 
 nation of any spirit to offend them. The like thereof I will still retain in my 
 cell, for my daily use, in ringing the bell, in singing my prayers, and giving light 
 in the night, for the increase of my devotion, whereby I may be free to my 
 meditation and prayers, for your majesty's continuance in your prosperity, health, 
 and princely comfort.” 
 
 1 Gesta Grayorum. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 485 
 
 Such was the flattering incense which some of Elizabeth’s cabinet 
 ministers offered up to her, who held, at that time,* the destinies of 
 France and Holland, dependent on her mighty will; but it was more 
 pleasing to her to hear of her beauty than of her political importance, 
 since of the one she was well assured — of the existence of the other, 
 she began to doubt. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was engaged at her devotions in Greenwich church, 
 when she heard the distant report of the archduke Albert’s cannon, 
 thundering thick and fast on Calais, and starting up, she interrupted the 
 service, by issuing her royal command, that a thousand men should be 
 instantly impressed for the relief of the town.' Her enthusiasm did not 
 transport her into the romantic ardour of sending them, without taking 
 due advantage of Henry’s necessity. Calais, which had been lost to 
 England for nearly forty years, though its restoration, under certain 
 conditions, had been deceitfully promised, might now be regained. She 
 replied to Henry’s earnest solicitations for assistance, “ that she would 
 endeavour to deliver it from the Spanish siege, on condition that it might 
 be occupied by an English garrison.” Henry remembering that his good 
 sister persisted in bearing the lilies in her royal escutcheon, and despite 
 of the Salic law, which had excluded so many princesses of the elder 
 line of St. Louis from holding that dignity, she claimed the absurd title 
 of queen of France from the victorious Plantagenct monarchs, who 
 regarded Calais as the key of that realm, declined her obliging proposal, 
 by his ambassador, Sancy, who told her majesty, frankly, “ that the 
 king, his master, would rather see Calais in the hands of the Spaniards, 
 than those of the English.” Henry himself facetiously observed, “ If I 
 am to be bitten, 1 would rather it were done by a lion than a lioness.” 1 
 
 Notwithstanding this sharp witticism, some negotiations for succours 
 were continued, and Elizabeth offered, on certain conditions, tending to 
 the same object, to raise 8000 men for Henry’s relief. “ By whom are 
 they to be commanded?” inquired the monarch of sir Anthony Mild- 
 may, the new English ambassador. “ By the earl of Essex,” replied the 
 envoy. “Her majesty,” rejoined Henry, with a sarcastic smile, “ can 
 never allow her cousin of Essex to be absent from her cotillion.” 
 When Elizabeth was informed of this impertinent observation, she 
 wrote a letter to Henry, containing but four lines, which so moved the 
 fiery temper of the royal Gascon, that he had scarcely made himself 
 master of their import ere he raised his hand with intent to strike the 
 ambassador by whom the letter was presented to him, but contented 
 himself by ordering him to leave the room. 3 It is to be hoped that this 
 characteristic billetdoux of the Tudor lioness will one day be brought 
 to light, as it would be far better worth the reading than her more ela¬ 
 borate epistles. The next time Henry sued for her assistance in reco¬ 
 vering his good town of Calais, she refused to aid him in any other way 
 than by her prayers. 4 
 
 Coquetry, not only of a political but a personal character, was occa¬ 
 sionally mingled in the diplomatic transactions between Henry and queen 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 3 Mathieu. 
 
 ’Birch. 
 
 * Mathieu. 
 
48G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Elizabeth. “Monsieur l’ambassadeur,” said the French monarch to sir 
 Henry Unton oif one occasion, “ this letter of the queen, my sister, is 
 full of sweetness and affection, whereby it appeareth that she loveth me, 
 which I am apt to believe, and that 1 do also love her is not to be 
 doubted ; but by the late effect, and your commission, 1 find the con¬ 
 trary, which persuadeth me that the ill proceedeth only from her minis¬ 
 ters, for how else can these obliquities stand with the profession of her 
 love; and though the queen, your mistress, be a complete princess of 
 great experience, and happy continuance in her reign, yet do I see it fall 
 out sometimes with her, as with myself, that the passions of our minis¬ 
 ters are of more force with us than our wishes and authorities with 
 them, only with this difference, that her estate is better able to support 
 it than mine, which is the more my grief, being forced by my subjects 
 to take that course for their preservation, which, as Henry, her loving 
 brother, I would never do.” 
 
 Sir Henry Unton tells the queen, “ that he assured his majesty that 
 she was in no respect influenced by the passions of her ministers, foi 
 that her sway was absolute, and all her ministers conformable to her 
 will, and never, in any instance, opposed to it.” In the same letter, 
 Unton amuses his sovereign with a description of an interview between 
 Henry and the fair Gabrielle, of whom he speaks in very contemptuous 
 terms, as “ very silly, very unbecomingly dressed, and grossly painted.” 
 He says the king was so impatient to know what he thought of her, 
 that he took him into the most private corner of his bed-chamber, be¬ 
 tween the bed and the wall, and then asked him his opinion. “ I an¬ 
 swered very sparingly in her praise,” says the discreet ambassador, 
 “ and told him, that if, without offence, I might speak it, I had the pic¬ 
 ture of a far more excellent mistress, yet did her picture come far short 
 of her perfection of beauty.” “As you love me,” said Henry, “ show 
 it me, if you have it about you.” Unton made some difficulty at first, 
 and, after exciting the curiosity and impatience of the susceptible mo¬ 
 narch to the utmost, displayed, at a cautious distance, and with a great 
 affectation of mystery, not the semblance of some youthful beauty of 
 the English court, which, from this preparation, Henry must have ex¬ 
 pected to behold, but the portrait of that august and venerable spinster, 
 queen Elizabeth herself, who was in her grand climacteric. Henry was 
 too quick-witted and well practised in courtly arts to be taken by sur¬ 
 prise ; and being ready at all times to offer the homage of his admira¬ 
 tion to ladies of all ages, affected to regard the picture with the most 
 passionate admiration, protesting “ that he had never seen the like,” and 
 with great reverence kissed it twice or thrice, while the ambassador still 
 detained it in his hand. After a little struggle, Henry took it from him, 
 vowing “ that he would not forego it for any treasure, and to possess 
 the favour of the original of that lovely picture he would forsake all 
 the world.” 
 
 Unton, after detailing this amusing farce to her majesty, winds up all 
 oy telling her, “that he perceived this dumb picture had wrought more 
 on the king than all his arguments and eloquence.” 1 He even presumes 
 
 1 Burleigh Papers. 
 
 A 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 487 
 
 to insinuate, “ that Henry was so far enamoured, that it was possible he 
 might seek to cement the alliance between England and France in a 
 more intimate manner than had ever been done before; but that, for his 
 own part, he prays for her highness’s contentment and preservation in 
 that happy state wherein she has continued for so many years, to her 
 great honour and glory.” 1 
 
 Nearly a quarter of a century before, Henry had entered the lists with 
 his royal kinsmen, the princes of France, as a candidate for Elizabeth’s 
 hand, and when he was about to dissolve his marriage with his consort, 
 Margaret of Valois, his faithful minister, Rosny, facetiously observed, 
 “ that it was a pity the queen of England was not a few years younger 
 for his sake.” 2 
 
 The personal interference of queen Elizabeth in restricting the sup¬ 
 plies of ammunition, and other requisites for her fleets and armies on 
 foreign service, continued to impede her ministers and officers entrusted 
 with important commands. Sir Robert Sidney, the governor of Flush¬ 
 ing, was urgent for a supply of powder for the defence of that town. 
 The queen, at first, positively refused to send any, as the states were 
 under an agreement to furnish it. “‘But,’ said Rowland Whyte, who 
 had preferred sir Robert Sidney's request, when Essex told him that the 
 matter had been disputed before the queen, and she was pleased that five 
 hundred pounds should be delivered for that purpose—‘ but, my lord, 
 there is no powder in the town, and what shall we do for powder while 
 the states be resolving?’ To this Essex made answer, ‘that he would 
 acquaint her majesty with it, and that he earnestly dealt with her to 
 deliver powder to be answered upon the soldiers’ general pay ; but she 
 would not consent to it, but was content that it might be deducted out 
 of their weekly lendings.’ ” 3 In short, there were more demurs and 
 debatings on the outlay of five hundred pounds in a case of absolute 
 necessity, than would now take place on the sacrifice of five hundred 
 thousand. 
 
 Sir Robert Sidney was tired of the difficult and onerous post ne 
 filled; vexed and fettered as he was for want of the means of maintain¬ 
 ing the honour of his country, he was, withal, home-sick, and earnestly 
 solicited leave of a few weeks’ absence, to visit his wife and children. 
 Elizabeth considered that he was a more efficient person than any one 
 she could send in his place, and with no more regard for his feelings 
 than she had formerly shown for those of Walsingham, when she per¬ 
 sisted in detaining him in France, she refused to accede to his wish. 
 Great interest was made by lady Sidney with the ladies of the bed¬ 
 chamber and the ministers, to second her request. Among the presents 
 she made to propitiate the ministers, Rowland Whyte specifies boar- 
 pies, which, according to his orthography, appear to modern eyes rather 
 queer offerings to send to statesmen; they were, however, esteemed as 
 very choice dainties, and were sent from the Hague by poor sir Robert 
 
 ’Burghley's State Papers, Murdin's edit. It was Unton who challenged the 
 
 duke of Guise to single combat, for his injurious speeches regarding queen Eli¬ 
 zabeth. The challenge may be seen in Mille’s Catalogue of Honour. 
 
 3 Suliy’s Memoirs, vol. ii. 3 Sidney Papers. 
 
4SS 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Sidney for that purpose. After stating “ that my lord of Essex and my i 
 lord-treasurer have their 1 lore-pies' it is especially noted by Rowland 
 Whyte, that lady Sidney reserved none for herself, but bestowed her two 
 on Sir Robert Cecil, in the hope that he would second her suit for her 
 lord’s return; nor was she disappointed, the boar-pies proved super- 
 excellent, and so completely propitiated Mr. Secretary, that the next 
 time the petition of Sir Robert Sidney was urged to her majesty by her 
 ladies, he knelt down and besought her majesty to hear him in behalf 
 of the home-sick ambassador, and, after representing the many causes 
 which rendered him so desirous of revisiting his native land, entreated 
 her majesty only to licence his return for six weeks.” 1 
 
 w Those six weeks would be six months,” replied the queen, <; and I 
 will not have him away when the cardinal comes.” My lady Warwick 
 assured her, “ that if any call on her majesty’s affairs intervened, he 
 would prefer it before all his own business;” and Mr. Stanhope, kneel¬ 
 ing, also told her, “ that if she would only permit his return, he would 
 leave again at six hours’ notice, if she required”’ but Elizabeth pro- 
 vokingly declined giving any decided answer to these solicitations, 
 which, from time to time, were repeated to her, year after year, without 
 the desired effect. 
 
 On the death, however, of lord Huntingdon, the husband of sir Ro¬ 
 bert Sidney’s aunt, who, refusing to make his will, left his wife in great 
 difficulties, her majesty relented. She visited the afflicted widow, who 
 was Leicester’s sister, to offer her personal consolation to her, and 
 granted the long-delayed leave for the return of sir Robert Sidney, that 
 he might arrange her affairs. So great was the fear of lady Sidney that 
 the queen might afterwards denV her own act and deed, that she retained 
 the royal letter in her own possession, for fear of accidents befalling it, 
 and only sent a copy of it to her husband. 
 
 From a series of gossiping letters, in the form of a diary, written by 
 Rowland Whyte to sir Robert Sidney, we gather many amusing par¬ 
 ticulars of the intrigues and daily events of the court of the maiden 
 queen. Elizabeth, is frequently signified by the figures, 1500; the earl 
 of Essex, as 1000; lady Essex, as 66; sir Robert Cecil, 200; lord 
 Burleigh, 9000; lord Cobham, 30; Raleigh, 24; earl of Southampton, 
 3000; and the countess of Huntingdon, c c. As a specimen of the 
 manner in which these cognomens are used, we give the following ex¬ 
 tract from one of the letters:— 
 
 Upon Monday last, 1500 (the queen) showed 1000 (Essex) a printed book of 
 t—t's title to a—a (the crown.) In it there is, as I hear, dangerous praises of his 
 (1000 s) valour and worthiness, which doth him harm here. 2 At his coming 
 from court, he was observed to look wan and pale, being exceedingly troubled 
 
 1 In his next letter to Sir Robert Sidney, Rowland Whyte writes, “ The bore-pies 
 are all delivered, and specially much commended for their seasoning.”—Sidney 
 Papers. 
 
 2 The allusion thus mysteriously given above, was to a seditions catholic pub¬ 
 lication, setting forth the title of Philip II.’s daughter, Clara Eugenia, to the crown 
 of England. The book was written by Persons, the Jesuit, under the feigned 
 name of Doleman, and maliciously dedicated to Essex, for the purpose of de¬ 
 stroying his credit with the queen. 
 
ELIZABETH 
 
 489 
 
 it this great piece of villany done to him. He is sick, and continues very ill. 
 1500 visited him yesterday, in the afternoon: he is mightily crossed in all things, 
 for Bacon is gone without the place of solicitor.” 
 
 On the 7th of November, Rowland Whyte says, “My lord of Essex, 
 is I writ to you in my last, was infinitely troubled with a printed book 
 :he queen shotted him, but now he is prepared to endure the malice of 
 ais enemies, yet doth he keep his chamber. My lord of Hertford is 
 committed to the Tower, and, as I hear, two Stanhopes with him, but 
 lot the courtiers.” 
 
 In another letter, Whyte observes, “ that the great riches the earl of 
 Hertford had amassed were not likely to do him much good.” The 
 iretence on which he was arrested was, that a paper had been found in 
 he possession of a deceased civilian, named Aubrey, implying that he 
 ;aused the opinions which he had formerly obtained on the validity of 
 lis marriage with lady Catharine Gray to be privately registered in the 
 Uourt of Arches. Such was the gracious return that was made to this 
 inlucky nobleman, for the enormous expense to which he had put him- 
 elf for his late magnificent entertainment of the queen at Elvetham, an 
 ntertainment which probably excited jealousy instead of gratitude. His 
 hird countess, Frances Howard, came to sue to her royal kinswoman 
 or his liberty, but could not obtain an audience, though she received 
 special marks of attention from her majesty. 
 
 “ The queen,” says Rowland Whyte, “ sees her not, though she be 
 l the privy lodgings, but sends her gracious messages, that neither his 
 fe nor his fortune shall be touched ; she sends her broths in a morn- 
 lg, and at meals, meat from her trencher.” 1 
 “ My lord of Essex,” continues our indefatigable court-newsman, 
 hath put off the melancholy he fell into by a printed book, delivered 
 
 > the queen, wherein the harm that was meant him is, by her majesty’s 
 race and favour, turned to his good, and strengthens her love unto 
 im, for I hear that, within these four days, many letters sent to herself, 
 om foreign countries, were delivered only to my lord of Essex, and he 
 
 > answer them.” 
 
 Essex took care to propitiate his royal mistress, during the spring-tide 
 f her favour, by all sorts of flattering attention, and offering that alle- 
 orical sort of homage which suited well the sophisticated taste of the 
 •a, that mixed up pedantry with all the recreations of the court. On 
 le 17th of November, the anniversary of her majesty’s accession to 
 te throne, he caused a sort of masque to be represented, which is thus 
 ascribed by an eye-witness : 
 
 “ My lord of Essex’s device is much commended in these late tri- 
 nphs; some pretty while before he came in himself to the tilt, he sent 
 s page, with some speech, to the qneen, who returned with her majes- 
 ’s glove, and when he came himself, he was met by an old hermit, a 
 icretary of state, a brave soldier, and an esquire. The first presented 
 m with a book of meditations, the second with political discourses, 
 e third with orations of brave-fought battles, the fourth was but his 
 vn follower, to whom the other three imparted much of their purpose 
 
 Sidney Papers. 
 
490 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 before their coming in. Another devised with him, persuading him ti 
 this and that course of life, according to their own inclinations. Thei 
 comes into the tilt-yard, unthought upon, the ordinary post-boy of Lon 
 don, a ragged villain, all bemired, upon a poor, lean jade, galloping an< 
 blowing for life, and delivered the secretary a packet of letters, whicl 
 he presently offered to my lord of Essex, and with this dumb show ou 
 eyes were fed for that time. In the after-supper, before the queen, the; 
 first delivered a well-penned speech, to move this worthy knight to leavi 
 his vain following of love, and to betake him to heavenly meditation 
 the secretaries all tending to have him follow matters of state, the sol 
 diers persuading him to war, but the esquire answered them all, in plait 
 English, “ that this knight would never forsake his mistress’s love 
 whose virtue made all his thoughts divine, whose wisdom taught hin 
 all true policy, whose beauty and worth were at all times able to tnaki 
 him fit to command armies. He showed all the defects and imperfec 
 tions of the times, and therefore thought his course of life the best ii 
 serving his mistress.” The old man was he that in Cambridge playe< 
 Giraldy; Morley played the secretary; and he that played pedantic 
 was the soldier; and Toby Matthew played the squire’s part. Thi 
 world makes many untrue constructions of these speeches, comparing 
 the hermit and secretary to two of the lords, and the soldier to si 
 Roger Williams. The queen said, “ if she had thought there had beef 
 so much said of her, she would not have been there that night, and si 
 went to bed.” 1 
 
 A more substantial gratification was, however, prepared for the plea 
 sure-loving queen, at an entertainment given by one of her great crowi 
 officers, at his country-house, in the beautiful village of Kew, just befori 
 Christmas, 1595. A sweet May day would have been a more appro 
 priate season for enjoying such a visit, the details of which are thu: 
 quaintly related by Rowland Whyte : — “ Her majesty,” says he, “ is ii 
 good health; on Thursday she dined at Kew, my lord-keeper’s house 
 who lately obtained of her majesty his suit for 100Z. a year, land in fei 
 farm. Her entertainment for that meal was exceedingly costly. At he 
 first ’lighting, she had a fine fan, with a handle garnished with diamonds 
 When she was in the middle way, between the garden gate and tin 
 house, there came running towards her one with a nosegay in his hand 
 and delivered it to her, with a very well-penned speech. It had in it •< 
 very rich jewel, with many pendents of unjirld diamonds, 2 valued a 
 400Z. at least. After dinner, in her privy-chamber, he gave her a fai 
 pair of virginals. In her bed-chamber, he presented her with a fini 
 gown and juppin (petticoat), which things were pleasing to her high¬ 
 ness; and to grace his lordship the more,” adds the sly narrator, “she 
 of herself, took from him a salt, a spoon, and a fork, of fair agate.” 
 
 Our agreeable gossip goes on to describe the merry doings in thi 
 maiden court, at this season, when the unremitting homage of the hand 
 some master of the horse kept the queen in constant good-humour, am 
 all was gaiety and sunshine. “At our court the queen is well ever ma; 
 
 1 Sidney Papers edited by Collins, vol. i. “Diamonds without a foil. 
 
ELIZABETH. 491 
 
 it be so, and the fair ladies do daily trip the measures in the council- 
 chamber.” On St. John’s day, he says— 
 
 “ I was at court this morning, where nothing is so much thought upon 
 as dancing and playing. Some were there, hoping for preferment, as my 
 lord North and sir Henry Leigh. They play at cards with the queen, 
 which is like to be all the honour that will fall to them this year. The 
 queen chid my lord Lincoln, that he doth not give his daughter better 
 maintenance. The queen went this day to the chapel, very princelike, 
 and in very good health.” 
 
 The disappointment of one of her relatives, in obtaining a wealthy 
 match, was made matter of complaint to the queen, about this time, as 
 we learn from the following notice from Rowland Whyte’s secret budget 
 to his patron abroad :— 
 
 “ Sir George Carey takes it unkindly that my lord of Pembroke broke 
 off the match between my lord Herbert and his daughter, and told the 
 queen it was because he would not assure him one thousand pounds a 
 year, which comes to his daughter, as the next a-kin to queen Anne 
 Boleyn.” What kin to that queen could Carey have considered queen 
 Elizabeth herself, when he thus spoke of the grand-daughter of Mary 
 Boleyn to the daughter of queen Anne ? But Elizabeth, while she 
 bestowed a very reasonable degree of favour on her maternal kindred, 
 always seems to have kept her own immediate connexion with the un¬ 
 fortunate and dishonoured name of Anne Boleyn in the shade. 
 
 One day a person approached queen Elizabeth with a petition, under 
 pretence of kindred. The queen was too wise to repel the audacious 
 suitor with any degree of haughtiness, much less did she attempt to con¬ 
 test the claim, being well aware that a numerous class of second-rate 
 gentry in Norfolk could prove relationship to her, in no very distant 
 degree, through the Boleyns, but she briefly and wittily replied, “Friend, 
 grant it may be so. Dost think I am bound to keep all my kindred ? 
 Why, that’s the way to make me a beggar.” ' 
 
 i She never ennobled sir Francis Knollys, the husband of her best¬ 
 loved cousin, Katherine Carey, nor any of their children. Lord Huns- 
 don, her nearest male relation, enjoyed much of her confidence, and 
 received many preferments, but she never advanced him to a higher rank 
 in the peerage than a baron. Robert Carey, his youngest son, was a 
 great favourite with her, till he rashly committed the offence of wedding 
 a fair and virtuous gentlewoman. When Elizabeth heard that Robert 
 Carey had presumed to take to himself a wife, she manifested so much 
 displeasure, that the luckless bridegroom durst not make his appearance 
 at court, even when his business most required it. At length, being 
 weary of his banishment, and the ill turn a vexatious law-suit, in which 
 he was engaged, was likely to take, in consequence of his absence, he 
 ;came and took lodgings, very privately, at Windsor, having heard that 
 her majesty meant to have a great triumph there, on her coronation day, 
 and that signal preparations were making for the course of the field and the 
 tourney. He then resolved to take a part in the games, under the name 
 
 1 LEstrange. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 492 
 
 and character of the “ forsaken knight,” and prepared a present for th> 
 queen, which, together with his trappings, cost him four hundrec 
 pounds . 1 
 
 “ I was the forsaken knight,” says he, “that had vowed solitariness 
 but hearing of this great triumph, thought to honour my mistress witl 
 my best service, and then to return to my wonted mourning.” Thi 
 device did not, we may suppose, pass unnoticed by the queen, whosi 
 quick glance failed not to detect everything out of the common course 
 for nothing passed, whether abroad or at home, with which she was no 
 acquainted. The theatrical nature of the character, and the submissivt 
 homage that was offered to her, were also well calculated to please her 
 but as she had no immediate occasion for his services just then, she per¬ 
 mitted the forsaken knight still to remain under the cloud of her dis¬ 
 pleasure. 
 
 A few days afterwards, the king of Scotland sent word to sir Johr. 
 Carey, the eldest brother of our knight, and marshal of Berwick, that 
 he had something of great importance to communicate to the queen 
 of England, with which he would not trust her ambassador, nor any one 
 but himself, the lord Hunsdon, or one of his sons. Sir John Carey sent 
 the letter to his father, who communicated it to the queen, and asked 
 her pleasure. 
 
 “ She was not willing,” says sir Robert Carey, “ that my brother should 
 stir out of the town, but knowing, though she would not know, that I 
 was in the court, she said, ‘ I hear your fine son, that has lately married 
 so worthily, is hereabouts; send him , if you will, to know the king’s plea¬ 
 sure.’ My father answered, ‘ that I would gladly obey her commands.’ 
 ‘No,’ said she, ‘do you bid him go, for I have nothing to do with hirn.’ 
 Mv father came and told me what had passed. I thought it hard to be 
 sent, without seeing her; for my father told me plainly, ‘ that she would 
 neither speak with me nor see me.’ ‘ Sir,’ said I, ‘ if she be on such 
 hard terms with me, I had need be wary what I do. If I go to the king, 
 without her especial license, it were in her power to hang me on my 
 return; and, for anything I see, it were ill trusting her.’ My father 
 went merrily to the queen, and told her what I said ; she answered, ‘ If 
 the gentleman be so mistrustful, let the secretary make a safe-conduct to 
 go and come,and I will sign it .’” 2 
 
 On these conditions, young Carey, who proved himself, on this occa¬ 
 sion, a genuine scion of tne same determined and diplomatic stock from 
 which his royal mistress was maternally descended, accepted the com¬ 
 mission, and hastened into Scotland, passing, however, one night at 
 Carlisle, with his wife, her for whose sake he had incurred the dis¬ 
 pleasure of the queen. The secret communication the king of Scots 
 was desirous of making to his good sister England, Carey has not dis¬ 
 closed. At his desire, a written, not a verbal, communication was ad¬ 
 dressed by king James to her majesty: “ I had my despatch,” says he, 
 “ within four davs, and made all the haste I could with it to Hampton 
 Court, and arrived there on St. Stephen’s day, in the afternoon. Dirty 
 
 ‘Autobiography of Sir Robert Carey, earl of Monmouth. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
ELIZA BETH. 
 
 403 
 
 is I was, I came into the prssence, where I found the lords and ladies 
 lancing. The queen was not there; my father went to her to let her 
 mow that I was returned. She willed him to take my message or let- 
 ers, and bring them to her.” 
 
 The young diplomatist was, as before observed, one of her own blood, 
 ind not to be treated like an easy slipper, to be used for her convenience, 
 .nd then kicked into a corner with contempt, as soon as her purpose 
 vas served. He boldly refused to send the letters by his father, telling 
 lim, “ that he would neither trust him nor any one else with what he 
 lad to deliver.” The stout old lord, finding his son so determined, re¬ 
 ported his audacity to the queen. 
 
 , “ With much ado,” continues Carey, “ I was called in, and I was left 
 lone with her,—our first encounter was stormy and terrible, which I 
 lassed over with silence. After she had spoken her pleasure of me and 
 iy wife , 1 told her, 4 she herself was in fault for my marriage; and that 
 f she had but graced me with the least of her favours, I had never left 
 icr nor her court; and seeing, she was the chief cause of my misfor- 
 ,unes, I would never off my knees till 1 had kissed her hand, and ob- 
 ained my pardon.’ She was not displeased with my excuse, and 
 >efore we parted we grew good friends.” 1 
 
 This stormy explosion, and abuse of poor Carey and his wife, actually 
 ook place before her majesty’s curiosity was gratified, by learning the 
 eighty matter which her royal brother of Scotland was so eager to cora- 
 mnicate, since, forgetting the dignity of the sovereign, she thought pro- 
 er to give vent to her temper as a woman, in the first instance. 
 Then,” pursues Carey, “1 delivered my message and my papers, which 
 he took very well, and, at last , gave me thanks for the pains I had 
 iken. So having her princely word that site had pardoned and forgotten 
 ( 11 faults, I kissed her hand, and came forth to the presence (chamber), 
 nd was in the court as I was before. Thus God did for me, to bring 
 te in favour with my sovereign, for if this occasion had been slipped, 
 ; may be I should never, never have seen her face more.” 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh was at this time under the cloud of the royal dis- 
 leasure, for having first seduced, and afterwards committed what Eliza- 
 eth appeared to consider the greater crime, of marrying the fair mistress 
 Elizabeth Throckmorton, one of her maids of honour, and the daughter 
 f her faithful early friend, sir Nicholas Throckmorton. The queen, 
 /ho certainly imagined that it was a part of her prerogative, as a maiden 
 ueen, to keep every handsome gentleman of her court in single blessed- 
 ess, to render exclusive homage to her perennial charms, was transport- 
 d with rage at the trespass of these rash lovers. She expelled the 
 ackless bride of Raleigh from the court, with the greatest contumely, 
 nd committed the bridegroom to the Tower. Raleigh, who knew her 
 tajesty’s temper, pretended to be overwhelmed with grief and despair 
 ot at his separation from his young, beautiful, and loving wife, but be- 
 ause he was deprived of the sunshine of the royal presence. 2 
 
 One day he saw her majesty’s barge on the Thames, and pretended 
 
 1 Autobiography of Carey, earl of Monmouth. 
 
 a Camden; Birch; Lingard ; Aikin. 
 
494 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 to become frantic at the sight. “ He suffered,” he said, “all the horroi 
 of Tantalus, and would go on that water to see his mistress.” Hi 
 keeper, sir George Carew, interposed to prevent him, as he was attemp i 
 ing to rush down a stone staircase that led from his window, and caugl 
 him by the collar. Raleigh, in the struggle, tore off his keeper's ne' 
 periwig, and threatened to stick his dagger into him. After a desperat 
 contest he was carried hack to his chamber. The next time the quee 
 was going on progress, he penned a most artful letter to his politicf 
 ally, sir Robert Cecil, on purpose to be shown to the queen: “ How, 
 he asks, “ can I live alone in prison, while she is afar off—I, who wa 
 wont to behold her riding like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walkin 
 like Venus—the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about her pure cheek; 
 like a nymph. Sometimes sitting in the shade like a goddess, sometime 
 playing on the lute like Orpheus. But once amiss, hath bereaved m 
 of all.” He then adds, “ all those times are past •, the loves, the sigh; 1 
 the sorrows, the desires,can they not weigh down one frail misfortune? 
 
 The gross flattery of this letter somewhat mollified the anger of th 
 queen, and, two months afterwards, he obtained his release from du 
 ranee, but was forbidden to come to court, or to resume the duties o ' 
 his office, as captain of the guard. 1 
 
 So jealous was Elizabeth lest foreign princes should obtain any o i 
 that homage and allegiance from her subjects which she esteemed he 1 
 exclusive right, that when two valiant young knights, sir Nichola i 
 Clifford, and sir Anthony Shirley, whom her good friend and ally i 
 Henry IV. of France, had honoured with the order of St. Michael, fo 
 their chivalric deeds in his service, appeared in her court, decorated witl 
 the glittering insignia of the institution, she expressed the greatest dis 1 
 pleasure that they should have dared to accept an honour from, an; 
 take an oath to, any other sovereign without her permission, and forth 
 with committed them both to prison. As a great favour, and becausi 
 of their youth and inexperience, she did not proceed against them, bu \ 
 she compelled them to return the insignia of St. Michael, and to laki 
 measures for having their names struck out of the register of the order 
 When Henry was told of it, he only smiled, and said, “ I could wish thi 
 queen of England would do me the same favour, by making some of mj 
 aspiring subjects, whom she may chance to see in her realm, knights ol 
 the Round Table,” 2 an order which her late vain-glorious favourite t 
 Leicester, had made an ineffectual effort to revive, in honour of her ma¬ 
 jesty’s visit to Kenilworth. 
 
 The queen had, some time before, given letters to sir Thomas Arun¬ 
 del, of Wardour, recommending him to the service of the emperor, Ru¬ 
 dolph II., as a brave knight, and her kinsman; and Arundel had sc 
 
 1 He then undertook a new voyage of discovery, in the hope of bringing home 
 a freight of the golden treasures of the new world ; but though he penetrated a; 
 far as Guiana, and did a good deal of wanton and unjustifiable mischief to the 
 infant colonies of Spain, his voyage proved unsuccessful; but he consoled him 
 self by writing a very wonderful account of his discovering a nation of Amazon* *, 
 and also of people who had their faces in their breasts. 
 
 * Camden’s Elizabeth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 495 
 
 greatly distinguished himself in the defence of Hungary, where, with his 
 nvn hands, he took a Turkish banner, that Rudolph conferred the dig- 
 lity of a count of the holy Roman empire on the gallant volunteer. 
 vVhen Arundel returned to England, some dispute arising between him 
 tnd the English peers, as to whether he had any right to claim rank or 
 >recedency in this country from his foreign title, the matter was referred 
 o her majesty, who replied, “ that there was a close tie of affection be- 
 ween sovereigns and their subjects; and as chaste wives should have 
 10 eyes but for their husbands. So faithful liegemen should keep their 
 egards at home, and not look after foreign crowns. That for her part 
 ;he liked not for her sheep to wear a stranger’s mark, nor to dance after 
 i foreigner’s whistle.” 1 
 
 Sir Thomas Arundel was tire son and heir of old sir Matthew Arun- 
 lel, on whose fringed cloak it once pleased queen Elizabeth to spit, and 
 he husband of one of the fairest and most amiable of the ladies of queen 
 Elizabeth’s bed-chamber. She is called by sir John Harrington, and his 
 sourtlv correspondent, “our sweet lady Arundel,” and appears occa- 
 iionally to have been a sufferer from the irritability of the illustrious 
 rirago’s temper. An English lady of rank, under such circumstances, 
 vould, in later times, have resigned her place in the royal household; 
 ■)ut such was not the spirit of independence in the maiden court. So 
 iniversal was the ambition of the female aristocracy of England, at that 
 leriod, to share the gorgeous routine of royal pageantry and festive 
 Measures, that when Lady Leighton, one of the bed-chamber women, 
 alked of resigning if the queen put a denial on a suit she was prefer- 
 ing, there were, as Rowland Whyte assures his absent patron, at least 
 ,i dozen ladies eager to supply her place, among whom he specifies lady 
 Thomas Howard, lady Borough, and lady Hoby. 
 
 “No one who waited in queen Elizabeth’s court, and observed any- 
 hing, but could tell that it pleased her much to be thought and told 
 hat she looked young,” observes her shrewd godson Harrington. “ The 
 najesty and gravity of a sceptre, borne forty-four years, 2 could not alter 
 he nature of a woman in her. One day, Dr. Anthony Rudde, the bi¬ 
 shop of St. David’s, being appointed to preach before her at Richmond, 
 n the Lent of the year 1596, and wishing, in his godly zeal, to remind 
 ter, that it was time she should think of her mortal state, and the un¬ 
 certainty of life, she being then sixty-three years of age, he took this 
 ippropriate text from the 90lh Psalm :—‘Lord, teach us how to number 
 cur days, that we may incline our hearts unto wisdom.’ Which 
 .ext,” continues Harrington, “ he handled so well, so learnedly, and 
 suitably, as I dare say he thought (and so should I, if I had not been 
 somewhat better acquainted with her humour) that it would have well 
 Meased her, or, at least, in no ways offended her. But when he had 
 spoken awhile of some sacred and mystical numbers, as three for the 
 Trinity, three times three for the heavenly hierarchy, seven for the sab¬ 
 bath, and seven times seven for a jubilee; and lastly—I do not deliver 
 
 1 James 1. created this red cross knight, lord Arundel of Wardour. 
 
 * Elizabeth was only in the thirty-ninth year of her reign when this incident 
 >ccurred. 
 
493 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 •t so handsomely as he did—seven times nine for the grand climacterics 
 year, she, perceiving whereto he tended, began to be troubled. Th 
 bishop, discovering all was not well, for the pulpit stands there vis-a 
 vis to the closet, fell to treat of more plausible numbers, as 666 makin; 
 Latinus, with which be said he could prove the pope to be Antichrist 
 also of the fatal number of eighty-eight, which being so long spoken o 
 for a dangerous year, yet it had pleased God that year, not only to pre 
 serve her, but to give her a famous victory against the united forces o 
 Rome and Spain. And so, he added, there was no doubt but that shi 
 should pass this year, and many more, if she would, in her meditation! 
 and soliloquies with God, (which he doubted not were frequent,) saj 
 thus and thus—making, indeed, an excellent prayer, as if in her ma 
 jesty’s person, acknowledging God’s great graces and benefits to her 
 and praying for a continuance of the same, but withal interlarding i 
 with some passages of Scripture, touching the infirmities of age, sucl 
 as the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes: ‘When the grinders shall be few 
 in number, and they wax dark that look out of the windows,’ Stc., 4 ant 
 the daughters of singing shall be abased;’ and with more quotations tc 
 the same purpose, he concluded his sermon.” 
 
 The queen, as her manner was, opened the window of her closet; but 
 so far from giving him thanks or good countenance, she told him in 
 plain terms, that “ he might have kept his arithmetic for himself; but 1 
 see,” said she, “that the greatest clerks are not always the wisest men;” 
 and so went away, for the time, discontented. The lord-keeper, Puck¬ 
 ering, advised the unlucky bishop to keep his house for a while, till the 
 queen’s displeasure was assuaged; “ but,” says our author, “ her ma¬ 
 jesty showed no ill-nature in this, for, within three days’ time, she ex¬ 
 pressed displeasure at his restraint, and, in my hearing, rebuked a 
 young lady for speaking scornfully of him and his sermon.” However, 
 to show how the good bishop was deceived in supposing she was so 
 decayed in her limbs as himself, perhaps, and other persons of that age 
 are wont to be, she said, “ she thanked God that neither her stomach, 
 nor strength, nor her voice for singing, nor fingering for instruments, 
 nor, lastly, her sight was any whit decayed ;” and to prove the last be¬ 
 fore us all, she produced a little jewel that had an inscription in very 
 small letters, and offered it first to my lord of Worcester, and then to 
 sir James Croft, to read; and both (as in duty bound) protested hoiui 
 fide they could not, yet the queen herself did find out the poesy, and 
 made herself merry with the standers by, upon it.” 1 
 
 From a letter written by Camden, the historian, to sir Robert Cotton, 
 it appears that queen Elizabeth was attacked with a dangerous illness 
 this spring. “ I know you are,” says he, “ as we all here have been, 
 in a melancholy and pensive cogitation. This sleepless indisposition 
 of her majesty is now ceased, which, being joined with an inflammation 
 from the breast upward, and her mind altogether averted from physic in 
 this her climacterical year, did more than terrify us all, especially the 
 last Friday, in the morning, which moved the lords of the council, 
 
 ‘Nugae Antiquas, vol. ii., 216. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 497 
 
 when they had providently caused all the vagrant? hereabout to be 
 taken up and shipped for the Low Countries.” Other precautions for 
 the defence of the realm are mentioned, which looks as if a foreign in¬ 
 vasion were dreaded; and it is especially noted that count Arundel, of 
 Wardour, was apprehended and committed to ward, in a gentleman’s 
 house, merely because it was reported that he had made some provision 
 of armour. 
 
 Elizabeth’s aversion to physic-taking formed one of her peculiar cha¬ 
 racteristics; the more remarkable since she was, notwithstanding her 
 pertinacity in concealing her ailments, not unfrequently indisposed. 
 Her reasons were cogent for her antipathy to medicine, for whilst other 
 sciences progressed rapidly in her century, that of physic remained in a 
 crude and barbarous state. Her courtiers, who loved to see their out¬ 
 ward persons bedizened with gold and pearls, thought doses of the same 
 would infinitely comfort and refresh the interior. In a contemporary 
 letter, sir Charles Cavendish regretted he could not send some of his 
 favourite nostrum, salt of gold, to old lady Shrewsbury ; and notices 
 that “ the pearls , ten grains, are to be taken fourteen days together; as 
 to the coral , sir Walter Raleigh saith he hath little left.” 
 
 An ounce of magnesia would have done them more good, medicinally, 
 than all the pearls and coral in the Red Sea. But such were the pre¬ 
 scriptions administered to the great in the sixteenth century, while the 
 poor and the middle classes, who sighed in vain to swallow the pulve¬ 
 rized pearls and pounded diamonds, with which their betters regaled 
 themselves, were forced to rely on the traditional merits of native herbs, 
 and simples gathered, with potent charms, in proper planetary hours; 
 and certainly, notwithstanding the latter-named superfluities, their share 
 of the healing art was the most efficacious. No wonder the queen’s 
 strong judgment and acute perceptiveness made her repudiate the physic, 
 judged in accordance with her regal state, and trust to nature; she thus 
 happily avoided doses of gold, pearls, and coral. 
 
 It was a customary device with Essex, when any difference occurred 
 between the queen and him, to feign himself sick, to see how far he 
 could excite the sympathy of his royal mistress, who, to do her justice, 
 generally testified tender compassion for the maladies of her ministers 
 and officers of state, and appears to have been frequently imposed upon 
 in this way. “My lord of Essex,” observes Rowland Whyte, “kept 
 his bed the most part of yesterday; yet did one of his chamber tell me, 
 
 ‘ he could not weep for it, for he knew his lord was not sick.’ There 
 is not a day passes that the queen sends not often to see him, and him¬ 
 self privately goeth every day to see her.” 
 
 In another letter, Whyte says, “Full fourteen days his lordship kept 
 in ; her majesty, as I heard, meant to break him of his will, and to pull 
 down his great heart, but found it a thing impossible, and says, ‘ he 
 holds it from the mother’s side;’ but all is well again, and no doubt he 
 will grow a mighty man in our state.” 
 
 Whyte’s secret correspondence indicates that Essex was the fountain¬ 
 head from which all favour and preferment then flowed, and that it was 
 necessary for those in command abroad to use his influence with the 
 2a 
 
493 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 queen, even to obtain the necessary munitions for her majesty’s own 
 service. Essex was evidently jealous of interest being made to the 
 queen through any other quarter, and kept the most vigilant espionage 
 on the correspondence of the ladies of the royal household. 
 
 “Yesterday,” notes Whyte, in his letter to Sidney, “a principal fol¬ 
 lower of my lord of Essex told me ‘ that he saw two letters of yours 
 sealed with gold, and the broad arrow-head, directed to two of the 
 maids (of honour), and that a knight, who was too open, had charge 
 to deliver them.’ I think this was told me on purpose that I should 
 notice it.” 
 
 Elizabeth appears, at all times, to have considered herself morally 
 responsible in the expenditure of her subsidies, to those from whose 
 purses the supplies had been drawn. Hence, her ofttimes annoying 
 interference in matters of which a lady could scarcely be a competent 
 judge, and her anxiety to use all possible economy; and though she 
 occasionally found that small savings are the cause of loss and incon¬ 
 venience in more important matters, she was right in the aggregate, since 
 the underlings of office felt a restraining check from the crown itself, if 
 they attempted any of the lavish anil wasteful expenditure, which, in 
 latter times, has been too little regarded by the higher powers. The 
 personal control which Elizabeth exercised in these matters, affords, 
 now and then, an amusing feature in the personal history of this extra¬ 
 ordinary woman, and a curious variety in the characteristics of female 
 royalty. 
 
 “ Here hath been,” says Rowland Whyte, “ much ado between the 
 queen and the lords about the preparation for sea, some of them urging 
 that it was necessary for her safety, but she opposed it. l No danger 
 appearing,’ she said, ‘and that she would not make wars, but arm for 
 defence, understanding how much of her treasure was spent already in 
 victuals for ships at sea and soldiers by land.’ She was very angry 
 with lord Burleigh for suffering it, seeing no greater occasion. No 
 reason or persuasion of the lords could prevail; but she ordered all pro¬ 
 ceedings to be stopped, and sent my lord Thomas Howard word that he 
 should not go to sea. Monsieur Charron, the ambassador from the 
 states, being sent for, spoke to the queen, but said, afterwards, ‘ he had 
 neither time nor recollection to urge the reinforcement of the horse, 
 nor was the time fit for it; her majesty being so unquiet, he could not 
 tell what to do or say.’ Charron said, ‘ the states desired an English 
 regiment in their pay,’ but that it was denied. The next day, when 
 Essex was asked if her majesty had read sir Robert Sidney’s statement 
 of the wants of the governor of Flushing, he said, ‘ the queen hath read 
 it, and made others, that were by, acquainted with its purport, after 
 which she put it in her pocket, and said, ‘ she marvelled why, in such a _ 
 time, the demand should be made, since Flushing was not besieged, but 
 that her governors were never well but when they could draw her into 
 unnecessary charges.’ ” 1 
 
 Formidable preparations were making in the Spanish ports at that very 
 
 1 Sidney Paper*. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 499 
 
 time, which it was supposed were designed for another expedition 
 against England. Philip II. had made a solemn vow “to avenge the 
 destruction of the Armada on Elizabeth, if he were reduced to pawn 
 the last candlestick on his domestic altar.” If wealth, however, could 
 have effected the conquest of England, Philip had no lack of the glit¬ 
 tering mammon. The gold and silver mines of Mexico and Peru were 
 to him like a realization of the fabled treasures of the “Arabian Nights’ 
 Entertainments.” The wretched natives were employed, like the slaves 
 of the lamp, in working the mines, and the Spanish monarch had dol¬ 
 lars of silver and ingots of gold for the bringing home, when his car- 
 racks were not intercepted and made prizes by Raleigh, Frobisher, and 
 Drake, and a dozen other bold naval commanders, who somewhat tar¬ 
 nished their laurels by filling up their spare time in piratical enterprises; 
 but such was the spirit of the times. The energies and nautical skill 
 of some of these daring adventurers were now required for a more 
 honourable enterprise. The lord-admiral, Howard of Effingham, advised 
 the queen to anticipate the designs of the enemy, by sending out an ex¬ 
 pedition to destroy his ships, his arsenals, and his ports. Essex, whose 
 chivalric spirit panted for a better employment than the inglorious post 
 of a court minion, and was weary of the degrading bondage in which 
 he was held by his royal mistress, eagerly seconded the sage counsel of 
 the lord-admiral, which was as strenuously opposed by Burleigh and 
 his party. 1 
 
 The queen was at last convinced of the expediency of the expedition, 
 and gave the command of the naval department to lord Howard of 
 Effingham, and that of the military force destined to be employed against 
 Cadiz, to Essex, but with strict injunctions that he was not to undertake 
 any enterprise without first holding a council of war. In this, Elizabeth 
 acted in conformity to the opinion she had written to the king of France, 
 when she told him “ Essex was not to be trusted with the reins, and 
 that the natural impetuosity of his character required a bridle rather 
 than a spur.” She w'as, besides, moved with a tender solicitude for his 
 personal safety. She composed a prayer for the success of the expedi¬ 
 tion, and sent a farewell letter, full of loving and encouraging promises, 
 to Essex. His crafty rival, sir Robert Cecil, added one from himself, 
 for the sake of subjoining a choice dose of adulation for the queen, in 
 allusion to the prayer she had compounded. “ No prayer,” observes 
 the profane sycophant, “ is so fruitful as that which proceedeth from 
 those who, nearest in nature and power, approach the Almighty. None 
 so near approach his place and essence as a celestial mind in a princely 
 body. Put forth, therefore, my lord, with full confidence, having your 
 sails filled with her heavenly breath for a forewind.” 2 If Essex were 
 not nauseated with such a piece of shameless hypocrisy as this, he had 
 no occasion to apprehend any qualms from the effects of a sea-voyage. 
 
 The details of the expedition will be found in Camden, Birch, Lin- 
 gard, and the other historians of Elizabeth’s reign. It will be sufficient 
 to notice that Essex distinguished himself most brilliantly, both by land 
 
 • Camden. 
 
 a Birch. 
 
500 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 and sea, and that, disregarding the private orders of the queen, which 
 were, for the first time, communicated to him by the lord-admiral, that 
 he “should not expose his person to peril by leading the assault,” he 
 abandoned the safe post that had been assigned to him, and rushed into 
 the hottest battle. It was his gallantry and promptitude that won Cadiz 
 with all its treasures, his humanity that preserved the lives of the de¬ 
 fenders of the town, his chivalry that protected the women and children, 
 and religious communities, from ill-treatment; so perfect was his con¬ 
 duct on this occasion, that he was spoken of with enthusiasm in the 
 Spanish court, both by the king and the infanta, his daughter. “ It is 
 not often,” observed Philip of this generous victor, “ that such a gen¬ 
 tleman is seen among heretics.” 1 
 
 The envy of Raleigh was excited, though he had performed his de¬ 
 voir gallantly in his ship, the “ Warspite;” but his jealousy led to a con¬ 
 tention with Essex, as to the manner of attacking the richly-laden mer¬ 
 chant fleet, and, in the meantime, the duke of Medina set fire to it, to 
 prevent it from falling into their hands. The loss of the Spaniards was 
 estimated at 20,000,000 ducats, and the English officers and commanders 
 were greatly enriched. Essex desired to return to Cadiz, and offered to 
 maintain it with only four hundred men for three months, by the end of 
 which time succours might arrive from England, and he calculated on 
 being joined by the enslaved Moors, whom Philip’s iron rod of empire 
 having rendered desperate, were ripe for a revolt. But the other com¬ 
 manders being eager to secure their rich booty, overruled all his chivalric 
 projects, and insisted on returning home with what they had got/ 
 
 Essex expected to be distinguished with especial praise by the queen, 
 and to receive additional honours and preferment; but the Cecil party 
 had succeeded in prejudicing the royal mind against him. His pride, 
 vain-glory, extravagance, and immorality, had all been represented to 
 her with exaggerations. They made light of the capture of Cadiz, and 
 gave sir Walter Raleigh the chief credit for the success that had been 
 achieved. 3 Then, when her majesty learned that the plunder had been 
 divided among the commanders and their men, she was so greatly exas¬ 
 perated at being defrauded of her share, that she expressed herself very 
 intemperately against Essex, and declared, “ that if she had hitherto 
 done his pleasure, she would now teach him to perform hers.” 4 Not 
 contented with venting her anger in empty words, she sent word to him 
 and the lord-admiral, that, as they had divided the booty, they might 
 take upon themselves the payment of the soldiers and mariners. Essex, 
 on this, hastened to the court, to offer his explanation to the queen in 
 person; but as she was bent on mortifying him, she refused to listen to 
 him in private, and compelled him to submit to a long investigation be¬ 
 fore the privy-council, day after day, 5 till his patience being fairly ex¬ 
 hausted, he turned upon the Cecils, and proved that the commissioners 
 appointed by Burleigh to look to her majesty’s interests, had neglected 
 to do so, and that he had been opposed in every way, when he sought 
 
 1 Birch's Memorials. 
 * Birch. 
 
 3 Camden. 
 
 5 Lingard Birch. 
 
 3 Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 501 
 
 the glory and advantage of his country ; and that, but for the interference 
 of their creatures, he might have intercepted the richest treasure-fleet of 
 the king of Spain for her majesty. 
 
 On the 4th of September, intelligence was received, that this fleet, 
 witli twenty millions of dollars, had safely arrived in the ports of Spain. 
 The queen then manifested so much resentment against those who had 
 been the cause of her losing this mighty prize, that Burleigh thought it 
 most prudent to conciliate Essex; and when the queen claimed the ran¬ 
 som which the inhabitants of Cadiz had paid for their lives, he expressed 
 a decided opinion that the earl, as the victor, was entitled to this money, 
 one hundred and twenty thousand crowns, and not her majesty, although 
 he had been the very person who first suggested to her that it was her 
 right. Elizabeth, infuriated at this double dealing, called Burleigh “ a 
 miscreant and a cowardtold him “ he was more afraid of Essex than 
 herself,”' and rated him so fiercely, that the aged minister retired from 
 her presence in great distress, and wrote a pitiful complaint of his hard 
 usage to Essex, detailing her majesty’s ireful language, and added, “ that 
 having had the misfortune of incurring his lordship’s ill-will, at the same 
 time, he considered himself in worse case than those who, in avoiding 
 Scylla, fell into Charybdis, for it was his misfortune to fall into both.” 
 Essex wrote civilly in reply, but really gave Burleigh little credit for 
 sincerity. His secretary, Antony Bacon, sarcastically observed, “ that 
 the merit of Essex having regained the good-will of her majesty, the old 
 fox was reduced to crouch and whine, and write in such submissive 
 terms to him, subscribing himself, your lordship’s, if you will, at com¬ 
 mandment.” 2 
 
 In 1596, death was busy among the great placemen of Elizabeth’s 
 cabinet, 3 and no less busy were the courtiers in scheming and soliciting 
 
 'Burleigh's letter to Essex, in Birch. 2 Birch. 
 
 8 Puckering, lord keeper, sir Francis Knollys, lord Huntingdon, and Hunsdon, 
 died this year. 
 
 The Roman-catholic adversaries of F.lizabeth and her chief councillors, did 
 not forget to work on the imaginations of the people, by means of exciting an 
 appetite for the marvellous. Philip d'Autreman and Costerus relate the follow¬ 
 ing terrific tale, which has been quoted by Dr. Johnson in a work entitled 
 “Purgatory proved by Miracles:”— 
 
 “ Lord Hunsdon being, in the year 1596, sick to death, saw come to him, one 
 after another, six of his companions, already dead. The first was Dudley, earl 
 of Leicester, all on fire; the second, secretary Walsingham, also in fire and 
 flames; Pickering, so cold and frozen, that touching Hunsdon s hand, he thought 
 he should die of cold. Then came sir Christopher’ Hatton, lord chancellor, 
 Heneage, and sir Francis Knollys, all flaming and standing round Hunsdon’s 
 bed, told him to prepare to join them, with Cecil, who was, as yet, alive.” Per¬ 
 haps this was one of the delirious fever-fits of Hunsdon, who, the story goes, 
 affirmed on oath that he saw them, and sent word to Cecil of tho message to 
 him, and died a few hours after. 
 
 Randolph was not of this party, the ingenious inventor of the story having, 
 perhaps, some respect for his implied penitence, when he sent, on his death-bed, 
 to sir Francis Walsingham, imploring him, before he died, to repent of his tricks 
 as a secretary of state, as he had done of those of an ambassador. In fact, those 
 who take the pains of collating Randolph's correspondence, as ambassador from 
 England to Scotland, in the troublous reign of Mary, queen of Scots, will allow 
 
502 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 for the reversion of the various offices that were thus vacated. The 
 race was hardest run between Essex and his sworn enemy, lord Cob- 
 ham, for the wardenship of the Cinque Ports. The intrigues respecting 
 this, are amusingly detailed in the Sidney Papers, in a series of letters 
 from Rowland Whyte. 
 
 On Sunday, the ‘22d of March, he informs sir Robert Sidney, that his 
 friend, lady Scudamore, got the queen to read his letter, who asked her 
 “ how she came by it ?” Lady Scudamore replied, 44 Lady Sidney asked 
 me to deliver it to your majesty.” 44 Do you know the contents of it?” 
 demanded the queen. “No, madam,” said she. “Then,” said the 
 queen, “ it’s much ado about the Cinque Ports.” “ I demanded of my 
 lady Scudamore,” continues Whyte, “ what she observed of her majes¬ 
 ty’s manner while reading it, who said the queen read it all over with 
 no other comment than two or three 4 pughs!’ ” It might be regarded 
 as a favourable indication of the royal mind, that her majesty’s exple¬ 
 tives were not of a more offensive character. 
 
 Lord Cobham obtained the place, through the interest of the queen’s 
 favourite lady-in-waiting, Mrs. Russell, of the privy-chamber, to whom 
 he was paying his addresses. When the queen told Essex that Cobham 
 should have it, the mortified favourite announced his intention of with¬ 
 drawing from court. On the morning of the 10th of December, him¬ 
 self, his horses, and followers, were all ready. About ten o’clock, he 
 went to take leave of the sick lord-treasurer, and met Mr. Killigrew, 
 who told him “ to come to the queen,” and she, to pacify him, offered 
 him the post of master of the ordnance, which he accepted, yet the 
 queen, who loved to torment him, delayed signing his patent so long, 
 that he began to doubt of the sincerity of her promise. 
 
 Essex and the queen came to issue this year, on two points: one was 
 her appointing sir Francis Vere to the office of governor of Brill, which 
 the earl vehemently opposed, arguing that it ought to be given to a per¬ 
 son of higher rank and greater experience, as sir Francis held only a 
 colonelcy in the service of the states of Holland, but Elizabeth had 
 marked his talents, and insisted on bestowing the preferment upon him.' 
 The other dispute was on the old subject of the place of secretary of 
 state, which, although it had been held provisionally by sir Robert Cecil 
 
 Randolph had somewhat to repent of. This Dante-like vision of the souls of 
 Elizabeth's privy councillors, has been thus versified, by a fierce polemic of the 
 succeeding century :— 
 
 First Dudley, earl of Leicester, came, 
 Roll'd round about in glaring flame; 
 Out of his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears, 
 Sprung pointed flames, from inward 
 fires. 
 
 Then Walsingham, all in a glow, 
 
 And Pickering, cold as frozen snow, 
 Who of his hand scarce taking hold, 
 Hunsdon was fit to die with cold. 
 
 Hatton was next that did appear, 
 
 All in a flame of glowing fire ; 
 
 And Heneage then after him came, 
 Burning all o'er in rapid flame; 
 
 And last of all comes impious Knollys, 
 Curl’d round about with flaming rolls, 
 That grind him in their whirling gyres, 
 And from the dints spring streaming 
 fires.” 
 
 The poetical version of the story declares that Hunsdon sent a narrative of his 
 vision to the queen before he expired, and that he swore to all he had seen. 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 501 
 
 for five years, Essex still urged the queen either to restore to Davison, 
 or to bestow it on his learned friend, sir Thomas Bodley, the celebrated 
 founder of the Bodleian library, at Oxford. Perhaps Essex roused the 
 combative spirit of his royal mistress, by the energy and pertinacity with 
 which he recommended sir Thomas Bodley to her favour, and insisted 
 on his merits; or, it might be, that Elizabeth was convinced that he was 
 a gentleman of too noble a disposition to give up his integrity to the 
 degrading practice of olFicial chicanery; for she refused even to allow 
 Burleigh, who was willing to make that concession, to associate him in 
 the commission with his son. Certainly sir Thomas Bodley was not 
 very likely to run smoothly in harness with such a colleague as sir 
 Robert Cecil. 
 
 Essex, who had for some time endeavoured to reform his acquired 
 faults of dissipation and gallantry, and, by frequenting sermons and re¬ 
 ligious assemblies, and devoting himself to his amiable wife, had ac¬ 
 quired some reputation for sanctity, now suddenly relapsed into a career 
 of fresh folly,-having become desperately enamoured of one of the beau¬ 
 tiful maids of honour, Mrs. Bridges. The queen’s rage and jealousy, 
 on this occasion, transported her beyond the bounds of feminine deli¬ 
 cacy, and she treated the offending lady in the harshest manner, bestow¬ 
 ing bitter revilings, and even personal chastisement on her, on the most 
 absurd and frivolous pretences. 
 
 “The queen hath of late,” observes Rowland Whyte, “used the fair 
 Mrs. Bridges with words and blows of anger, and she and Mrs. Russell 
 were put out of the coffer-chamber. They lay three nights at my lady 
 Stafford’s, but are now returned again to their wonted waiting. By what 
 I writ in my last letter to you, by post, you may conjecture whence 
 these storms arise. The cause of this displeasure is said to be their 
 taking of physic, and one day going privately through the privy galle¬ 
 ries to see the playing at ballon.'’‘ > 1 
 
 About this time, Essex’s friend, the earl of Southampton, another of 
 the young nobles of the court who had incurred the displeasure of the 
 queen, for marrying without her consent, and was only just released 
 from the Tower, involved himself in a fracas with Ambrose Willoughby, 
 one of the officers of the household, in a very foolish manner. He was 
 engaged in a game of primero, in the presence-chamber, with sir Walter 
 Raleigh and Mr. Parker, after the queen had gone to bed, and Willough¬ 
 by, whose duty it was to clear the chamber, told them to give over their 
 play. They paid no heed to his warning, and continued their game, on 
 which he told them he should be compelled to call in the guard, to pull 
 down the board. Raleigh prudently put up his money, and went his 
 way, but Southampton was so much annoyed, that he told Willoughby 
 he would remember it. Meeting him, soon after, between the Tennis- 
 court wall and the garden, he struck him, on which Willoughby pulled 
 out some of his locks. It is probable that Essex had espoused the quar¬ 
 rel of his friend, and threatened the other, for the queen took the matter 
 up, and gave Willoughby thanks for what he did in the presence-chain 
 
 Sidney Papers. Ballon was, perhaps, cricket or golf. 
 
504 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ber; adding, “that he had done better if he had sent Southampton to 
 the porter’s lodge, to see who durst have fetched him out.” 1 
 
 The presumption of Philip II., which led him, in his old age, to fancy 
 he might make his daughter, Clara Eugenia, queen of France, malgre 
 the Salic law, having failed to achieve that object, he now once more 
 directed his energies to the equally absurd chimera of placing her on 
 the throne of England, as the legitimate heir of the house of Lancaster. 
 Intelligence reached Elizabeth, that he was fitting out another expedition 
 for the purpose of invading her realm. At first, her love of peace in¬ 
 duced her to slight the warning, but Essex succeeded in convincing her 
 that the preparations were formidable, and that the Spaniards designed 
 to make a descent on the coast of Ireland, where the greatest disaffection 
 prevailed, and she consented that a fleet should be sent out to attack the 
 shipping in the Spanish ports. A hollow reconciliation was effected be¬ 
 tween Essex, the Cecils, and sir Walter Raleigh, and Essex was ap¬ 
 pointed as commander-in-chief of the forces by sea and land. Lord 
 Thomas Howard and Raleigh were the vice and rear-admirals, Mount- 
 joye was lieutenant-general, and sir Francis Vere, marshal. 2 
 
 As usual, a great many young noblemen and gentlemen joined the 
 fleet: they set sail from Plymouth on the 9th of July, making a gallant 
 show, with waving plumes, glittering arms, and gay accoutrements. 
 They were overtaken by a terrible thunder-storm, which dismantled 
 some of the vessels, drove them back into port, and so disheartened 
 many of the landsmen that they deserted. Essex and Raleigh took 
 horse, and posted together to the queen, to learn her majesty’s pleasure. 
 She gave orders that they should destroy the Spanish ships in Ferral 
 harbour, and intercept the West India fleet. 3 The expedition remained 
 wind-bound a whole month, and when it again put to sea, Essex ad¬ 
 dressed the following farewell letter to the queen, in behalf of the noble¬ 
 man who was to perform the duties of master of the horse in his 
 absence:— 
 
 “Most dear lady, “August 17, 1597. 
 
 « Now I am leaving the shore, and thinking of all I leave behind me, next 
 vourself, none are so dear as they, that with most care and zeal do serve you; of 
 which number I beseech your majesty to remember that truly honest earl that 
 waits in my place.* Your majesty is in debt to him and to yourself, till you do 
 for him. Him only of his coat you think yourself behind-hand with. Therefore, 
 dear lady, for your justice’ sake, and for your poor absent servant's sake, take 
 
 'Although the terrible punishment of the loss of a right hand, with fine and 
 imprisonment, was awarded by the rigour of a Star-chamber sentence to those 
 who inflicted a blow or drew a weapon on another, within the precincts of the 
 palace; the .courtiers, and even the privy councillors of the maiden queen, not 
 unfrequently gave way to their pugnacious dispositions, by brawling and fight¬ 
 ing in the corridors leading to the presence-chamber. An incident of the kind 
 is very quaintly related by Rowland Whyte to his absent patron; but he pru¬ 
 dently veils the names of the bellicose powers under the mystery of ciphers. 
 “ I forgot to write unto you,” he says, “ that in the lobby, upon some words, 300 
 called GOO a fool, and he struck him ; but 000 being by, went to the privy-cham¬ 
 ber, and desired 1000 (earl of Essex) to come and part two grave councillors, 
 which he did, and made them friends presently.’ 
 
 •Camden; Lingard. 3 Camden. * Edward, earl of Worcester. 
 
ELIZABETH. 505 
 
 some time to show your favour to him. You shall never repose trust in u safer 
 place. Pardon this freedom of spirit. 
 
 ‘•From your majesty's humblest vassal, 
 
 “ Essex .” 1 
 
 There were some noble points in Essex, though in his general con¬ 
 duct he constantly reminds us of a spoiled and wayward child. When 
 the disobedience of his great enemy, sir Walter Raleigh, to his orders 
 in attacking the town of Fayal before his arrival with the rest of the 
 fleet, disarranged his plans, and abridged the success of his squadron, 
 one of his followers urged him to bring sir Walter Raleigh to a court- 
 martial for his offence. “ So I should,” replied the generous Essex, 
 “if he were my friend.” There were not wanting tempters, who repre¬ 
 sented to the earl, “ that if he omitted so excellent an opportunity of 
 ridding himself of this formidable adversary, by dealing with him ac¬ 
 cording to the stern dictum of martial law, he might live to repent it 
 himself,” alleging, no doubt, the case of Drake’s beheading his second 
 in command, Doughty, as a precedent; but the nature of Essex was too 
 noble to be persuaded to any act allied to baseness. The queen, on his 
 return, commended Raleigh, laid all the blame of the failure of the 
 expedition on Essex, and reproached him for the great outlay it had cost 
 her. 2 
 
 The following details from Rowland Whyte’s private letters, show 
 the restless fermentation of the court intrigues at that period, and that 
 there had been a vain attempt to introduce a substitute for Essex as 
 favourite to the queen. “Now that lord Herbert is gone, he is much 
 blamed for his cold and weak manner of pursuing her majesty’s favour, 
 having had so good steps to lead unto it: there is want of spirit and 
 courage laid to his charge, and that he is a melancholy young man,”— 
 a temperament little likely to recommend any one to the favour of 
 Elizabeth. “Young Carey,” continues the court newsman, “follows it 
 with more care and boldness. My lady Katerin Howard is come to 
 court, and this day sworn of the privy-chamber, which doth greatly 
 strengthen that party. 1 am credibly informed, by a very wise and 
 grave man, that at this instant the lord-admiral is able to do with the 
 queen as much as my lord Leicester was, if he list to use his credit with 
 her.” 3 
 
 It was certainly more reasonable that the queen should bestow her 
 favour on her illustrious kinsman, a gentleman who had deserved so 
 well of his country as the hero of the Armada, than on the mere court 
 satellites, who hovered round her for the sake of the things that were 
 in her gift. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was very sparing of her honours, which rendered 
 them more prized by those who were judged by this great sovereign 
 worthy of obtaining such distinctions. She was not lavish in bestow¬ 
 ing the accolade of knighthood. As for the dignity of a peer, it was 
 rarely indeed conferred by her, and then always in such a manner, as to 
 impress her subjects with the importance of the reward. There was 
 something truly worthy of exciting high and chivalric emprise among 
 
 1 Birch’s State Papers. 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
 ’Sidney Papers. 
 
50G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the gentlemen of England, when a maiden sovereign bestowed the dearly 
 prized dignity of the peerage, by personal creation, and under such cir¬ 
 cumstances as those, which distinguished the hero of the Armada. The 
 details of this interesting ceremonial are thus given by Whyte : 
 
 “As the queen came from chapel this day, she created my lord-admi¬ 
 ral, lord Thomas Howard, earl of Nottingham. My lord Cumberland 
 carried his sword, my lord of Sussex his cap and coronet. He was 
 brought in by the earls of Shrewsbury and Worcester. Her majesty 
 made a speech to him, in acknowledgment of his services, and Mr. 
 Secretary read his patents in a loud voice, which are very honourable; j 
 all his great services recited in 1588, and lately at Cales. All this was 
 done in one day.” 
 
 Essex conceived himself to be deeply aggrieved by the latter clause, i 
 which seemed to award to the lord-admiral, the palm of honour for the | 
 taking of Cadiz, only mentioning himself as an adjunct, and no reward : 
 had been conferred on him, for his services on that occasion. He fretted i 
 himself sick at this implied slight, and took to his bed. The queen’s I 
 heart relented, and feeling that she had acted harshly towards him, she ' 
 chid the Cecils, as the cause of what had taken place. While she was 
 in this frame of mind, she encountered sir Francis Vere, in the gardens 
 of Whitehall palace; calling him to her, she questioned him, as to the 
 ill success of the expedition, which she entirely charged on Essex, both 
 for not burning and spoiling the fleet at Ferral, and for missing the In¬ 
 dian fleet. Sir Francis defended his absent friend with great courage, 
 even to the raising his voice somewhat louder than was consistent with 
 the reverence due to the sovereign, but this, as he explained, was not 
 out of disrespect to her majesty, but that all might hear what he said, 
 charging the blame upon those who deserved it. Some of these being 
 present, were confronted with him, and compelled to retract their false 
 witness against Essex, before the queen. Her majesty, well pleased 
 with the manly and honest conduct of sir Francis Vere, sat down at the 
 end of the walk, and calling him to her, fell into more confidential dis¬ 
 course on the subject of Essex’s peculiar temper; and, being willing to 
 listen to all that could be urged in his favour, before sir Francis left her, 
 she spoke graciously in his commendation, and shortly after received 
 him at court. 1 In December, 1597, the earl was restored to favour, and 
 created earl-marshal by the queen’s patents. This was one great cause 
 of the animosity, afterwards borne to him by his great enemy, the earl 
 of Nottingham, who, with justice, considered that he had more right to 
 that office than the earl, since it had been strictly hereditary in his 
 family, from the days of their royal ancestor, Thomas of Brotherton, ; 
 whose daughter, Margaret Plantagenet, as we have seen, claimed it as 
 her right by descent; and, being precluded by her sex from exercising 
 its duties, she invested her grandson Mowbray, earl of Norfolk, with it, 
 as her man. Essex offered to decide this quarrel by single combat, with 
 either the admiral or his sons, or all of them, but the queen would not 
 permit it, and employed sir Walter Raleigh, to effect a reconciliation. 
 
 
 1 Birch. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 507 
 
 The earl of Nottingham would not dispute the queen’s pleasure, but, on 
 the 20th of December, resigned his staff, as lord steward of the house¬ 
 hold, and retired to his house, at Chelsea, under pretence of sickness. 
 
 Lord Henry Howard wrote a quaint and witty letter to Essex, on the 
 anniversary of the queen’s accession to the crown, November 17th, 
 1597, in which he gives a sarcastic glance at the leading powers of the 
 court, who were intriguing against his friend :— 
 
 “ Your lordship,” says he, “ by your last purchase, hath almost enraged the 
 dromedary, that would have won the queen of Sheba’s favour, by bringing pearls. 
 If you could once be as fortunate in dragging old Leviathan (Burleigh) and his 
 cub (Robert Cecil) tortuosum colubrum, as the prophet termeth them, out of this 
 den of mischievous device, the better part of the world would prefer your virtue 
 to that of Hercules.” Then, in allusion to the day to be kept in honour of the 
 queen, he adds, “In haste, the feast of St. Elizabeth, whom, if I were pope, 1 
 would no longer set forth in red letters in the kalendar of saints, than she graced 
 my dear lord, in golden characters, with the influence of her benignity; but the 
 best is, the power is now wholly in herself to canonize herself, because she will 
 not stand to the pope’s courtesy.” 1 
 
 It is amusing to trace how the private letters of the court of queen 
 Elizabeth elucidate each oilier. This dromedary, who sought to propi¬ 
 tiate her majesty’s favour by an offering of jewels, would appear to the 
 readers of the present century a very mysterious animal, were it not for 
 a letter, in the Shrewsbury collection, from Michael Stanhope, 2 in which 
 that gentleman informs sir Robert Cecil, “ that the lord-keeper, Egerton, 
 had sent him with a present of pearls to the queen, as a small token of 
 his thankfulness for her gracious care in maintaining his credit. For 
 some reason or other, the queen would not receive the present, but bade 
 the bearer carry them back to the donor, with this message, “ that her 
 mind was as great to refuse as his to give.” “When I came back to 
 his lordship,” pursues Stanhope, “ and delivered her majesty’s pleasure, 
 and he saw his pearls again, I do assure your honour, he looked upon 
 me with a heavy eye, as if I had carelessly or doltishly performed the 
 trust, and as for the pearls, he would not lay hand on them, but bid me 
 do what I would with them.” 3 Sir Michael, who prided himself on 
 being a most expert courtier, remained much pestered with these pearls, 
 which he dared not present again, because his wife’s gentlewoman and 
 his mother-in-law’s gentlewoman were both ill with the small-pox, an 
 effectual bar to the presence of the queen, though she had had the dis¬ 
 ease long ago. Whether Robert Cecil became the means of introducing 
 the pearls once more to the queen, or what became of them, cannot be 
 traced. 
 
 It was during the absence of Essex on this last expedition, in July, 
 1597, that Elizabeth gave Paulus Jaline, the handsome and audacious 
 ambassador of Sigismund, king of Poland, so notable a sample of her 
 high spirit and fluent powers of scolding extemporaneously in Latin, in 
 reply to his diplomatic insolence. The story is related with great hu- 
 
 1 Birch’s Memoirs of the Reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 ! One of the grooms of her character, and a gentleman of great importance in 
 this species of negotiation. 
 
 3 Lodge's Illustrations. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 508 
 
 mour by Speed, in his quaint style, and also by sir Robert Cecil,' in : 
 letter to Essex. Sir Robert Cecil had the good fortune of being a wit¬ 
 ness of this rich scene, which he details with great spirit. Her majest) 
 was well disposed to render the king of Poland honourable tokens of 
 her good-will, out of respect for his father, the late king of Sweden 
 who, when duke of Finland, had been a suitor for her hand; and being 
 especially pleased with the report of the comeliness and accomplish¬ 
 ments of the ambassador, she prepared herself to receive him, with great 
 solemnity, in the presence of her court and council, in her presence- 
 chamber at Greenwich. 
 
 He was brought in, attired in a long robe of black velvet, well but¬ 
 toned and jewelled, and came to kiss her majesty’s hand, where she sat, 
 under her canopy of state. Having performed all ceremonials proper to 
 the occasion, with peculiar grace, he retreated about three yards, “and 
 then,” continues Cecil, u began his oration, aloud, in Latin, with such a 
 gallant countenance as I never in my life beheld. The oration, however, 
 to which her majesty had so graciously prepared herself to listen, before 
 a large assembly of her .nobles and courtiers, was neither more nor less 
 than a bold remonstrance, in the name of the newly-elected sovereign 
 of Poland, against Elizabeth’s assumption of maritime superiority over 
 other nations, to which, he said, her position in Europe gave her no 
 ostensible pretension. He also complained of her having, on account 
 of her wars with Spain, interrupted the commerce of that country with 
 Poland, called upon her to redress the losses which their merchants had 
 suffered in consequence of her foreign policy, and concluded by inform¬ 
 ing her, that his master, having entered into a matrimonial alliance with 
 the house of Austria, was resolved to put up with these wrongs no 
 longer; and, therefore, unless she thought proper to take immediate 
 steps to redress them, he would.” 2 
 
 At the termination of an address so different from the agreeable strain 
 of compliment which she had anticipated from the comely envoy, Eliza¬ 
 beth, w ho was not of a disposition to brook tamely an affront from the 
 mightiest prince in Christendom, started from her chair of state, and 
 preventing the lord-chancellor, who had risen to reply to this harangue, 
 she overwhelmed the astonished diplomatist with such a vivacious vitu¬ 
 peration, in extempore Latin, as perhaps was never before delivered in 
 that majestic language, commencing witli these words:— 
 
 “ Expectavi crationem, mihi vero querelam adduxisti!— 
 
 “ Is this the business that your king has sent you about ? Surely, I can 
 hardly believe that if the king himself were present, he would have 
 used such language. For, if he should, I must have thought that he 
 being a king, not by many years, and that not by right of blood, but by 
 right of election, they haply have not informed him of that course which 
 his father and ancestors have taken w itli us, and which, peradventure, 
 shall be observed by those that shall live to come after him. And as for 
 you, although I perceive you have read many books to fortify your 
 
 1 Lansdowne MSS., No. 85, vol. xix. 
 
 8 Cecil s letter to the earl of Essex. Lansdowne MSS. Speed's Chronicle, fol. 1200 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 500 
 
 rguments in this case, yet I am apt to believe you have not ’lighted 
 pon that chapter which prescribes the forms to be observed between 
 ings and princes; but were it not for the place you hold, to have so 
 ublic an imputation thrown upon our justice, which as yet never failed, 
 ve would answer this audacity of yours in another style. And for the 
 articulars of your negotiations, we will appoint some of our council to 
 onfer with you, to see upon what grounds this clamour of yours has 
 r s foundation, who have showed yourself rather a herald than an ambas- 
 ador.” 
 
 “And thus,” says old Speed, “ lion-like, rising, she daunted the mala- 
 iert orator no less with her stately port and majestical departure, than 
 vith the tartness of her princely checks, and, turning to her court, ex- 
 laimed— 
 
 “‘God’s death, my lords!’ (for that was ever her oath in anger,) ‘1 
 ave been enforced this day to scour up my old Latin, that hath lain 
 ang in rusting.’ ” Her majesty told sir Robert Cecil “ that she was 
 orry Essex heard not her Latin that day,” and Cecil promised to write 
 full account of it to the absent favourite. 
 
 It was not always that Elizabeth’s intercourse with the representatives 
 f foreign princes was of so stern a character, and if we may credit the 
 eports of some of those gentlemen, her deportment towards them in 
 rivate audiences occasionally transgressed both the delicacy of a gen- 
 lewoman and the dignity of a queen. It is related of her, that in the 
 lidst of an important political conference with the French ambassador, 
 larlai, she endeavoured to distract his attention from the interests of 
 is royal master, by displaying, as if by accident, the elegant propor- 
 ons of her finely-turned ancle,' on which the audacious plenipotentiary 
 ropped on one knee, and passionately saluting the graceful limb that 
 ras so coquettishly revealed, laid his hand on his heart, and exclaimed, 
 /ith a deep sigh, “Ah, madame, if the king, my master, had but been 
 1 my place!” and then resumed the diplomatic discussion as coolly as 
 ’ no such interesting interruption had occurred. Such instances of 
 jvity as the above, and the well-authenticated fact of her indulging 
 antes Melvil, when she was five-and-twenty years younger, with a 
 ight of her unbraided tresses, removing cauls, fillets, jewels, and all 
 ther confinements, and allowing them to fall at full length about her 
 tately form, and then demanding, “ if the queen of Scots could boast 
 f such a head of hair,” while they excite a smile, must strike every 
 ne as singular traits of vanity and weakness in a princess of her mas- 
 uline intellect. Mauvissiere and Sully were impressed with her wisdom 
 nd profound judgment, but it was not with those grave statesmen that 
 he felt any temptation to indulge in flippancy which might remind per- 
 ans of reflection of those characteristics which had been imputed to 
 er unfortunate mother. It is impossible, however, for any one to study 
 te personal history of Elizabeth without tracing a singular compound 
 f the qualities of both her parents. 
 
 This year a crazy scrivener of Greenwich, named Squires, was accused 
 
 Houssae’s Memoires Historique. 
 
510 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 of the absurdity of attempting to take away the queen’s life, by the new 
 and diabolical means of poisoning the pommel of her saddle, at the 
 instigation of Walpole the Jesuit. This Squires had fitted out a pinnace 
 privateer at his own expense, and when on a piratical expedition was 
 taken prisoner, and lodged in the Spanish inquisition, where he was tor¬ 
 tured into a great affection for Catholicism, and became a convert to that 
 religion. Walpole obtained the liberty of Squires on the condition of 
 * his imbuing the pommel of her majesty’s saddle with a poison which 
 he gave him in a bladder. This poison was of so subtle a nature, that 
 if her majesty raised her hand to her lips or nose after resting it on the 
 envenomed pommel, it was expected that she would instantly drop down 
 dead. 2 
 
 Squires, having undertaken this marvellous commission, approached 
 her majesty’s horse when it was led forth from the stable, of which it 
 seems he had the entree, having once filled the office of under-groom; 
 he then pricked the bladder with a pin, and shed the poison on the 
 pommel, crying, “ God save the queen!” at the same time, to disarm 
 suspicion. Elizabeth mounted, and receiving no ill from the medication 
 of her saddle, Squires imagined that her life was miraculously preserved, 
 and determined to employ the rest of his malign nostrum for the de¬ 
 struction of the earl of Essex, who was then preparing to sail on the 
 late expedition against the Spanish fleet. Accordingly, he entered on 
 board the earl’s ship as a volunteer, and by that means obtained an op¬ 
 portunity of rubbing the arms of his lordship’s chair with the poison, 
 which had, however, no more effect on either chair or earl than if it 
 had been the usual polishing compound of turpentine and wax; but 
 Walpole was so provoked at the failure of his plot, that he suborned 
 a person of the name of Stanley to denounce the treason of Squires to 
 the council, and Squires, in turn, after five hours on the rack, denounced 
 Walpole as his instigator. Stanley was also tortured, and confessed 
 that he had been sent by one of the Spanish ministers to shoot the 
 queen. Walpole, who probably had nothing to do with the hallucina¬ 
 tion which had taken possession of the pirate scrivener’s brain, being 
 out of the realm, published a pamphlet denying the accusation, and en¬ 
 deavouring to explain the absurdity of the whole affair. 2 The wretched 
 Squires suffered the usual penalty for devising the death of the queen, 
 being convicted on his own confession. Such are the fallacies of evi¬ 
 dence obtained by torture, that a man would rather confess himself 
 guilty of an impossible crime than endure further inflictions. How 
 much more readily would such a person obtain ease by denouncing 
 another, if required ! 
 
 Essex was now so completely restored to the good graces of the 
 queen, that he even ventured on the experiment of attempting to bring 
 his mother, who had been in disgrace with her royal kinswoman ever 
 since her marriage with Leicester, to court once more. Elizabeth did 
 not refuse to receive her, but tantalized both mother and son by appoint¬ 
 ing a place and hour convenient for the interview, and then, when the 
 
 * Camden. 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
ELIZABE1 H. 
 
 511 
 
 time came, sent an excuse. This she did repeatedly. There were then 
 attempts made by lady Leicester to meet her majesty at the houses of 
 her friends, but there Elizabeth also made a point of disappointing hef 
 little project. 
 
 “ On Shrove Monday,” says Rowland Whyte, “ the queen was per¬ 
 suaded to go to Mr. Comptroller’s, and there was my iady Leicester, 
 with a fair jewel of 3001. A great dinner was prepared by my lady 
 Shandos, and the queen’s coach ready, when, upon a sudden, she re¬ 
 solved riot to go, and so sent word.” 
 
 Essex, who had taken to his bed on these repeated indications of un¬ 
 abated hostility to his mother, roused himself from his sullen manifesta 
 tion of unavailing anger, and came to the queen, in his night-gown, by 
 the private way, to intercede with her, but could not carry his point. 
 
 It had been better not moved,” continues the watchful observer of his 
 proceedings, “ for my lord of Essex, by importuning the queen in these 
 unpleasing matters, loses the opportunity he might take of obliging his 
 ancient friends.” 
 
 Elizabeth Jiad never forgiven her cousin Lettice her successful rivalry 
 with regard to Leicester, although the grave had now closed over him 
 for nearly nine years, and his place in her capricious favour was supplied 
 by the countess’s gallant son. At length, however, the urgency of Essex 
 in behalf of his mother prevailed, and, in spite of the cherished anger 
 over which Elizabeth had gloomily brooded for nearly twenty years, 
 the countess was admitted into her presence once more. A tender 
 scene, if not a temporary reconciliation, appears to have taken place on 
 itliis occasion, for Rowland Whyte says— 
 
 i “My lady Leicester was at court, kissed the queen’s hand and her 
 breast, and did embrace her, and the queen kissed her. My lord of 
 Essex is in exceeding favour here. Lady Leicester departed from court 
 exceedingly contented, but being desirous to come again, and kiss the 
 queen’s hand, it was denied, and some wonted unkind words given out 
 against hur.” 1 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was very obstinately bent on taking her daily exer¬ 
 cise, despite of the weather, and would ride or walk in the rain, setting 
 at naught the entreaties of her ladies, who affected great concern for her 
 health, not forgetting their own, as they were bound to accompany her. 
 They called in the aid of archbishop Whitgift, who gently persuaded 
 her to tarry at home during the foul weather. Her majesty would not 
 listen to the church. They then tried the agency of her favourite fool, 
 Clod, who addressed the following exordium to his royal mistress :— 
 “Heaven dissuades you, madam, not only by its weeping aspect, but by 
 the eloquence of the archbishop; earth dissuades, by the tongue of your 
 poor fool, Clod; and if neither heaven nor earth can succeed, at least 
 listen to Dr. Perne, whose religious doubts suspend him between both.” 
 The queen laughed heartily at this gibe on Dr. Perne, the archbishop’s 
 chaplain, knowing that, in the religious disputes in the middle of the 
 century, he had changed his religion four times. It was no laughing 
 
 Sidney Papers. 
 
512 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 matter to the doctor, who is said to have died, soon after, of utter 
 chagrin. 1 
 
 Francis Bacon took the trouble of compounding a long letter of advice 
 to Essex, on the manner in which he judged it would be most expedient 
 for him to demean himself to the queen, so as to improve her favourable 
 disposition towards him. Some of these rules are curious enough, and 
 prove that this great moral philosopher was as deeply accomplished in 
 the arts of a courtier, as any of the butterflies who fluttered round the 
 aged rose of England. He tells Essex, “ that when, in his speeches, he 
 chanced to do her majesty right, for,” continues he, with playful sar¬ 
 casm, “ there is no such thing as flattery among you all; your lordship 
 has rather the air of paying fine compliments, than speaking what you 
 really thinkadding, “ that any one might read the insincerity of his 
 words in his countenance.” Bacon warns his patron “ to avoid the ex¬ 
 ample of Hatton and Leicester, in his own conduct, yet to adduce them 
 to the queen as precedents on certain points.” Essex profited very little 
 by the counsels of his sage secretary; and scarcely had he regained the 
 favour of the queen, ere he hazarded incurring her jealous resentment 
 by a renewal of his rash attentions to her beautiful attendant, mistress 
 Bridges. Of this his observant contemporary thus speaks:— 
 
 “ It is spied out of envy, that Essex is again fallen in love with his 
 
 fairest B-. It cannot choose but come to the queen’s ears, then he is 
 
 undone, and all who depend upon his favour. Sure I am that lady 
 Essex hears of it, or rather, suspects it, and is greatly disquieted.”* 
 Nor was this all; for the indiscretions of Essex were becoming now so 
 much the theme of general discussion, that old lady Bacon took the 
 privilege of her age and sanctity to write to him a long letter of expos¬ 
 tulation, lamenting his backslidings, and warning him of the sinful 
 nature of his way of life. 3 
 
 The enemies of the envied man, whom the queen delighted to honour, 
 of course delighted to carry evil reports of him to the royal ear; but it 
 frequently happens that injudicious friends are more to be feared than 
 the bitterest of foes. The real cause of Essex’s disgrace may, doubt¬ 
 less, be attributed to the following cause: — His fair, frail sister, lady 
 Rich, who was one of the ladies of the queen’s bed-chamber, and was 
 loved and trusted for his sake, most ungratefully united with her hus¬ 
 band— with whom she could not agree in anything but mischief—in a 
 secret correspondence with the king of Scots, under the feigned names 
 of Ricardo and Rialta; James they called Victor. Their letters were 
 written in cipher, and they had nicknames for all the court. Thomas 
 Fowler, Burleigh’s spy in Scotland, gave information of this correspond¬ 
 ence to his employer, with these particulars, “ that queen Elizabeth her¬ 
 self was called Venus, and the earl of Essex the Weary Knight, because 
 he was exceeding weary of his office, and accounted his attendance a 
 thrall that he lived in, and hoped for a change, which was, that the 
 queen would die in a year or two.” King James commended much the 
 
 1 Fuller's Worthies. 
 
 Sidney Papers. 
 
 Birch. 
 
ELIZABETH. 513 
 
 fineness of Rialta’s wit. After Burleigh was armed with such intelli¬ 
 gence, no wonder Essex’s favour with Elizabeth began to decline. 
 
 Essex, unconscious of the broken ground on which his sister’s folly 
 had placed him, carried himself more loftily every day in the council- 
 room, and in the privy-chamber assumed the airs of a spoiled child, who 
 was secure of getting its own way by petulance. Elizabeth was in a 
 great state of irritability, on account of the king of France consulting 
 his own interest, rather than the political line of conduct she had pre¬ 
 scribed as the conditions of her friendship. Henry was bent on con¬ 
 cluding an amicable treaty with Spain, and she sent word to him “that 
 the true sin against the Holy Ghost was ingratitude, and upbraided him 
 with the breach of his engagements to her.” 1 Henry offered to mediate 
 a general peace, in which England should be included; and to this 
 measure Burleigh was disposed. Essex argued vehemently in favour of 
 war. The aged minister, now tottering on the brink of the grave, 
 viewed the dazzling visions of military glory in a truer point of light 
 than that in which they appeared to the young, fiery earl-marshal; and 
 after a warm debate on the subject, he drew out a prayer-book, and, 
 putting it into his combative opponent’s hand, pointed in silence to the 
 text—“ Men of blood shall not live out half their days.” The warning 
 made no impression on Essex at the time, but it was afterwards regarded 
 as prophetic of his fate. The veteran statesman, who had trimmed his 
 sails to weather out the changeful storms that had sent queens, princes, 
 and nobles to the block, during the reigns of four Tudor sovereigns, 
 required not the gift of second-sight to perceive the dark destiny that 
 impended over the rash knight-errant, who filled the perilous office of 
 favourite to the last and haughtiest of that despotic race. To him, who 
 i knew the temper of the queen and the character of Essex, well might 
 the “ coming event cast its shadow before.” Rapidly as the waning 
 sands of life now ebbed with Burleigh, he lived to triumph in that fierce 
 collision of uncontrollable temper between Essex and the queen, which 
 was the sure prelude of the fall of the imprudent favourite. 
 
 Ireland was in a state of revolt, and the appointment of a suitable 
 person to fill the difficult and responsible office of lord-deputy of that 
 distracted country, became a matter of important consideration to the 
 queen and her cabinet. The subject was warmly debated one day in 
 the royal closet, when no one was present but the queen, the lord- 
 admiral, sir Robert Cecil, Windebank, clerk of the seal, and Essex. 
 Her majesty named sir William Knollys, her near relative, as the person 
 best fitted for the post. Although Knollys was his own uncle, Essex, 
 being aware that the suggestion emanated from the Cecils, opposed it 
 with more vehemence than prudence, and insisted that the appointment 
 ought to be given to sir George Carew. The queen, offended at the 
 positive tone in which Essex had presumed to overbear her opinion and 
 advance his own, made a sarcastic rejoinder, on which he so far forgot 
 himself as to turn his back on her, with a contemptuous expression. 
 Her majesty, exasperated beyond the bounds of self-control by this in- 
 
 ‘2u 
 
 1 Camden. 
 
511 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 eolence, gave him a sound box on the ear, and bade him “go and be 
 hanged!” 1 
 
 Essex behaved like a petulant school-boy on this occasion, for in¬ 
 stead of receiving the chastisement, which his own ill-manners had pro¬ 
 voked, as a sort of angry love-token, and kissing the royal hand in 
 return for the buffet, he grasped his sword-hilt with a menacing gesture. 
 The lord-admiral hastily threw himself between the infuriated earl and 
 the person of the queen, and fortunately prevented him from disgracing 
 himself by the unknightly deed of drawing his weapon upon a lady 
 and his sovereign; but he swore, with a deep oath, “ that lie would 
 not have taken that blow from king Henry, her father, and that it was 
 an indignity that he neither could nor would endure from any one!”® 
 To these rash words he added some impertinence about “a king in pet¬ 
 ticoats,” rushed, with marked disrespect, from the royal presence, and 
 instantly withdrew from court. 3 
 
 This stormy scene in the royal drama of Elizabeth’s life and reign 
 occurred June 1598. The lord-chancellor, Egerton, wrote a friendly 
 letter of advice to Essex, entreating him to make proper submission to 
 his offended sovereign, to whom he owed so many obligations, and to 
 sue for pardon.'* It is more than probable that Egerton’s letter was 
 written by the desire of the queen, and dictated by her, or surely two 
 very powerful arguments for the performance of the course suggested 
 by him would have been used—namely, the reverence due from a young 
 man to a princess of the advanced age to which her majesty had now 
 attained, and also his near relationship to her, as the great-grandson of 
 her aunt, Mary Boleyn. 
 
 In reply to the lord-keeper’s sage advice, Essex wrote a passionate 
 letter, complaining of the hardness of the queen’s heart, and of the 
 indignity he had received. The blow had entered into his soul, and he 
 says, “ Let Solomon’s fool laugh when he is stricken; let those that 
 mean to make their profit of princes show no sense of princes’ injuries; 
 let them acknowledge an infinite absoluteness on earth, who do not 
 believe in an absolute infiuitiveness in heaven. As for me, I have 
 received wrong, and I feel it.” It was in vain that the mother and sis¬ 
 ters of Essex, and all who wished him well, endeavoured to mollify his 
 haughty spirit: he maintained a sullen resentment for several months, in 
 the expectation that the queen would, in the end, become a suppliant to 
 him for a reconciliation. 
 
 Meantime Elizabeth was taken up with watching over the last days 
 of her old servant, Burleigh. Ilis sufferings were severe, and his swol¬ 
 len, enfeebled hands had lost the power, not only of guiding the states¬ 
 man’s pen, but, at times, of conveying food to his mouth. While he 
 was in this deplorable state, the queen came frequently to visit the 
 faithful, time-worn pilot, with whom she had weathered out many a 
 threatening storm; and, now he could no longer serve her, she behaved 
 in his sick chamber with that tenderness which, though only manifested 
 on rare occasions by this great queen, is at all times an inherent prin- 
 
 * Camden. 
 
 1 Ibid. 
 
 s Lingard. 
 
 4 Camden. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 515 
 
 ciple of the female character, however circumstances in lile rnay have 
 been adverse to its development. When his attendants brought him 
 nourishment, the queen insisted on feeding him herself—an act of kind¬ 
 ness which warmed his heart and soothed his miseries. He recovered 
 sufficiently to be able to write to his son a*i autograph letter, in which 
 he thus mentions the queen :— 
 
 “I pray you diligently and effectually let her majesty understand, how her 
 singular kindness doth overcome iny power to acquit it, who, though she will 
 not he a mothet, yet she showeth herself, hy feeding me With her own princely 
 hand, as a careful norice (nurse); and if I (ever) may be weaned to feed my¬ 
 self, I shall be more ready to serve her on the earth: if not, I hope to be, in 
 heaven, a servitor for her and God's church. 
 
 “And so 1 thank you for your partridges. 
 
 “ Your languishing father, 
 
 “ 10 July, 1598. “ W. Bciighlkt. 
 
 “ P. S.—Serve God by serving the (juccn, for all other service is indeed bondage 
 to the devil.”* 
 
 In vain bad Woisey raised his dying voice to reveal the grand error 
 of ins life, in preferring the service of his king to his God; we here see 
 a statesman of equal sagacity, but untutored by the “ moral uses of ad¬ 
 versity,” departing, with an avowed preference io the service of his 
 living idol, before that of the great eternal Being, whose approbation 
 ou<jJ^»to be the grand motive of a good man’s life. 
 
 ^^arrington bears testimony to the extreme solicitude of queen Eliza¬ 
 beth for Burleigh in his dying illness. Every day she sent lady Arun¬ 
 del with inquiries touching his state, and bearing an excellent cordial 
 for liis stomach, which her majesty gave her in charge, and said, “ that 
 she did entreat Heaven daily for his longer life, else would her people, 
 nay herself, stand in need of cordials too.” Again Harrington observes, 
 “ the lord treasurer’s distemper doth marvellously trouble the queen, 
 who saith, ‘ that her comfort hath been in her people’s happiness, and 
 their happiness in his discretion,’ neither can we find, in ancient record, 
 such wisdom in a prince to discern a servant’s ability, nor such integrity 
 to reward and honour a prince’s choice.” 1 2 
 
 Burleigh expired, on the 4th of August, in the 77th year of his age. 
 How deeply he was regretted by his royal mistress may be seen, by the 
 affecting witness borne by Harrington, of her sorrowful remembrance of 
 her old friend. “ The queen’s highness doth often speak of him in 
 tears, and turn aside when he is discoursed of, nay, even forbiddeth his 
 name to be mentioned in the council. This 1 have by some friends who 
 are in good liking with lord Buckhurst, the new lord treasurer.” 
 
 On the 13th of December died Philip II. of Spain, having survived 
 Burleigh about six weeks. But while death is thus rapidly clearing the 
 
 1 The declaration of a contemporary courtier, Sir John Harrington, afTords a 
 striking moral comment on the unprofitable nature of a life devoted to the pur¬ 
 suit of royal favour:—“1 have spent my lime, my fortune, and almost my honesty, 
 to buy false hope, false friends, and shallow praise; and be it remembered, that 
 he who casteth up this reckoning of a courtly minion, will set his sum, like a 
 fool, at the end, for not being a knave at the beginning. Oh that I could boast, 
 with chaunter David, 'In te speravi, Domine. r ” 
 
 a Nugse Antiquse, vol. i., p. 238. 
 
516 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 stage of the dramatis persona, who performed the leading parts m the 
 annals connected with the life and actions of this great queen, it may 
 afford a pleasing change, to the reader, to glance within some of her 
 stately palaces, the splendid furniture and decorations of which are de¬ 
 scribed in glowing colours, by the German traveller, Hentzner, who 
 visited England this year. 
 
 Windsor Castle, according to his account, must have far exceeded in 
 interest, if not in magnificence, as it then stood, the present structure, 
 marred as it is, with the costly alterations and incongruous additions, 
 of the last of the Georges, miscalled improvements. Every apartment 
 in the three noble courts, described by Hentzner, was hallowed by his¬ 
 torical recollections or traditions, linked with the annals of English 
 royalty, and calculated to illustrate the records of England’s progressive 
 glories, from the days when the mighty founder of our present dynasty 
 of sovereigns, first built his gothic hunting-seat, on the green heights 
 above the Thames, called at that spot, the Windle-shore. Hentzner 
 mentions the third court with enthusiasm, in the midst of which, gushed i 
 a fountain of very clear water. After describing the stately banqueting 
 hall, where the festival of the garter was annually celebrated, he says— 
 
 “From hence runs a walk of incredible beauty, three hundred and 
 eighty paces in length, set round on every side with supporters of wood, 
 which sustain a balcony, from whence the nobility and other persons 
 of distinction, can take the pleasure of seeing hunting and hawking, in 
 a lawn of sufficient space; for the fields and meadows, clad with a va¬ 
 riety of plants and flowers, swell gradually into hills of perpetual ver¬ 
 dure, quite up to the castle, and at bottom, stretch out into an extended 
 plain, that strikes the beholders with delight.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth’s bed-chamber was the apartment in which Henry 
 VI. was born. In this room, Hentzner describes a table of red marble 
 with white streaks, a cushion most curiously wrought by her majesty’s 
 own hands, a unicorn’s horn, of above eight spans and a half in length, 
 valued at the absurd price of ten thousand pounds; also, a bird of para¬ 
 dise, of which, our author gives a minute and somewhat ludicrous ac¬ 
 count. From the royal chamber, he wanders into the gallery, orna¬ 
 mented with emblems and figures, and another chamber adjacent, con¬ 
 taining (where are they now ?) “ the royal beds of Henry VII. and his 
 queen, of Edward VI., Henry VIII., and Anne Boleyn, all of them eleven 
 feet square, and covered with quilts shining with gold and silver. 
 Queen Elizabeth’s bed,” he tells us, “ is not quite so long or so large 
 as the others, but covered with curious hangings of embroidery work. 
 The tapestry represented Clovis, king of France, with an angel present¬ 
 ing to him the fleur-de-Vis , to be borne in his arms, instead of the three 
 toads, the ancient device of his royal predecessors. This antique piece 
 of tapestry, was stated to be one of the only surviving relics of the con¬ 
 quest of Erance, by the victorious Edward 111. or Henry V. 
 
 Hentzner describes the royal barge, as having two splendid cabins, 
 beautifully ornamented with glass windows, painting, and gilding. 
 
 Hampton Court must, indeed, have been a palace fit for this mighty 
 empress of pomp and pageantry, in the truly palatinal grandeur of the 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 517 
 
 Tudor architecture, and furnished in the manner our eloquent German 
 describes. He tells us, that the chapel was most splendid, and the 
 queen’s closet quite transparent, having crystal windows; and that there 
 was, besides, a small chapel, richly hung with tapestry, where the queen 
 performs her devotions. In queen Elizabeth’s chamber, the bed was 
 covered with costly coverlids of silk. 
 
 “ In one chamber,” pursues he, “ were the rich tapestries, which are 
 hung up when the queen gives audience to foreign ambassadors; there 
 were numbers of cushions ornamented with gold and silver, many coun¬ 
 terpanes and coverlids of beds, lined with ermine, in short, all the walls 
 of the palace shine with gold and silver.” Alas! for the vanished glo¬ 
 ries of thi? once royal abode, what strains of lamentation would our 
 marvellous German have poured forth, could he now behold the dis¬ 
 honouring change that has befallen the Dutchified palace of Hampton 
 Court. He winds up the climax of his description of its splendour, 
 under the great Elizabeth, with the description of a certain cabinet, 
 called Paradise, where, “ besides that everything glitters so with silver, 
 gold, and jewels, as to dazzle one’s eyes,” he says, “ there is a musical 
 instrument made all of glass, except the strings.” The walls of the 
 Hainpton-Court gardens were at that time covered with rosemary. 
 
 In addition to Nonsuch and Richmond, Elizabeth had a variety of 
 minor palaces, in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, to which suburban 
 residences she retired, when alarmed by suspicion of the vicinity of pes¬ 
 tilence in Westminster, or Greenwich. She had the Lodge at Islington, 
 the Grove at Newington, her Dairy at Barnelms, and the royal palace 
 and park of Mary la Bonne, now Regent’s Park ; here the ambassadors 
 of the czar of Russia, in 1600, had permission to hunt at their pleasure. 
 
 Hentzner was much struck with the fine library of this learned female 
 sovereign, at Whitehall. “ All these books,” continues he, “are bound 
 in velvet of different colours, but chiefly red, with clasps of gold and 
 silver; some have pearls and precious stones, set in their bindings.” 
 Such was, indeed, the fashion in the magnificent reign of Elizabeth, 
 when, except, in the article of the rush-strewn floors, engendering dirt 
 and pestilence, luxury had arrived at a prodigious height. 
 
 Hentzner particularly notices two little silver cabinets, of exquisite 
 work, in which, he says, the queen keeps her paper, and which she uses 
 for writing-boxes. Also a little chest, ornamented all over with pearls, 
 in which she keeps her bracelets, ear-rings, and other things of extraor¬ 
 dinary value. The queen’s bed is described as being ingeniously com¬ 
 posed of woods of different colours, with quilts of silk velvet, gold, 
 silver, and embroidery. Among the portraits, he mentions one of the 
 queen, at sixteen years of age. 
 
 At Greenwich palace our worthy traveller enjoyed the satisfaction of 
 beholding the imperial lady, to whom pertained all these glories, in pro¬ 
 pria persona , surrounded with the pomp and elaborate ceremonials, 
 which attended the fatiguing dignity of the royal office, in the reign of 
 the maiden monarch, but not as she appeared to the poetic vision' of 
 Gray. 
 
518 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Girt with many a baron bold, 
 
 Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 
 
 And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
 In bearded majesty [not the ladies, we hope] appear. 
 
 In the midst a form divine, 
 
 Her eye procdaiins her of the Tudor line; 
 
 Her lion port, her awe-commanding face, 
 
 Attemper'd sweet with virgin grace.” 
 
 Such, probably, was a correct portrait of England’s Elizabeth, in the 
 first twenty years of her reign; but when Hentzner saw her at Gieen- 
 wich, she was in her sixty-sixth year, and Time, which does his work 
 as sternly on royalty as on mortals of meaner mould, had wrought 
 strange changes in the outward similitude of the virgin queen. But 
 Hentzner must speak for himself. After telling us, that he was admitted 
 into the royal apartments by a lord chamberlain’s order, which his Eng¬ 
 lish friend had procured, he first describes the presence chamber, “ hung 
 with rich tapestry, and the floor, after the English fashion, strewed with 
 hay, 1 through which the queen commonly passes in her way to chapel. 
 At the door stood a gentleman, dressed in velvet, with a gold chain, 
 whose office was to introduce to the queen any person of distinction, 
 that came to wait on her. It was Sunday, when there is usually the 
 greatest attendance of nobility. In the same hall were the archbishop 
 of Canterbury, the bishop of London, a great number of counsellors of 
 state, officers of the crown, and gentlemen, who waited the queen’s 
 coming out, which she did, from her own apartment, when it was time 
 to go to prayers, attended in the following manner:— 
 
 “ First went gentlemen, barons, earls, knights of the garter, all richly 
 dressed, and bare-headed; next came the chancellor, bearing the seals, 
 in a red silk purse, between two, one of which carried the royal sceptre, 
 the other the sword of state, in a red scabbard, studded with golden 
 Jieurs de lis, the point upwards. Next came the queen, in the sixty- 
 sixth year of her age, as we were told, very majestic; her face, oblong, 
 fair, but wrinkled; her eyes small, yet black and pleasant; her nose a 
 little hooked; her lips narrow; and her teeth black (a defect the Eng¬ 
 lish seem subject to, from their too great use of sugar.) She had in her 
 ears two pearls, with very rich drops; she wore false hair, and that red; 
 upon her head she had a small crown, reported to be made of some of 
 the gold of the celebrated Lunebourg table. Her bosom was uncovered, 
 as all the English ladies have it, till they marry ; and she had on a neck¬ 
 lace, of exceeding fine jewels; her hands were small; her fingers long; 
 and her stature neither tall nor low ; her air was stately; her manner of 
 speaking mild and obliging. That day she was dressed in white silk, 
 bordered with pearls of the size of beans, and over it a mantle, of black 
 silk, shot with silver threads; her train was very long, the end of it 
 borne by a marchioness. Instead of a chain, she had an oblong collar, 
 of gold and jewels. As she went along, in all this state and magnifi¬ 
 cence, she spoke very graciously, first to one, then to another, whether 
 
 He probably means rushes. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 519 
 
 foreign ministers, or those who attended for different reasons, in English, 
 French, and Italian : for, besides being well skilled in Greek, Latin, and 
 the languages I have mentioned, she is mistress of Spanish, Scotch, and 
 Dutch. Whoever speaks to her, it is kneeling; now and then she raises 
 some with her hand. While we were there, W. Slawata, a Bohemian 
 baron, had letters to present to her; and she, after pulling off her glove, 
 gave him her right hand to kiss, sparkling with rings and jewels — a 
 mark of particular favour. Wherever she turned her face, as she was 
 going along, everybody fell down on their knees. The ladies of the 
 court followed next to her, very handsome and well-shaped, and for the 
 most part dressed in white. She was guarded, on each side, by the gen¬ 
 tlemen pensioners, fifty in number, witli gilt battle-axes. In the ante- 
 chapel, next the hall where we were, petitions were presented to her, 
 and she received them most graciously, which occasioned the acclama¬ 
 tion of ‘Long live queen Elizabeth!’ She answered it with, ‘I 
 thank you, my good PEOPLE.’ In the chapel was excellent music: as 
 soon as the service was over, which scarce exceeded half an hour, the 
 queen returned, in the same state and order, and prepared to go to din¬ 
 ner. But, while she was still at prayers, we saw her table set out, with 
 the following .solemnity— 
 
 “ A gentleman entered the room, bearing a rod, and along with him 
 another, who had a table-cloth, which, after they had both kneeled three 
 times, with the utmost veneration, he spread upon the table, and, after 
 kneeling again, they both retired. Then came two others, one with the 
 rod again, the other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread ; when they 
 had kneeled, as the others had done, and placed what was brought upon 
 the table, they too retired, with the same ceremonies performed by the 
 first. At last came an unmarried lady, (we were told she was a coun¬ 
 tess,) and along with her a married one, bearing a tasting-knife; the 
 former was dressed in white silk, who, when she had prostrated herself 
 three times, in the most graceful manner, approached the table, and rub¬ 
 bed the plates with bread and salt, with as much awe as if the queen 
 had been present. When they had waited there a little while, the yeo¬ 
 men of the guard entered, bare-headed, clothed in scarlet, with a golden 
 rose upon their backs, bringing in, at each turn, a course of twenty-four 
 dishes, served in plate, most of it gilt; these dishes were received by a 
 gentleman, in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the 
 table, while the lady-taster gave to each of the guard a mouthful to eat, 
 of the particular disli he had brought, for fear of any poison. During 
 the time that this guard, which consists of the tallest and stoutest men 
 that can be found in all England, being carefully selected for this ser¬ 
 vice, were bringing dinner, twelve trumpets and two kettle-drums made 
 the hall ring for half-an-hour together. At the end of all this ceremo¬ 
 nial, a number of unmarried ladies appeared, who, with particular 
 solemnity, lifted the meat off the table, and conveyed it into the queen’s 
 inner and more private chamber, where, after she had chosen for herself, 
 the rest goes to the ladies of the court.” 
 
 “ The queen dines and sups alone, with very few attendants; and it 
 
520 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 is very seldom that anybody, foreigner or native, is admitted at that time, 
 and then only at the intercession of somebody in power.” 1 
 
 Roger Lord North was carving one day at dinner, when the queen 
 asked “ what that covered dish was ”’ “ Madam, it is a coffin,” he re¬ 
 plied ; a word which moved the queen to anger. “ And are you such a 
 fool,” said she, “ as to give a pie such a name ?” This gave warning to 
 the courtiers not to use any word which could bring before her the 
 image of death. 2 Notwithstanding her nervous sensibility, as it would 
 now be termed, on that point, one of her bishops, Dr. Matthew Hutton, 
 ventured, towards the close of her reign, to preach a very bold sermon 
 before her, on the duty she owed, both to God and her people, in ap¬ 
 pointing a successor—a duty which she was determined never to per¬ 
 form. 
 
 “ I no sooner remember this famous and worthy prelate,” says Har¬ 
 rington, “ but 1 think I see him in the chapel at Whitehall; queen Eliza¬ 
 beth at the window, in her closet; all the lords of the parliament, spi¬ 
 ritual and temporal, about them; and then, after his three causes, that I 
 hear him out of the pulpit, thundering this text—‘ The kingdoms of the 
 earth are mine, and 1 do give them to whom I will; and I have given 
 them to Nebuchadnezzar, and his son, and his son’s son,’ which text, 
 when he had thus produced, taking the sense rather than the words of 
 the prophet, there followed first so general a murmur of one friend whis¬ 
 pering to another; then such an erected countenance in those that had 
 none to speak to; lastly, so quiet a silence and attention, in expectation 
 of some strange doctrine, where the text itself gave away kingdoms, and 
 sceptres, as 1 have never observed before or since. But he, as if he had 
 been Jeremiah himself, arid not an expounder of him, showed how there 
 were two special causes of translating of kingdoms—the fulness of time, 
 and the ripeness of sin; and that by either of these, and sometimes by 
 both, God, in secret and just judgments, transferred sceptres from kin¬ 
 dred to kindred, and from nation to nation, at his good will and plea¬ 
 sure : and running historically over the great monarchies of the world, 
 from the Egyptian, Assyrian, Persian, Macedonian, and Roman empires, 
 down to our own Island, he showed how England had frequently been 
 a prey to foreign invaders: first, being subdued by the Romans, after¬ 
 wards, by the Saxons and Danes, till it was finally conquered and re¬ 
 duced to perfect subjection by the Normans, whose posterity had con¬ 
 tinued in great prosperity till the days of her majesty, who for peace, 
 plenty, glory, and for continuance, had exceeded them all; that she had 
 lived to change all her counsellors, but one, all her officers twice or 
 thrice, and some of her bishops four times; yet the uncertainty of the 
 succession gave hopes to foreigners to attempt invasions, and bred fears 
 in her subjects of a new conquest. 
 
 “ ‘ The only way,’ the bishop added, ‘ to quiet these fears, was to 
 establish the succession.’ He noted, that Nero was specially hated for 
 wishing to have no successor; and that Augustus was more beloved for 
 
 1 Hentzner's Travels. 
 
 * Sir Edward Preston's Catastrophe of tho House of Stuart, p. 342. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 521 
 
 appointing even an evil man for bis successor; and at last, as far as lie 
 durst, he insinuated the nearness of blood to our present sovereign. He 
 said plainly, that the expectations and jpresnges of all writers went north¬ 
 ward, naming, without farther circumlocution, Scotland! ‘which, 5 added 
 he, ‘if it prove an error, will be found a learned error.’ 
 
 “ When he had finished this sermon, there was no man that kn’ew 
 queen Elizabeth’s disposition, but imagined such a speech was as wel¬ 
 come as salt to the eyes, or, to use her own words, ‘ to pin up a wind¬ 
 ing-sheet before her face, so to point out her successor, and urge her to 
 declare him;’ wherefore we all expected that she would not only have 
 been highly offended, but, in some present speech, have showed her 
 displeasure. It is a principle,” continues the courtly narrator, “not to 
 be despised — qui nescit dissimulate , nescit regnare.' She considered, 
 perhaps, the extraordinary auditory; she supposed many of them were 
 of his opinion, and some of them might have persuaded him to this 
 motion; finally, she ascribed so much to his years, place, and learning, 
 that when she opened the window of her closet, we found ourselves all 
 deceived, for very kindly and calmlv, without show of offence, as if she 
 had but waked out of some sleep, she gave him thanks for his very 
 learned sermon. Y et when she better considered the matter, and recol¬ 
 lected herself in private, she sent two councillors to him, with a sharp 
 message, to which he was glad to give a patient answer.” 
 
 Meantime, all the lords and knights of parliament were full of this 
 sermon, which made a great sensation among the crowded congregation; 
 and one great peer of the realm, being newly recovered from an impedi¬ 
 ment in his hearing, requested Harrington to obtain a copy of the ser¬ 
 mon from his grace. The archbishop received the application very 
 courteously, but told Harrington “ that he durst not give a copy to any 
 one, for that the chancellor of the exchequer, sir John Fortescue, and 
 sir John Woolley, the chancellor of the order of the garter, had been 
 with him from the queen with such a greeting, that he scant knew 
 whether he were a prisoner or a free man; and that the speech being 
 already ill taken, the writing might exasperate that which was already 
 exulcerate.” It was not long, however, before the queen was so well 
 pacified, that she gave him the presidentship of York. 
 
 Soon after his appointment to this office, Hutton complained “that he 
 could not, by any solicitations, obtain a pardon for a seminary priest, 
 whom he had converted, till, being reminded ‘ that all was not done in 
 that court for God’s sake only,’ he sent up twenty French crowns in a 
 purse of his own, as a remembrance for the poor man’s pardon,” which, 
 he says, “ was thankfully accepted,” but does not record by whom. 1 2 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was greatly pleased with a sermon preached by Bar- 
 low, bishop of Rochester, on the subject of the plough, of which, she 
 said, “ Barlow’s text might seem taken from the cart, but his talk may 
 teach you all in the court.” 
 
 When the queen was only princess, she stood godmother to Henry 
 
 1 ‘ He who cannot dissimulate, knows not how to reign.” 
 
 v See his letter to Burleigh. 
 
522 
 
 ELIZA BETH 
 
 Cotton, whom she afterwards made her chaplain, and, in the year 1598, 
 preferred to the bishopric of Salisbury, on which occasion she observed, 
 ‘ that she had blessed many of her godsons, but now this godson should 
 bless her.” “ Whether she were the better for his blessing, I know 
 not,” remarks the witty Harrington; “but I am sure he was the better 
 for hers. The common voice was, that sir Walter Raleigh got the best 
 blessing of him, because he induced him to confirm the crown grant of 
 Sherborne castle, park, and parsonage,” which he calls the spolia opima 
 of this bishopric, which had been thus unjustly bestowed on that fortu¬ 
 nate courtier by the partial favour of Elizabeth. 1 The queen’s preju¬ 
 dices against the marriage of priests showed itself in a conference she 
 had with Dr. Whitehead, a learned divine, but blunt and cynical, and 
 extremely opposed to the episcopacy. “Whitehead,” said Elizabeth, 
 “ I like thee the better because thou livest unmarried.” “ In troth, 
 madam,” was his retort discourteous, “ I like you the worse for the 
 same cause.” 2 
 
 When the learned bishop Godwin, in his old age, wedded a wealthy 
 widow of London, she expressed the most lively scorn and indigna'ion 
 at his conduct, it having been reported that he had wedded a girl only 
 twenty years old. 
 
 The earl of Bedford being present when these tales were told, said 
 merrily to the queen, after his dry manner, “Madame, I know not how 
 much the woman is above twenty, but I know a son of hers who is 
 little under forty;” but this rather marred than mended the matter, foi 
 one said the sin was the greater, and others told of three sorts of mar¬ 
 riages, of God’s making, of man’s making, and of the devil’s making. 
 Of God’s making, as when Adam and Eve, two folks of suitable age, 
 were coupled; of man’s making, as Joseph’s marriage with our lady; 
 and of the devil’s making, where two old folks marry, not for comfort, 
 but for covetousness; and such, they said, was this. Yet the bishop, 
 with tears in his eyes, protested “ that he took not the lady for a spouse, 
 but only to guide his house.” The queen was, however, irrevocably 
 offended, and, to show her displeasure, she stripped the before impo¬ 
 verished see of Bath and Wells of the rich manor of Wilscombe for 
 ninety-nine years. 
 
 When Nowel, dean of St. Paul’s, was preaching before her majes^v, 
 on some public occasion, he introduced a paragraph into his discourse 
 which displeased her, on which she called to him from the royal closet, 
 “ Leave that ungodly digression, and return to your text.” Vaughan, 
 bishop of Chester, was one day arguing, in the closet at Greenwich, on 
 the absurdity of supposed miracles, on which his opponent alleged the 
 queen’s healing the evil, for an instance, and asked, “ what he could say 
 against it.” He replied, “ that he was loth to answer arguments, taken 
 from the topik place , of the cloth of estate, but if they would urge him 
 to answer,” he said his opinion was, “ that she did it by virtue of some 
 precious stone, in the possession of the crown of England, that had 
 such a natural quality.” “ But had queen Elizabeth,” observes Harring- 
 
 1 Nugae Antiq ue. 
 
 ’ Bacon's Apophthegms. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 523 
 
 ton, drily, “been told that lie had ascribed more virtue to her jewels, 
 though she loved them well, than to her person, she had never made 
 him bishop of Chester.” 
 
 Like many ladies of the present day, Elizabeth had the ill taste, as she 
 advanced in years, to increase the number of her decorations, and dressed 
 in a more elaborate style than in the meridian flower of life. “ She ima¬ 
 gined,” says Bacon, “ that the people, who are much influenced by ex¬ 
 ternals, would be diverted, by the glitter of her jewels, from noticing 
 the decay of her personal attractions;” but with all due deference^ to 
 that acute philosopher, this is one of the greatest mistakes into which 
 an elderly gentlewoman can fall. 
 
 The report of her majesty’s passion for jewels and rich array, had 
 even penetrated within the recesses of the Turkish seraglio, and the sul¬ 
 tana Valide, mother of the sultan Amurath III., thought proper to propi¬ 
 tiate her by the presents of a robe, a girdle, two kerchiefs wrought in 
 gold, and three in silk, after the oriental fashion, a necklace of pearls and 
 rubies, “ the whole of which,” says Esperanza Malchi, a jewess, who 
 was entrusted with the commission, “ the most serene queen sends to the 
 illustrious ambassador, by the hand of the sieur Bostangi Basi; and by 
 my own hand, I have delivered to the ambassador a wreath of diamonds, 
 from the jewels of her highness, which, she says, your majesty will be 
 pleased to wear for love of her, and give information of the receipt.” In 
 return for these precious gifts, the sultana only craved some cloths of 
 silk or wool, the manufacture of the country, and some English cosme¬ 
 tics, such as distilled waters, of every description, for the face, and odori¬ 
 ferous oils for the hands.” 1 
 
 It was one of queen Elizabeth’s characteristics, that she had much dif¬ 
 ficulty in coming to a decision on any point; and when she had formed 
 a resolution, she frequently changed her mind, and, after much of that 
 sort of childish wavering of purpose, which, in a less distinguished sove¬ 
 reign, would have been branded with the term of vacillation, she would 
 return to her original determination. 'This fickleness of will occasioned 
 much annoyance to her ministers, and still greater inconvenience to per¬ 
 sons in humbler departments, who were compelled to hold themselves 
 conformable to her pleasure."} When she changed her abode from one 
 royal residence to another, all the carts and horses in the neighbour¬ 
 hood, with their drivers, were impressed for the transfer of her baggage, 
 whatever time of the year it happened to be, and this was considered a 
 grievance, under any circumstances; but, one day, a carter was ordered 
 to come with his cart to Windsor, on summons of remove, to convey a 
 part of the royal wardrobe. When he came, her majesty had altered the 
 day, and he had to come a second time in vain; but when, on a third 
 summons, he attended, and, after waiting a considerable time, was told 
 “ the remove did not hold,” he clapped his hand on his thigh, and said, 
 “Now I see that the queen is a woman as well as my wife!” which 
 words being overheard by her majesty, as she stood by an open window, 
 she said, “ What villain is this ?” and so sent him three angels to stop 
 
 See Ellis’s Original Letters, illustrative of English History, vol. ii., p. 53. 
 
5-24 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 his mouth,' or rather, we should suppose, to satisfy him for his loss of 
 time, and the inconvenience her uncertainty of purpose had occasioned. 
 
 Elizabeth was very delicate in her olfactory nerves, and affected to be 
 still more sensitive on that point than she really was. One day, that 
 valiant Welsh commander, sir Roger Williams, knelt to prefer a petition 
 which her majesty was determined not to grant, and did not like to be 
 compelled to refuse, observing t(]at his boots were made of rough, un¬ 
 tanned leather, instead of answering him, she turned away with a ges¬ 
 ture of disgust, exclaiming, u Pho, Williams, how your boots stink!” 
 “Tut, madam,’’ replied the sturdy Welshman, who understood her 
 meaning, “it is my suit that stinks, not my boots.” 2 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND QUEEN REGNANT OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Return of Essex to court — Hollow reconciliation of the queen — She appoints 
 him lord-deputy of Ireland — His despairing letter to the queen, with melan¬ 
 choly verses—He goes to Ireland—False reports of Elizabeth's death—Her 
 soliloquy—Continued displeasure with Essex — His unauthorized return—• 
 Surprises Elizabeth in her bed-chamber—Apparent reconciliation of the queen 
 with Essex — She alters her manner, and constitutes him a prisoner—Her in¬ 
 creasing anger—Proceedings against Essex—Intercession of the French court 
 —Her conversation with the French ambassador—Essex’s dangerous illness— 
 Temporary relentings of the queen—She sends her physician to visit him — 
 Renewal of her anger—Her irritation touching Hayward’s History of Henry 
 IV. of England—Wishes to have him racked ^-Bacon’s sage remonstrance — 
 Elizabeth fancies herself identified with Richard II. — Her conversation on 
 that subject with Lambarde—Essex’s penitential letters—Sends a new year’s 
 gift to Elizabeth—His mother tries to see the queen- — Sends presents—Con¬ 
 versation between her majesty and Bacon — Essex brought before the council 
 —Elizabeth's assumed gaiety—Passes her time in hunting and sports—Her 
 inward trouble—Her visit to sir Robert Sidney—Essex's injurious speeches of 
 the queen—His rash conduct—Endeavours to excite a tumult—Fails—Surren¬ 
 ders himself prisoner—His trial and execution—Elizabeth’s manner of receiv¬ 
 ing the news — Scene between her and Sir T. Brown—She goes to Dover — 
 Letters and messages between her and Henry IV.—She tries to induce him to 
 visit her—He sends Sully — Interview between Sully and Elizabeth—Biron's 
 embassy—Queen receives him at Basing—Returns to London — Shows Biron 
 the heads on the Tower—They discuss Essex—Elizabeth opens her last par 
 liament—Her popular declaration to the Commons—Her festivities—Declares 
 herself weary of life — Her regrets for the death of Essex — Melancholy state 
 of her mind—Declining health—Treatment of Cecil's miniature — His secret 
 
 ’ Birch. 
 
 2 Thoms’ Traditions 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 correspondence with the king of Scots — Instances of Elizabeth's superstition 
 —Removes to Richmond Palace — Death-bed confession of lady Nottingham 
 —Elizabeth’s anger—Last scenes of her life—Report of her apparition before 
 death—Last offices of devotion—Her death—Funeral—Description of her por¬ 
 trait—Harrington’s testimonial of her great qualities. 
 
 The courtiers had predicted, that the proud spirit of Essex would 
 never bow to the humiliation of suing to the queen for pardon. He had 
 taken up the high tone of an injured person, and he intimated that he 
 expected satisfaction for the blow he had received, regardless of the gal¬ 
 lant Spanish proverb, “ Blancos memos no offendite ,”— “ white hands 
 never offend.” The queen demanded an apology for his insolent de¬ 
 meanour, as well she might. He, whose duty it was, as earl-marshal, 
 to defend her from all personal injury, and to commit to the prison, over 
 which his office gave him jurisdiction, any one who raised biawls in the 
 :ourt, or violated, in any manner, the solemn etiquettes which guard the 
 ipproaches to the royal person—he had conducted himself in a manner 
 which would have ensured any one else a lodging in the Marshalsea, if 
 lot in the Tower, with a heavy star-chamber fine; and yet the queen 
 lad only punished him witli a box on the ear, to which he had re¬ 
 sponded in a manner that might have brought another man to the block. 
 \t length, however, some compromise was effected, and in November 
 le was again received at court, and as if nothing had happened to occa- 
 lion a five months’ absence. 
 
 The affairs of Ireland had, meantime, assumed a more gloomy aspect 
 han they had yet done; the whole country was in a state of that dis- 
 iffection, which is the offspring of misrule and misery, and the province 
 >f Ulster was in open rebellion under the earl of Tyrone. The choice 
 >f a new lord-deputy was still a matter of debate ; the queen considered 
 Charles Blount, lord Mountjoye, was a suitable person to undertake that 
 iifficult office. Essex again ventured to dissent from the royal opinion, 
 nd raised objections, not only to that young nobleman, but to every 
 me else who was proposed, till at last the queen, finding no one would 
 atisfy him, insisted on his taking the appointment himself. This post 
 vas bestowed in anger rather than love; his rivals and foes rejoiced in 
 he prospect of being rid of his presence in the court; and that there 
 vas a combination among them to render it a snare to accomplish his 
 uin, no oiie who reads the hints given by Markham to his friend Har- 
 ington, who was sent out by the queen as a spy on Essex, can for a 
 loment doubt. 
 
 “ If,” says he, “ the lord-deputy Essex perform in the field what he 
 ath promised in the council, all will be well; but though the queen 
 ath granted forgiveness for his late demeanour in her presence, we 
 now not what to think thereof. She hath, in all outward semblance, 
 laced confidence in the man who so lately sought other treatment at 
 er hands; we do sometime think one way and sometime another. 
 Vhat betideth the lord-deputy, is known to Him only, who knoweth 
 11; but when a man hath so many showing friends, and so many 
 nshowing enemies, who learneth his end here below ? I say, do you 
 ot medd'e in any sort, nor give your jesting too freely among those 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 526 
 
 you know not ?” The solemn warnings, which Markham addresses to 
 Harrington, are sufficiently portentous of the approaching fall of Essex, 
 which is as shrewdly predicted in this remarkable letter, as if it had 
 been settled and foreknown. “Two or three of Essex’s sworn foes 
 and political rivals, Mountjoye’s kinsmen,” he says, “ are sent out in 
 your army. They are to report all your conduct to us at home. As 
 you love yourself, the queen, and me, discover not these matters: if 1 
 had not loved you, they had never been told. High concerns deserve 
 high attention; you are to take account of all that passes in this expe¬ 
 dition, and keep journal thereof unknown to any in the company—this 
 will be expected of you.” 
 
 Essex appears to have received some hint that his appointment was 
 the work of his enemies, and he endeavoured to back out of the snare, 
 but in vain, and, in the bitterness of his heart, he addressed the follow¬ 
 ing sad and passionate letter to Elizabeth*:— 
 
 The Earl of Essex to the Queen. 
 
 “ From a mind delighting in sorrow; from spirits wasted with passion; from 
 a heart torn in pieces with care, grief, and travail; from a man that hateth him¬ 
 self, and all things else that keep him alive ; what service can your majesty ex¬ 
 pect, since any service past deserves no more than banishment and proscription 
 to the cursedest of all islands ? It is your rebel's pride and succession that must 
 give me leave to ransome myself out of this hateful prison, out of my loathed 
 body, which, if it happened so, your majesty shall have no cause to mistake the 
 fashion of my death, since the course of my life could never please you. 
 
 “ Happy could he finish forth his fate, 
 
 In some unhaunted desert most obscure, 
 
 From all society, from love and hate, 
 
 Of worldly folk; then should he sleep secure. 
 
 Then wake again, and yield God ever praise, 
 
 Content with hips, and haws, and bramble berry, 
 
 In contemplation passing out his days, 
 
 And change of holy thoughts to make him merry 
 And when he dies his tomb may be a bush, 
 
 Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush. 
 
 “ Your majesty's exiled servant, 
 
 “Robert Essex .” 1 
 
 The queen was, perhaps, touched with the profound melancholy of 
 this letter, for she betrayed some emotion when he kissed her hand at 
 parting, and she bade him a tender farewell. The people crowded to 
 witness his departure, and followed him for more than four miles out of 
 London, with blessings and acclamations. It was on the 29ih of March, 
 1599, that he set'forth on this ill-omened expedition. When he left 
 London, the day was calm and fair; but scarcely had he reached Isel- 
 den, when a black cloud from the north-east overshadowed the horizon, 
 and a great storm of thunder and lightning, with hail and rain, was re¬ 
 garded, by the superstition of the times, as a portent of impending woe* 
 
 The policy pursued by Essex was of a pacific character. He loved 
 the excitement of battle when in the cause of freedom, or when the 
 proud Spaniard threatened England with invasion ; but, as the governor 
 
 1 Birch. 
 
 Contemporary document in Nichols 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 of Ireland, his noble nature inclined him to the blessed work of mercy 
 and conciliation. He ventured to disobey the bloody orders he had 
 received from the short-sighted politicians, who were for enforcing the 
 same measures which had converted that fair isle into a howling wilder¬ 
 ness, and goaded her despairing people into becoming brigands and rabid 
 wolves. If the generous and chivalric Essex had been allowed to work 
 out his own plans, he would probably have healed all wounds, and 
 proved the regenorator of Ireland ; but, surrounded as he was by spies, 
 and thwarted by his deadly and jealous foes in the cabinet, and, finally, 
 rendered an object of suspicion to the most jealous of sovereigns, he 
 only accelerated his own doom, without ameliorating the evils he would 
 fain have cured. 
 
 The events of the Irish campaign belong to general history;' suffice 
 it to say, that Elizabeth was greatly offended with Essex for three things. 
 He had appointed his friend, Southampton, general of the horse, against 
 her majesty’s express orders, who had not yet forgiven that nobleman 
 for his marriage; he had treated with Tyrone, when she had ordered 
 him to fight; and he had exercised the privilege of making knights, 
 which, though in strict accordance with .the laws of chivalry, she wished 
 to be confined exclusively to the sword of the sovereign. She wrote 
 stern and reproachful letters to him. He presumed to justify himself 
 for all he had done and all he had left undone, and demanded reinforce¬ 
 ments of men and munitions of war, for his forces were reduced by 
 desertion, sickness, and the contingencies of war. The queen was infu¬ 
 riated, and was, of course, encouraged by her ministers to refuse every¬ 
 thing. Unable to cope with Tyrone, from the inefficiency of his forces, 
 he was glad to meet on amicable grounds in a private interview, where 
 many civilities were exchanged, and he promised to convey the condi¬ 
 tions required by the chief to the queen. Though those conditions 
 were no more than justice and sound policy ought to have induced the 
 sovereign to grant, Elizabeth regarded it as treason, on the part of Essex, 
 even to listen to them, and she expressed herself in that spirit to her 
 unfortunate viceroy. The fiery and impetuous earl was infuriated, in 
 his turn, at the reports that were conveyed to him, of the practices 
 against him in the English cabinet. He was accused of aiming at making 
 himself king of Ireland, with the assistance of Tyrone; nay, even of 
 aspiring to the crown of England, and that he was plotting to bring over 
 a wild Irish army to dethrone the queen. 1 2 Elizabeth’s health suffered 
 in consequence of the ferment in which her spirits were kept, and the 
 agonizing conflict of her mind between love and hatred. She removed 
 to her fairy palace of Nonsuch for a change of air; and hearing, soon 
 after, that a rumour of her death had got into circulation, she was some¬ 
 what troubled, and would often murmur to herself, “Morlua sed non 
 sepulta ,”—“ dead, but not buried.” 3 
 
 Elizabeth suffered from needless anxiety at this period: the new king 
 of Spain, Philip III., had, indeed, sent a formidable expedition to sea, 
 
 1 See Camden; Leland ; Rapin ; Lingard. 
 
 * Camden ; Birch , Lingard. 
 
 Sidney Papers, vol. ii., p. 114. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 528 
 
 with the declared purpose of attempting a descent on some part of her 
 dominions. Ireland was the weak point, which the disaffection, pro¬ 
 duced by misgovernment, rendered vulnerable, and it was artfully in¬ 
 sinuated to her majesty, that Essex was a traitor at heart; but with such 
 an admiral as the earl of Nottingham, she had no cause to fear the 
 Spanish fleet, and the treasons of Essex existed only in the malignant 
 representations of sir Robert Cecil, Raleigh, and Cobham. She wrote, 
 however, in so bitter a style to Essex, that he fancied her letters were 
 composed by Raleigh. He perceived that his ruin was determined by 
 the powerful junta of foes who guided the council, and had poisoned 
 the royal ear against him. 
 
 In an evil hour, he determined to return, and plead his own cause to 
 his royal mistress, in the fond idea, that her own tenderness would 
 second his personal eloquence. At first, he is said to have resolved to 
 bring a body of troops with‘him for the security of his own person; 
 but from this unlawful purpose, he was dissuaded by sir Christopher 
 Blount, his mother’s husband, and his more prudent advisers. On the 
 28th of September, he arrived in London, and learning that the queen 
 was at Nonsuch, he hastily crossed the ferry at Lambeth, attended by 
 only six persons, and seized for his own use the horses of some gentle¬ 
 men, which were waiting there for their masters. He learned from one 
 of his friends, that his great enemy lord Grey, of .Wilton, was on the 
 road before him, and that he was posting to Cecil, to announce his 
 arrival. It was this adverse circumstance which precipitated the fate of 
 Essex, who, urged by the natural impetuosity of his character, spurred 
 on, through mud and mire, at headlong speed, in the vain hope of over¬ 
 taking his foe, that he might be the first to bring the news of his return 
 to court. Grey had the start of him, and being probably better mounted, 
 won the fierce race, and had already been closeted a full quarter of an 
 hour with Cecil, when Essex arrived at the palace. 
 
 It was then about ten o’clock in the morning, and the rash Essex, 
 without pausing for a moment’s consideration, rushed into the privy- 
 chamber to seek the queen ; not finding her there, he determined at all 
 hazards to obtain an interview before his enemies should have barred 
 his access to her presence; and, all breathless, disordered, and travel- 
 stained, as he was, his very face being covered with spots of mud, he 
 burst unannounced into her bed-chamber, flung himself on his knees 
 before her, and covered her hands with kisses. The queen, who was 
 newdy risen, and in the hands of her tire-women, with her hair about 
 her face, and least of all dreaming of seeing him, was taken by surprise, 
 and moved by his passionate deportment, and his caresses, gave him a 
 kinder reception than he had anticipated; for when he retired from the 
 royal penetralia to make his toilet, he was very cheerful, and “ thanked 
 God, that after so many troublous storms abroad, he had found a sweet 
 calm at home.” 1 
 
 The wonder of the court gossips was less excited at the anauthorized 
 return of the lord-deputy of Ireland, than that he should have ventured 
 
 Sidney Papers ; Camden ; Birch. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 5:2:) 
 
 to present himself before the fastidious queen in such a state of disarray. 
 All were watching the progress of this acted romance in breathless ex¬ 
 citement, and when the queen granted a second interview, within the 
 hour, to the adventurous earl, after he had changed his dress, the gene¬ 
 ral opinion was, that love would prevail over every other feeling in the 
 bosom of their royal mistress. The time-serving worldlings then ven¬ 
 tured to pay their court to him, and he discoursed pleasantly to all but 
 the Cecil party. 
 
 In the evening, when he sought the queen’s presence again, he found 
 her countenance changed; she spoke to him sternly, and ordered him 
 to answer to her council, who were prepared to investigate his conduct, 
 and in the mean lime, bade him confine himself to his apartment. The 
 following day, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the earl was summoned 
 to go through his first ordeal. When he entered, the lords of the coun¬ 
 cil rose, and saluted him, but reseated themselves while he remained 
 standing bare-headed at the end of the board, to answer to the charges 
 that were exhibited against him by Mr. Secretary Cecil, who was seated 
 at the other end,—to wit, “ his disobedience to her majesty’s instructions 
 in regard to Ireland—his presumptuous letters written to her while there 
 —his making so many idle knights—his contemptuous disregard of his 
 duty in returning without leave—and last, (not least,) his over-bold 
 going to her majesty’s presence in her bed-chamber.” 1 This was, in¬ 
 deed, an offence not likely to be forgiven by a royal coquette of sixty- 
 eight, who, though painfully conscious of the ravages of time, was 
 ambitious of maintaining the reputation for perennial beauty, and had 
 been surprised by him, whom, in spite of all his offences, she still re¬ 
 garded with fond, but resentful passion—at her private morning toilet, 
 undighted and uncoifed, in the most mortifying state of disarray, with 
 her thin grey locks dishevelled and hanging about her haggard counte¬ 
 nance, ere she had time to deliberate in which of her eighty wigs, of 
 various hues, it would please her to receive the homage of her deceitful 
 courtiers that day. 
 
 That incident certainly sealed the fate of the luckless Essex, though 
 the intrigues of his enemies, and his own defective temper, combined, 
 with many other circumstances, to prepare the way for his fall. After 
 the lords of the council had communicated their report to the queen, she 
 sent word “ that she would pause and consider his answers,” and he 
 continued under confinement while his enemies dined merrily together. 
 On the following Monday he was committed to the lord-keeper’s charge, 
 at York-house, and the queen removed to Richmond. She openly mani¬ 
 fested great displeasure against Essex, and when the old lady YValsing- 
 ham made humble suit to her, that she would please to give him leave 
 to write to his lady, who had just given birth to an infant, in this season 
 of fear and trembling, and was much troubled that she neither saw nor 
 heard from him ; her majesty would not grant this request, so much was 
 her heart hardened against him. 2 
 
 “ His very servants,” says Rowland Whyte, “are affrayed to meet in 
 
 ’Sidney Papers. 
 
 2l 
 
 1 Ibid. 
 
530 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 any place, to make merry, lest it might be ill taken. At the court, my 
 ladv Scroope is alone noticed to stand firm to him; she endures much 
 at her inajestv’s hands, because she doth daily do all the kind offices of 
 love to the queen, in his behalf. She wears all black; she mourns, and 
 is pensive, and joys in nothing, but in a solitary being alone, and ’t is 
 thought she says much that few but herself would venture to say.” 
 
 Elizabeth did not confine her anger to Essex ; her godson, Harrington, 
 whom she had sent out to be a spy on him, instead of fulfilling her 
 wishes, in that respect, had lived on terms of the most affectionate con¬ 
 fidence with the luckless lord-deputy ; had gone with him to confer with 
 Tyrone ; had presented a copy of his translation of Ariosto to the youth¬ 
 ful heir of that valiant rebel chief; had received knighthood from the 
 sword of the lord-deputy, and finally attended him on his unauthorized 
 return to England. The first time Harrington entered her majesty’s pre¬ 
 sence, after his return, she frowned, and said, “ What! did the fool bring 
 you, too ? Go back to your business.” His description of her demean¬ 
 our, in a letter to another friend, reminds one of that of an angry lion¬ 
 ess, “ such, indeed, as left no doubt,” he slilv observes, u whose daughter 
 she was. She chafed much,” says he, “ walked fastly to and fro, looked, 
 with discomposure in her visage, and, I remember, she catched mv gir¬ 
 dle, when I kneeled to her, and swore, ‘ By God’s Son, I am no queen! 
 —that man is above me! Who gave him command to come here so 
 soon ? I did send him on other business.’ It was long before more 
 gracious discourse did fall to my hearing, but I was then put out of my 
 trouble, and bid ‘ go home.’ I did not stay to be bidden twice. If all 
 the Irish rebels had been at my heels, I should not have made better 
 speed, for I did now flee from one whom I both loved and feared.” 
 
 u I came to court,” writes he to another friend, “ in the very heat and 
 height of all displeasures. After 1 had been there but an hour, I was 
 threatened with the Fleet. I answered poetically , 1 that coming so late 
 from the land-service, I hoped I should not be pressed to serve her 
 majesty’s fleet in Fleet-street.’ 1 After three days, every man wondered 
 to see me at liberty; but though, in conscience, there was neither rhvme 
 nor reason to punish me for going to see Tyrone, yet if my rhyme had 
 not been better liked than my reason, when I gave the young lord Dun¬ 
 gannon an Ariosto, 1 think I had lain by the heels for it. But I had this 
 good fortune, that after four or five days the queen had talked of me, 
 and twice talked to me, though very briefly. At last she gave me a full 
 and very gracious audience in the withdrawing-chamber, at Whitehall, 
 where, herself being accuser, judge, and witness, I was cleared, and gra¬ 
 ciously dismissed. What should I say ? I seemed to myself like St. 
 Paul, rapt up to the third heaven, where he heard words not to be uttered 
 by men, for neither must 1 utter what I then heard. Until I come to 
 heaven, I shall never come before a statelier judge again, nor one that 
 can temper majesty, wisdom, learning, choler, and favour better than 
 her highness.” 
 
 1 This witticism affords proof, that the custom of manning the navy by the 
 means of impressment, was the custom in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 531 
 
 Harrington had kept a journal of the campaign against the Irish rebel, 
 which, as he said, he intended no eyes to have seen hut his own and his 
 children ; but the queen insisted on seeing it in such a peremptory man¬ 
 ner, that he dared not refuse. “ 1 even now,” writes he, so long after 
 the matter as 1600, ‘'almost tremble to rehearse her highness’ displea¬ 
 sure thereat. She swore, with an awful oath, ‘ that we were all idle 
 knaves, and the lord-deputy Essex worse, for wasting our time and her 
 commands in such wise as my journal doth write of.’ I could have told 
 her highness of such difficulties, straits, and annoyances as did not ap¬ 
 pear therein to her eyes, and I found could not be brought to her ear, 
 for her choler did outrun all reason, though I did meet it second-hand, 
 for what show she at first gave my lord-deputy on his return was far 
 more grievous, as will appear in good time. I marvel to think what 
 strange humours do conspire to patch up the natures of some minds.” 
 Essex, as usual, fell sick on these displeasures; and his doctors wished 
 that Dr. Bruen, his own private physician, might be summoned to .his 
 assistance, but the queen would not permit him to have personal access 
 to the earl, though she licensed a consultation between him and the 
 other doctors. 1 
 
 He had so frequently excited the queen’s sympathy on former occa¬ 
 sions by feigning sickness when only troubled with ill-humour, that now 
 site would not believe in the reality of his indisposition. Tilts and 
 tourneys, and all sorts of pageants, were prepared by the adverse party 
 to amuse the queen’s mind, and to divert the attention of the people 
 from watching the slowly but surely progressing tragedy of the fallen 
 favourite. On her majesty’s birthday Essex addressed the following 
 pathetic letter to his wrathful sovereign :— 
 
 “Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to know there lives a man, though dead to the 
 world, and in himself exercised with continued torments of body and mind, that 
 doth more true honour to your thrice blessed day 5 than all those that appear in 
 your sight. For no soul had ever such an impression of your perfections, no 
 alteration showed such an effect of your power, nor no heart ever felt such a joy 
 of your triumph. For they that feel the comfortable influence of your majesty s 
 favour, or stand in the bright beams of your presence, rejoice partly for your 
 majesty's, but chiefly for their own happiness. Only miserable Essex, full of 
 pain, full of sickness, full of sorrow, languishing in repentance for his offences 
 past, hateful to himself that he is yet alive, and importunate on death, if your 
 favour be irrevocable; he joys only for your majesty’s great happiness and happy 
 greatness; and were the rest of his days never so many, and sure to be as happy 
 as they are like to be miserable, he would lose them all to have this happy 
 seventeenth day many and many times renewed with glory to your majesty, and 
 comfort of all your faithful subjects, of whom none is accursed but 
 
 “Your majesty’s humblest vassal, 
 
 “ Essex.’’ ’ 
 
 The queen was resolute in her anger, notwithstanding all submissions. 
 The sorrowful countess of Essex sent her majesty a fair jewel; but it 
 was rejected. On the Sunday afterwards, she came to court all in black, 
 everything she wore being under the value of five pounds, and pro¬ 
 ceeded to lady Huntingdon’s chamber to implore her to move her ma- 
 
 ’ Sidney Papers. 
 
 5 Anniversary of her accession to the throne. 
 
 ’Birch. 
 
532 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 jesty for leave to visit her husband, whom she heard had been in extre¬ 
 mity the night before. Lady Huntingdon did not dare to see the coun¬ 
 tess herself, but sent word to her that she would find a means of making 
 her petition known. The answer returned was, “ that she must attend 
 her majesty’s pleasure by the lords of the council, and come no more 
 to court.” It was taken ill that she had presumed to come, in her 
 agony, at that time. 
 
 The weather had proved unfavourable for the tournament, prepared 
 by the foes of Essex in honour of the queen’s accession, but it took 
 place on her name-day, Nov. 19th, when there were tilts and running 
 at the ring, and the queen gave lord Mountjoye her glove. Lord Comp¬ 
 ton, on that day, came before her majesty dressed like a fisherman, with 
 six men clad in motley, his caparisons all of net, having caught a frog—• 
 a device that bore significant allusion to the luckless Essex then en¬ 
 tangled in the meshes of his foes’ subtle intrigues against him. 1 
 
 On the 21st, they tilted again; and on that day the French ambassa¬ 
 dor Boissise, who received instructions from king Henry to intercede for 
 Essex, if he saw a fitting opportunity, gives the following particulars of 
 his interviews with queen Elizabeth and the state of affairs in Eng¬ 
 land :— 
 
 “ I waited upon the queen yesterday in the house of a gentleman 
 near Richmond, where she was enjoying the pleasures of the chase. 
 My visit was to receive her commands, and to communicate the intelli¬ 
 gence I had received from your majesty. She was not sorry that I 
 should see her hunting equipage and her hunting dress, for in truth she 
 does not appear with less grace in the field than in her palace, and, be¬ 
 sides, she was in a very good humour.The privy council have 
 
 gravely considered the case of the earl of Essex, and it was determined, 
 without an opposing voice, “ that he has well and faithfully served (the 
 queen), and that even his return, although it was contrary to the orders 
 of the queen, yet it had been done with a good intention. They have 
 communicated their decision to the queen, but she is not satisfied with 
 it. She holds a court every day, and says “ that she will allow the pre¬ 
 sent tournament in commemoration of her coronation to continue, that 
 it may clearly appear her court can do without the earl of Essex.” 
 Many consider that she will remain a long time in this humour; and I 
 see nobody here who is not accustomed to obey; and the actions of the 
 queen are never mentioned but in terms of the highest respect. 
 
 “Nov. 28.—Having been informed that the queen would return to 
 this city the day before yesterday, I went to meet her at Chelsea, where 
 she had already arrived to dinner. The admiral had invited me as a 
 guest, and received me with all possible courtesy. The queen also 
 showed, that the performance of this duty on my part was not dis¬ 
 agreeable to her, which even last year I wished to perform, having un¬ 
 derstood that the ambassadors of your majesty residing here have fre¬ 
 quently done so.1 remained always near the queen, and accom¬ 
 
 panied her to Westminster, where she did not arrive till night. The 
 
 1 Sidney Papers. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 533 
 
 queen made her entrance with much magnificence; she was in a litter 
 richly adorned, and followed by a great number of earls, barons, gentle¬ 
 men, and ladies, all well dressed, and on horseback. The officers of 
 the crown, such as the admiral, the grand treasurer, and the chamber¬ 
 lain, were near her person. The earl of Derby, descended from one of 
 the sisters of king Henry VIII., and who might, after the decease of tire 
 queen, advance pretensions to the crown, carried the sword (of state): 
 tiie earl of Worcester, performing the office of grand esquier, instead of 
 the earl of Essex, held the bridle of her hackney, and all the cavalcade 
 was bareheaded. The mayor of the city, whose authority is very great, 
 came to meet her with seven or eight hundred citizens, every one wear¬ 
 ing a chain of gold round his neck. The people were dispersed in the 
 fields on each side of the road, and they made the air ring with their 
 good wishes and acclamations, which the queen received with a cheerful 
 countenance, and frequently halted to speak to them, and to thank them ; 
 so that it was pleasant to see these mutual proofs of affection between 
 the people and the queen. She has been advised in future to remain 
 longer in this city (than usual), that she might, by the influence of her 
 presence, destroy the credit of those whom it is said have too much 
 
 influence with the people. The earl of Essex is not mentioned at 
 
 court; he is still confined, and I do not perceive that his liberation is an 
 object of much consideration.” 1 
 
 Essex, meantime, refused food, but drank to excess, w’hich increased 
 his fever of mind and body, and as if that had not been enough, he sent 
 for eight physicians, and talked of making his will. The queen then 
 gave him leave to take the air in the garden. It was even thought he 
 would be removed to his own house, or that of the lord-treasurer, Buck- 
 hurst, for the lord-keeper and his wife were both indisposed, and heartily 
 sick of their charge. His sisters, the ladies Northumberland and Rich, 
 came to court, all in black, to make humble supplication to the queen, 
 that he might be removed to a better air as soon as he was capable of 
 being moved, for now, indeed, his sickness was no pretence. 2 
 
 “ My lady Essex,” says Whyte, “ rises almost every day as soon as 
 light, to go to my lord-treasurer’s and sir John Fortescue (on behalf of 
 her lord), for to this court she may not come.” On the second Sunday 
 in December, the earl received the communion, and his lady obtained 
 leave to see him, but found him so reduced, by grief of mind and body, 
 that when he was removed out of bed, it could only be done by lifting 
 him in the sheets. Little hope was entertained of his recovery. After 
 he had received the sacrament, Essex sent back to her majesty his two 
 patents, of the horse and the ordnance, which she returned to him 
 again. His commission of earl-marshal it was understood he should 
 retain for life. 3 
 
 On the 13th of December, the French ambassador wrote to his sove¬ 
 reign, “ that there were divisions in the council touching Essex, some 
 urging the queen to forgive him, and others to take his life. That a 
 warrant had been made out for his removal to the Tower, and twice 
 
 'Reports of the French ambassador, Boissise. 
 
 * Sidney Tapers. 
 
 • Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 534 
 
 brought to the queen, and twice she had refused to sign it. It appealed 
 to me,” continues his excellency, who certainly took a very friendly 
 part towards the unfortunate earl, “ that the time was come, when 1 
 could make use of the influence of your majesty’s name, which I made 
 known to Essex. He sent to me, two days afterwards, to say, ‘ that if 
 by my mediation he was not released, he knew no other means which 
 could be of service,’ requesting me to speak to the queen as soon as pos¬ 
 sible. 1 sent the next day to ask for an audience, which was granted; 
 but the earl of Essex informed me that a change had taken place in his 
 aflairs, and desired that I would not mention his name. He had been 
 told that the queen was inclined to grant him his liberty. At all events, 
 
 I was glad to be excused from speaking to her about him, not doubting 
 but that he will hereafter have sufficient occasion for my interference; 
 and, in fact, the day following he sent to inform me that he expected to 
 be sent to the Tower, and entreated me to do everything in my power 
 to avert this stroke. I therefore went yesterday to see the queen, and 
 after having conversed with her on various subjects, I said , 1 that your 
 majesty, as the most affectionate of her friends, partook in all her sor¬ 
 rows, and felt much regret at the dissatisfaction which she had conceived 
 towards the earl of Essex, both for the injury which that circumstance 
 might produce in her health and in her affairs; your majesty not wish¬ 
 ing to interfere further than you would desire she would do on a like 
 occasion. I entreated her to consider duly which would be the most ' 
 expedient; to persist in the punishment of the earl of Essex, and lose, 
 by so doing, one of her best servants and ministers, and prolonging a 
 dangerous and hazardous war in Ireland; or, being satisfied with a 
 moderate punishment, make the earl more careful and more capable, 
 hereafter, of doing her services, and by this means put an end to the war, 
 and save her country. I touched on the graces and favours which she 
 had received from heaven, and how much prudence was the shield of 1 
 princes, and which she had so frequently employed towards her greatest J 
 enemies. I also spoke to her of the services of the earl, which did not 
 permit the suspicion that the fault which he had committed could pro¬ 
 ceed from any evil design; and at length I told her, ‘ that your majesty 
 advised her to do as you had done, — that is to say, to forgive freely, 
 and to assure, by this means, the good-will and fidelity of her subjects; 
 and if, besides these considerations, she would have any regard to the 
 recommendation which your majesty offered in favour of the earl, you 
 would consider it as a signal favour, and that you would acknowledge 
 it by any other pleasure or office which she would desire.’ She heard 
 me patiently, and then said, but not without emotion, ‘that she entreated 
 your majesty not to judge of the fact, without being well informed, that 
 "the earl had so ill conducted himself in his charge, despising the orders 
 and regulations which he had received from her, that Ireland was ir 
 great danger,—that he had conferred with the chief of the rebels, with¬ 
 out preserving the honour or the dignity of the crown, and that he had 
 at last, returned to England, against her express commands, ami had 
 abandoned the army and the country to the mercy of her enemies, whict 
 were acts that deserved punishment, which she had not yet inflicted, fo 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 the earl was well lodged in the house of one of his friends, where he 
 had a good chamber, and a gallery to walk in.’ She said, ‘she would 
 consider hereafter what she ought to do, but she begged your majesty to 
 retain your good opinion of her.’ ” 
 
 The narrative of this remarkable conference between queen Elizabeth 
 and Boissise, 1 while it proves that Henry IV. felt a personal friendship 
 for the unfortunate earl, and was desirous of saving him, shows also that 
 Elizabeth had greatly softened in her resentment against Essex, and that 
 she only intended to humble him. She desired that his eight doctors 
 might hold a consultation on the state of his health, and send her their 
 opinion. Their statement of his maladies was so serious, that her ma¬ 
 jesty became very pensive, and sent Dr. James, her own physician, to 
 him, with some broth and a message, bidding him “comfort himself, and 
 that, if it were not inconsistent with her honour, she would have come 
 to visit him herself.” It was noted that her eyes were full of tears, 
 when she uttered these gracious words. The earl appeared to take 
 comfort from the message, but it was feared it came too late, as he ap¬ 
 peared almost past hope. 
 
 The queen commanded that he should be removed, from the room in 
 which he then lay, to the lord-keeper’s own chamber, and she permitted 
 his sorrowful lady to come to him every morning, and remain till night. 
 On the 19th of December, there was so general a report of his death 
 that the bells tolled for him. On the Sunday following, he was prayed 
 for in all the churches in London. Very severe things were written 
 upon the white walls at court, against sir Robert Cecil’s conduct on this 
 occasion. Another change in the queen’s mind appeared at. this time, 
 and she discontinued her inquiries after the health of the unfortunate 
 earl; having been oft deceived by him before, as to pretences of sickness, 
 ' she was now persuaded this was a feint. The ministers were com- 
 : manded to discontinue their public prayers at church in his behalf. Too 
 ( much of politics had, indeed, been mixed up in these supplications, ac¬ 
 cording to the custom of those times, when the pulpit was made the 
 ready vehicle of party agitation. 2 
 
 The queen was, besides, deeply exasperated at the publication of Hay¬ 
 ward’s “History of Henry IV. of England,” which appeared just at this 
 ! unlucky juncture, written in Latin, and dedicated to the earl of Essex. 
 jSome passages, touching the misgovernment of Richard II., and the per¬ 
 nicious influence of his unworthy favourites, which led to the fall of that 
 e nrince, and the elevation of his popular kinsman to the throne, she chose 
 jiio construe into reflections on herself and her cabinet. It is impossible 
 j to imagine, how this mighty sovereign could fancy, that any analogy 
 [t rould be supposed to exist, between her conduct and that of so imbecile 
 Ji monarch as Richard, but so it was; and, in her first storm of anger, 
 n *he ordered Hayw'ard to be committed to prison, and, sending for Fran¬ 
 cis Bacon, she asked him, “ whether he could not find something in the 
 j look that might be construed into treason?” “ No treason,” replied 
 
 iJi 1 Extracted by Sir C. Sharp from inodited ambassadors’ reports in the Biblio- 
 dlheque du Roi, Paris, 
 oil ” Birch. 
 
536 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Bacon, “but many felonies.” “How?” said the queen. “Yes, ma¬ 
 dam,” rejoined Bacon, “ many apparent thefts from Cornelius Tacitus.” 1 
 This playful subterfuge did not satisfy Elizabeth. Hayward had for¬ 
 merly written in her praise, and she suspected that he had now merely 
 lent his name to cover the mischievous opinions of some other person, 
 and signified her desire that he should be put to the rack, in order to 
 make him confess whether he were the author or not. “ Nay, madam,” 
 replied the calm philosopher, “he is a doctor; never rack his person, 
 but rack his style. Let him have pen, ink, and paper, and the help of 
 books, and be enjoined to continue the story where it breaketh off, and 
 1 will undertake, by collating the styles, to judge whether he were the 
 author or no.” 2 
 
 Lord Ilunsdon, in one of his letters, written during the heyday ofLei- 
 oester’s favour, many years before this period, sarcastically observes, in 
 allusion to his own want of interest at court, “ I never was one of Rich¬ 
 ard II.’s men.” Some political publication had therefore previously ap¬ 
 peared, comparing the system of favouritism in Elizabeth’s reign with 
 that of Richard, which had rendered her sensitive on the subject. A 
 remarkable proof of her soreness on that point is observable in the 
 course of her conversation with that learned, antiquarian lawyer, Lam- 
 barde, when he waited upon her, in her privy-chamber, at Greenwich 
 palace, to present his u Pandecta of the Tower Records.” 3 Her majesty 
 graciously received the volume, with her own hand, saying, “You in¬ 
 tended to present this book to me by the countess of Warwick, but 1 
 will none of that, for if any subject of mine do me a service, 1 will thank¬ 
 fully accept it from his own hands.” Then, opening the book, she said, 
 “You shall see that 1 can read,” and so, with an audible voice, read 
 over the epistle and the title, so readily, and so distinctly pointed, that 
 it might perfectly appear that she well understood and conceived the 
 same. Then she descended from the beginning of king John to the end 
 of Richard III., sixtv-six pages, containing a period of 286 years. In 
 the first page, she demanded the meaning of oblata carta , Utterce clausa, 
 and litlera patentes. Lambarde explained the meaning of these words, 
 and her majesty said she “ would be a scholar in her age, and thought 
 it no scorn to learn during her life, being of the mind of that philosopher, 
 who, in his last years, begun with the Greek alphabet.” Then she pro¬ 
 ceeded to further pages, and asked “ what were ordinaliones parliamenla , 
 rotulus carnhii , and rediseisnesP’’ Lambarde having explained these 
 documentary terms, to her majesty’s full satisfaction, she touched on 
 the reign of Richard II., saying, “ I am Richard II. Know ye not that?” 4 
 
 “ Such a wicked imagination,” replied Lambarde, “ was determined 
 and attempted by a most unkind gentleman — the most adorned creature 
 that ever your majesty made.” 
 
 “ He that will forget God,” rejoined her majesty, “ will also forget his 
 benefactors.” Here is a decided allusion to Essex, on the part of both 
 Lambarde and the queen; but some mystery, as yet unexplained, is 
 
 1 Bacon’s Apology. 2 Ibid. 8 August 4th, 1601. Nichols 
 
 ‘Nichols, from the original paper written by Lambarde. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 glanced at by her majesty in the remark with which she concludes : 
 “This tragedy,” ( quera>?) “was played forty times in open streets and 
 houses.” It could not be Shakspeare’s tragedy of Richard II., which is 
 far too loyal in its sentiments to have displeased the queen, and of 
 which she might, in the poet’s own words, have said, “What’s Hecuba 
 to me, or I to Hecuba ?” 
 
 It is more probable, that some dramatic pasquinade of the Punchinello 
 class, satirizing the queen and her ministers, had been got up for the 
 edification of street audiences, and to excite their passions, bearing on 
 the practices of Cecil and Raleigh against Essex, who was the idol of 
 the people. 
 
 The queen continued to turn over the leaves of Lambarde’s “ Pan- 
 decta,” and asked “ What was pra?slitaP' > Lambarde told her, “it meant 
 moneys lent by her progenitors to their subjects, but with good bond for 
 repayment.” “ So,” observed her majesty, “ did my good grandfather, 
 Henry VII., sparing to dissipate his treasure or his lands.” Then, re¬ 
 turning to Richard II., she asked, “ whether Lambarde had seen any true 
 picture or lively representation of his countenance or person ?” “None,” 
 he replied, “ but such as be in common hands.” Then, her majesty said, 
 “ The lord Lumley, a lover of antiquities, discovered it (the original por¬ 
 trait of Richard) fastened on the back-side of a base-room, which he 
 presented to me, praying with my good leave, that I might put it in 
 order with his ancestors and successors : I will command Thomas Kne- 
 vet, keeper of my house and gallery at Westminster, to show it unto 
 thee.” Then she turned to the rolls, entitled, Roma: , Vascon, Aquita- 
 niae, Francis, Scotia:, Walliae, et Hiberniae. 
 
 Lambarde expounded these to be “ records of estate and negotiations 
 with foreign princes or countries.” The queen inquired “if rediscisnes 
 were unlawful, and forcible throwing men out of their lawful posses¬ 
 sions ?” “Yea,” replied the learned lawyer, “and therefore these be the 
 rolls of fines assessed and levied upon such wrong-doers, as well for 
 their great and wilful contempt of the crown and royal dignity, as dis¬ 
 turbance of common justice.” 
 
 “ In those days,” observed Elizabeth, “ force and arms did prevail, but 
 now the wit of the fox is everywhere on foot, so as hardly one faithful 
 or virtuous may be found.” Then, having finished looking through the 
 volume, in which, like the great and popular sovereign that she was, she 
 had manifested an interest, at once worthy of the representative of the 
 ancient monarchs of the land she ruled, and gratifying to the learned 
 author, who had employed so much time and patient research for her 
 instruction. “ She commended the work,” observes Lambarde, “ not 
 only for the pains therein taken, but also ‘ for that she had not received, 
 since her first coming to the crown, any one thing that brought there¬ 
 with so great a delectation to herand so, being called away to prayer, 
 she put the book in her bosom, having forbidden me from the first to (all 
 on my knee before her, concluding ‘ Farewell, good and honest Lam¬ 
 barde !’ ” 
 
 The delighted cdd man only survived this conversation a few days; 
 but tne royal graciousness had shed a bright and cheering warmth round 
 
53S 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 his heart, which must have given fervour to his dying orisons in her 
 behalf. 1 
 
 Very different was the conduct of the great Elizabeth, in her occasional 
 intercourse with the literary characters of her day, from that of Marie 
 Antoinette, the unfortunate consort of Louis XVI., who had the ill-taste, 
 and surely it may be added, the ill-luck, to disgust persons, who, by the 
 magic of a few strokes of the pen, occasionally conjure up storms, 
 which put down the mighty from their seat, and change the fate of em¬ 
 pires. Madame de Campan attributed much of the unpopularity of that 
 unhappy queen to her neglect of the great writers of the age. When 
 Marmontel was introduced to her, together with the composer, who had 
 arranged the music of one of the popular operas written by that author, 
 her majesty bestowed all her commendations and tokens of favour on 
 the musician, and scarcely condescended to address a word to the man 
 who had written Belisarius. She thus lost the opportunity of propi¬ 
 tiating a writer, whose powerful pen might have done more for her, in 
 the time of her adversity, than all the fiddlers in Christendom. History 
 has told a different tale of the career of these princesses, and with reason. 
 
 But to return to the luckless Essex. He now humbled his proud spirit 
 so far, as to write the following supplicatory letters, in the hope of mol¬ 
 lifying his once loving queen : 
 
 “ My dear, my gracious, and my admired sovereign is semper eadem. It cannot 
 be, but that she will hear the sighs and groans, and read the lamentations and 
 humble petitions of the atilicted. Therefore, O paper, whensoever her eyes 
 vouchsafe to behold thee, say, that death is the end of all worldly misery, but 
 continual indignation makes misery perpetual; that present misery is never in¬ 
 tolerable to them that are stayed by future hope; but affliction that is unseen is 
 commanded to despair; that nature, youth, and physic have had many strong 
 encounters; but if my sovereign will forget me, I have nourished these conten¬ 
 tions too long; for, in this exile of mine eyes, if mine humble letters find not 
 access, no death can be so speedy, as it shall be welcome to me, 
 
 ‘‘Your majesty's humblest vassal, 
 
 “ Essex.” 
 
 * When the creature entereth into account with the Creator, it can never num¬ 
 ber in how many things it needs mercy, or in how many it receives it. But he 
 that is best stored must still say, da nobis hodie; and he that hath showed most 
 thankfulness must ask again, quid retribuamus? And I can no sooner finish this 
 my first audit, -most dear and most admired sovereign, but I come to consider 
 how large a measure of his grace, and how great a resemblance of his power, 
 God hath given you upon earth; and how many ways he giveth occasion to you 
 to exercise these divine offices upon us, that are your vassals. This confession 
 best fitteth me of all men; and this confession is most joyfully, and most hum¬ 
 bly, now made by me of all times. I acknowledge, upon the knees of my heart, 
 your majesty's infinite goodness, in granting my humble petition. God, who 
 seeth all, is witness how faithfully I do vow to dedicate the rest of my life, next 
 after my highest duty, in obedience, faith, and zeal, to your majesty, without 
 admitting any other worldly care; and whatsoever your majesty resolveth to do 
 with me, I shall live and die 
 
 “Y r our majesty's humblest vassal, 
 
 Essex.” 
 
 1 He founded a college at East Greenwich, where twenty poor people wero 
 clothed and fed, being the first protestant subject by whoril an hospital was en¬ 
 dowed. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 539 
 
 No whit moved witii these pathetic appeals, Elizabeth kept her Christ¬ 
 mas with more than ordinary festivity this year, and appeared much in 
 public. “Almost every night her majesty is in presence,” writes Row¬ 
 land Whyte, “ to see the ladies dance the new and old country-dances 
 with tabor and pipe. Here was an exceeding rich new-year’s gift pre 
 sented, which came, as it were, in a cloud, no one knows how, which 
 is neither received nor rejected, and is in the hands of Mr. Comptroller 
 It comes from the poor eail, the downfall of fortune, as it is thought. 
 His friends hope that he shall be removed to his own house, or to Mr 
 Comptroller’s. He begins to recover, for he is able to sit up, and to eat 
 at a table. His lady comes to him every morning at seven, and stays 
 till six, which is said to be the full time limited for her abode there. 
 The ladies, his sisters, my lady Walsingham, and his son, have no liberty 
 to go to see him, as yet.” On the 12th of January, Whyte notices the 
 further recovery of the earl, and that his new-year’s gift was not ac¬ 
 cepted, and that it was supposed he would be removed to the Tower. 
 “Lady Rich,” pursues our authority, “ earnestly supplicates for leave to 
 visit him. She writes her majesty many letters—sends many jewels and 
 presents ; her letters are read, her presents received, but no leave granted. 
 “The lady Leicester sent the queen a rich new-year’s gift, which was 
 well taken.” Twelve days after, he records the death of lady Egerton, 
 the lord-keeper’s wife, and the discontent of that officer that his house 
 had so long been made into a prison for the earl of Essex, who had been 
 in close confinement there for seventeen weeks. The earl being still in 
 lord Egerton’s house, went to comfort him, for he was so abandoned to 
 sorrow, that he refused to sit in council, or to attend to chancery busi¬ 
 ness. On which the queen sent the afflicted widower a gracious mes¬ 
 sage of condolence, but accompanied with an intimation, that private 
 sorrow ought not to interfere with public business. 1 
 
 Lady Leicester came up to court to petition the queen for her son’s 
 liberty, or at least that he might be removed into a better air. 
 
 On the 24th of February, Verekin, the Flemish envoy, was intro¬ 
 duced to the queen, who, as he came from the archduke Albert, on the 
 part of Spain, held a very grand court for his reception. The ante-room 
 was crowded with ladies and gentlemen, and an extraordinary number 
 of her guards, and the presence-chamber filled with her great ladies and 
 the fair maids, attired all in white, and exceedingly brave; and so he 
 passed to the privy-chamber, and to the withdrawing-room, where he 
 delivered his letters. The queen was very pleasant, and told him she 
 would consider his letters, and he should hear from her again ; adding, 
 “ that she had heard he was very desirous to see her, therefore was the 
 more welcome.” 
 
 “ It is true,” said he, “ that I longed to undertake this journey to see 
 your majesty, who, for beauty and wisdom, do excel all other princes 
 of the world; and I acknowledge myself exceedingly bound to them 
 who sent me, for the happiness 1 now enjoy.” 2 Though Elizabeth was 
 fast approaching to the age of seventy, the ambassadors still compli- 
 
 1 Sidney Papers. 
 
 2 Ibid. 
 
540 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 merited her charms. Verekin had no full powers to conclude a treaty, 
 which Elizabeth and her ministers soon fathomed; and instead of giving 
 him any decisive answer to his demands, amused him by feasting him, 
 and showing him the sights of London. Sir Walter Raleigh attended 
 him, to show him Westminster Abbey, with the tombs and “ other sin¬ 
 gularities of the place,” and a few days after the lord-chamberlain’s 
 players acted before him ‘‘Sir John Oldcastle, or the Merry Wives of 
 Windsor,” to his great contentment. 1 This comedy is said to have been 
 written by Shakspeare. at the desire of queen Elizabeth, who was so 
 infinitely delighted with the character of Falstaff, under his original 
 name of Sir John Oldcastle, in Henry IV., that she wished to see him 
 represented as a lover. 
 
 A determination being now formed to bring Essex before the Star- 
 Chamber, his wife was forbidden to come to him any more, till the 
 queen’s further pleasure were known, on which she wept piteously. 
 The earl had then recovered his health, and was able to take daily air 
 and exercise in the garden. He wrote a very submissive letter to the 
 queen, entreating that he might not be dealt with by the Star-Chamber, 
 and for a while his prayer was granted. A few days after, some offence 
 was taken by the queen, because his lady, his mother, the earl of South¬ 
 ampton, and some others of his devoted friends, went to a house that 
 commanded a view into York Gardens, where he was accustomed to 
 walk, and saluted him from a window, so that he perceived and returned 
 their greeting. 2 
 
 Towards the end of February, lady Rich, unconscious that her secret 
 correspondence, defaming her royal mistress to the king of Scots and 
 exposing all her traits of vanity, was in Cecil’s possession, wrote a let¬ 
 ter to the queen in behalf of her brother, so grossly adulatory, that her 
 majesty could not but regard it in the light of an insult. There was, 
 withal, a passage in allusion to the earl’s personal attendance on her 
 majesty, which appeared to contain a very questionable insinuation ; not 
 contented with writing this dangerous letter, she was guilty of the folly 
 of making it public by reading it to her friends, on which Elizabeth 
 ordered her to confine herself to her own house, and talked of sending 
 her to the Tower, and bringing the affair before the Star-Chamber. Lady 
 Rich’s letter is too long to insert, but the following passage may serve 
 as a sample of the style, in which the treacherous Rialta ventured to 
 address the royal mistress, whom she ridiculed and defamed to a foreign 
 court: 
 
 Early did I hope this morning to have had mine eyes blessed with your 
 majesty's beauty; but seeing the sun depart into a cloud, and meeting with spirits 
 that did presage by the wheels of their chariot some thunder in the air, I must 
 complain and express my fears to the high majesty and divine oracle, from 
 whence I received a doubtful answer; unto whose power I must sacrifice again 
 the tears and prayers of the afflicted, that must despair in time, if it be too soon 
 to importune heaven, when we feel the misery of hell; or that words directed 
 to the sacred wisdom should be out of season, delivered for my unfortunate 
 brother, whom all men have liberty to defame, as if his offence was capital, and 
 he so base dejected a creature, that his life, his love, his service to your beauties 
 
 1 Sidney Papers 
 
 2 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 54 1 
 
 ond the state, had deserved no absolution after so hard punishment, or so mueh 
 ns to answer in your fair presence, who would vouchsafe more justice and favour 
 than he can expect of partial judges, or those combined enemies, that labour on 
 false grounds to build his ruin, urging his faults as criminal to your divine honour, 
 thinking it a heaven to blaspheme heaven.’' 1 
 
 The unfortunate Essex, while he laboured to defend himself from his 
 wily foes, had little idea whence the under-current flowed that had 
 wrecked his fortunes, and for ever. 
 
 Lady Leicester, lady Essex, lord and lady Southampton, Mr. Greville, 
 and Mr. Bacon, were, on the 15th of March, by her majesty’s com¬ 
 mand, removed from Essex House; and on the 16th, Maunday Thurs¬ 
 day, Essex was brought there as a prisoner, under the charge of sir 
 Richard Berkeley, who took possession of all the keys of the house, 
 and dismissed all the servants but one or two, who were permitted to 
 attend to the diet and apparel of their unfortunate master. Lady Essex 
 was allowed to visit him in the daytime. 
 
 Our indefatigable court-newsman, Rowland Whyte, records the fol¬ 
 lowing circumstance, soon after:—“Lady Leicester hath now a gown 
 in hand to send the queen, will cost her 100/. at least. On the 30th 
 of March the lady Scudamore presented it to the queen, who liked it 
 well, but would neither accept nor reject it, and observed, ‘ that things 
 standing as they did at present, it was not fit for her to desire what she 
 did’—namely, to come into her presence and kiss her majesty’s 
 hands.” 
 
 The queen having formed an intention of bringing Essex before the 
 Star-Chamber, opened her design to Mr. Francis Bacon, and said, “ what¬ 
 ever she did should be for his chastisement, not for his destruction.” 
 Bacon, who was greatly averse to this method of proceeding, remon¬ 
 strated playfully but strongly against it in these words: — “Madam, if 
 you will have me to speak to you in this argument, I must speak as 
 Friar Bacon’s head spake, that said, ‘ time is,’ and then ‘ time was,’ and 
 ‘time would never be again :’ for certainly it is now far too late—the 
 matter is old, and hath taken too much wind.” Her majesty seemed 
 offended at this, and rose up with the intention of pursuing her own 
 plan. 
 
 In the beginning of Midsummer term. Bacon, finding her in the same 
 mind, said to her, “Why, madam, if you needs must have a proceeding, 
 it were best to have it in some such sort as Ovid spake of his mistress, 
 'est aliquid luce, patente minus —to make a council-table matter ol it, and 
 end.” The queen, however, determined to proceed ; and Bacon, not¬ 
 withstanding all his obligations to Essex, consented to lend the aid of 
 his powerful pen in drawing up the declaration against him. His proper 
 office would have been to defend his unfortunate friend, but he could 
 not resist the temptations offered by the queen, who was determined to 
 enlist his talents on her side. She directed every clause with vindictive 
 care, and made several alterations with her own hand; and even after 
 the paper was printed, “ her majesty, who,” as Bacon observes, “ if she 
 was excellent in great things, was exquisite in small,” noted that he had 
 
 1 Birch. 
 
54‘2 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 styled the unfortunate nobleman “ my lord of Essex,” objected to this 
 courtesy, and would have him only called “ Essex, or the late earl of 
 Essex.” 1 
 
 On the 12th of May, Elizabeth recreated herself with seeing a French¬ 
 man perform feats upon a rope; and on the following day she com¬ 
 manded the bears, the bull, and an ape, to be baited in the tilt-yard ; the 
 day after, solemn dancing was appointed. Meantime, the unfortunate 
 Essex wrote to her this touching letter :— 
 
 “ Vouchsafe, most dear and most admired sovereign, to receive this humblest 
 acknowledgment of your majesty’s most faithful vassal. Your majesty’s gracious 
 message staid me from death, when I gasped for life. Your princely and com¬ 
 passionate increasing of my liberty hath enabled me to wrestle with my many 
 infirmities, which else long ere this had made an end of me. And now this far¬ 
 ther degree of goodness, in favourably removing me to mine own house, doth 
 sound in mine ears, as if your majesty spake these words, 1 Die not Essex, for 
 though I punish thine offence, and humble thee for thy good, yet I will one day be served 
 again by thee.' And my prostrate soul makes this answer, I hope for that blessed 
 day. All my afflictions of body or mind are humbly, patiently, and cheerfully 
 borne by 
 
 “ Your majesty’s humblest vassal, 
 
 “ Essex.’* 
 
 The queen then said, “that her purpose was to make him know him¬ 
 self, and his duty to her; and that she would again use his service.” 
 
 On the 5th of June, Essex was examined before the commissioners 
 appointed to try his cause. The earl kneeled at the end of the council- 
 board, and had a bundle of papers in his hand, which sometimes he put 
 in his hat, which was on the ground by him. He defended himself very 
 mildly and discreetly; but many, who were present, wept to see him in 
 such misery. When he was accused of treason, he said, “ he had been 1 
 willing to admit all the errors of judgment and conduct into which he 
 had fallen ; but now his honour and conscience were called in question !” ‘ 
 he added; “ 1 should do God and mine own conscience wrong if I do 
 not justify myself as an honest man;” then, taking his George in his 
 hand, and pressing it to his heart, he said, “ this hand shall pull out this 1 
 heart when any disloyal thought shall enter it.” The examination 
 lasted from nine in the morning till eight at night; he sometimes kneel¬ 
 ing, sometimes standing, and occasionally leaning against a cupboard, 
 till at last he had a stool given him by desire of the archbishop of 
 Canterbury. 2 
 
 After Essex had gone through the mortifying scene before the coun¬ 
 cil, he implored the lords to intercede with the queen, that she would 
 be pleased to extend her grace to him. The next day, Francis Bacon, 
 though employed to plead against him, attended her majesty with the ' 
 earnest intention of moving her to forgiveness. 3 “You have now, 
 madam,” said he, “obtained the victory, over two things, which the 
 greatest princes cannot at their wills subdue; the one is over fame—the 
 other is over a great mind. For surely the world is now, 1 hope, rea¬ 
 sonably satisfied ; and for my lord, he did show that humiliation towards 
 your majesty, as 1 am persuaded he was never in his lifetime more fit 
 
 1 Sidney Papers. 3 Birch. 3 Bacon's Works. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 513 
 
 for your majesty’s favour than lie is now.” He then urged her majesty 
 to forgive and receive him. She took Bacon’s special pleading in good 
 part, and ordered him to set down all the proceedings at York House in 
 writing, which were afterwards read to her by him ; and when he came 
 to set forth Essex’s answer, she was greatly touched with kindness and 
 relenting towards him, and observed to Bacon “ how well he had ex¬ 
 pressed that part,” adding, that “ she perceived old love would not easily 
 be forgotten.” Bacon said, “ he hoped by that she meant her own •” 
 and strenuously advised her to let the matter go no further. “Why,” 
 concluded he, “ should you now do that popularly which you would 
 not admit to he done judicially ?” 1 
 
 While the fate of Essex yet hung on the balance, Elizabeth amused 
 herself with presiding over the wedlock of her favourite maid of honour, 
 Anne Russell. This marriage was attended with more gracious conde¬ 
 scension than Elizabeth was wont to bestow on those of her household, 
 who chose to enter into the pale of matrimony. 
 
 “ Mrs. Anne Russell,” says Whyte, “ went from court upon Monday 
 last with eighteen coaches; the like hath never been seen among the 
 maids of honour. The queen in public used to her as gracious speeches 
 as have been heard of anv, and commanded all her maids to accompany 
 her to London; so did all the lords of the court. Her majesty is to be 
 at her marriage.” 
 
 Every dell and hill about Greenwich and Blackheath is classic ground, 
 trod by the footsteps of England’s Elizabeth,—scenes where she walked, 
 and meditated and resolved her great measures for public weal, or ma¬ 
 tured the little household plots which agitated the under-current of her 
 domestic history. “ The queen at Greenwich uses to walk much in the 
 park, and takes great walks out of the park, and round about the park ; 
 and this,” as Rowland Whyte observes, “ while the poor earl of Essex 
 was a prisoner in his own house, and she was debating his fate in her 
 breast, but she seemed to think of nothing but Anne Russell’s wedding 
 with lord Herbert 
 
 “Her majesty is in very good health,” pursues Whyte, “and purposes to honour 
 Mrs. Anne Russell’s marriage with her presence. My lord Cobham prepares 
 his house for her majesty to lie (lodge) in, because it is near die bride's house. 
 There is to be a memorable mask of eight ladies; they have a strange dance, 
 newly invented ; their attire is this:—each lady hath a skirt of cloth of silver, a 
 rich waistcoat, wrought with silks and gold and silver, and their hair loose about 
 their shoulders, curiously knotted. The maskers are my lady Dorothy, Mrs. Fit- 
 ton, Mrs. Carey, Mrs. Bess Russell , 2 &e. These eight dance to the music Apollo 
 brings; and there is a fine speech which mentions a ninth, much to her honour 
 and praise.” 
 
 The queen went to Blackfriars to preside over the wedding. The 
 bride met her royal mistress by the water-side, where lord Cobham had 
 provided a lectica , made half like a litter, wherein the queen was carried 
 to lady Russell’s, by six knights. Lady Russell was the bride’s mother 
 
 1 Bacon's Apology. 
 
 J This young lady, the sister of the bride, died in less than a fortnight aAer her 
 splendid mask. She is the heroine of the prick of the needle, according to the 
 legend in Westminster Abbey. 
 
544 
 
 ELIZA BETH. 
 
 with whom the queen dined, and at night went, through Dr. Fuddin’s 
 house, (who gave the queen a fan,) to my lord Cobham’s, where she 
 supped. After supper, the mask came in, and delicate it was to see 
 eight ladies so prettily dressed. Mrs. Fitton led; and after they had 
 done their own ceremonies, these eight lady-maskers chose eight ladies 
 more to dance the measures. “Mrs. Fitton went to the queen, and 
 wooed her to dance. Her majesty asked the name of the character she 
 personified ; she answered, ‘ Affection.’ ‘ Affection !’ said the queen ; 
 ‘affection’s false;’ yet her majesty rose and danced. The queen came 
 back to court the next night; but the solemnities continued till Wed¬ 
 nesday; and now lord Herbert and his fair bride are at court.” 1 
 
 In July, Essex was delivered from the restraint of a keeper. He lived 
 in great privacy, being sick of the ague. He petitioned for leave to 
 retire into the country, only requested permission to kiss her majesty’s 
 hands once more ere he retired from the court for ever. His sister, lady 
 Rich, was still under restraint; and the queen cherished the vengeful 
 intention of bringing her before the council; but continued to treat the 
 countess of Northumberland graciously. Essex wrote, from time to 
 time, letters of the most submissive nature to the queen. 
 
 On the 26th of August, he was sent for to York House, where the 
 lord-keeper, lord-treasurer, and Mr. Secretary, signified to him that it 
 was her majesty’s pleasure to restore him to liberty, save of access to 
 court. His humble supplication to be permitted to kiss her hands, in 
 order that he might, with the more contentment, betake himself to the 
 retirement of the country, was met with a message, “ that though her 
 majesty was content that he should remain under no guard, save that of 
 duty and discretion, yet he must in no sort suppose himself to be freed 
 from her indignation ; neither must he presume to approach her court I 
 or person.” 2 Essex might now be regarded as a prisoner on his parole 
 of honour. 
 
 That summer, (1600,) the queen spent chiefly at Nonsuch and Oat- 
 lands. Bacon exerted all the energies of his mighty genius to work a 
 revulsion in the royal mind, in favour of the discarded favourite, and ( 
 found that his boldness gave no offence. There was, however, an under¬ 
 current which silently worked against his eloquence, though he omitted 
 no opportunity of insinuating a word, in season, in behalf of his unlucky 
 friend. One day, speaking of a person who had undertaken to cure his 
 brother Anthony of the gout, he said, “ his brother at first received 
 benefit, but now found himself the worse for his treatment,” to which 
 the queen replied, “ I will tell you, Bacon, the error of it. The manner 
 of these empirics is to continue one kind of medicine, which, at first, is il 
 proper to draw out the ill-humour, but after, they have not the discre- ; 
 tion to change it, but still apply that drawing medicine, when they 
 should rattier attempt to cure and heal the part.” 
 
 “ Good Lord! madam,” rejoined Bacon, “ how wisely you can dis¬ 
 cern and speak of physic ministered to the body, and yet consider not, || 
 that there is like reason of the physic ministered to the mind. As now 
 
 ’Sidney Papers, vol. ii., pp. 200-2C3. 
 
 * Sidney Papers; Bireb, 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 545 
 
 in the case of my lord of Essex, your princely word ever was, that you 
 intended to reform his mind, and not to ruin his fortunes. I know well 
 you cannot but think you have drawn the humour sufficiently, and that 
 it is time that you did apply strength and comfort to him, for these same 
 gradations of yours are fitter to corrupt than to correct a mind of any 
 greatness.” 1 
 
 The queen appointed lord Mountjoye, the former rival, but now the 
 generous and devoted friend of Essex, to the office of lord-deputy of 
 Ireland. He endeavoured to excuse himself, from motives of delicacy 
 towards the unfortunate earl; but Elizabeth would not permit her will 
 to be trifled with. On her mentioning this appointment to Bacon, who 
 appears, at this season, to have enjoyed her full confidence, he replied, 
 “ Surely, madam, you cannot make a better choice, unless you send over 
 my lord Essex.” 
 
 “ Essex !” exclaimed she, with great vehemence ; “ when I send Essex 
 back into Ireland, I will marry you. Claim it of me.” 
 
 Her majesty and her court amused themselves with hunting and 
 hawking, in September, sometimes at Hanworth and sometimes in the 
 New Forest. Elizabeth assumed an appearance of mirthfulness on 
 these occasions, which must certainly have been far enough from her 
 heart. On the 12th of September, Rowland Whyte gives this account 
 of the proceedings of this aged Dian :—“ Her majesty is very well, and 
 exceedingly disposed to hunting, for every second day she is on horse¬ 
 back, and continues the sport long; it is thought she will remain at 
 Oatlands till the foul weather drives her away. On Tuesday, she dined 
 at Mr. Drake’s ; on Wednesday, the ambassador of Barbary had audience 
 at Oatlands, and what he delivered was in private with the queen.” 2 
 
 “My lord-admiral,” pursues Whyte, “is a very heavy (sorrowful) 
 man, for the loss of his brother, yet her majesty’s sports draw him 
 abroad ; herself very graciously went from Oatlands to Hampton Court, 
 i to call him from his solitariness; never man was more bound to a sove¬ 
 reign than he is. My lord Harry Howard is much graced by the queen, 
 for she hath much conference with him, and commanded his bed should 
 be set up in the council-chamber, when it was ill lying in tents, by the 
 storms and tempests we have had here.” 3 
 
 Under all this semblance of mirth and jollity, the queen concealed a 
 heavy heart and a weary spirit. The infirmities of her advanced period 
 of life, malgre all her Spartan-like attempts to hide them, made them¬ 
 selves felt, and occasionally acknowledged. Sir Robert Sidney, in a 
 confidential letter to Harrington, gives a melancholy account of Eliza¬ 
 beth’s dejection in private, and this is followed by a characteristic detail 
 of her struggle to go through a fatiguing state-visit, with which she 
 
 1 Birch's Memoirs of Elizabeth. 
 
 s On the Moorish ambassador's return from Oatlands, he, with his companions, 
 were brought to Hampton Court, where they saw and admired the richness of 
 the furniture; and they demanded how many kings had built it, and how long 
 it was doing. 
 
 •Sidney Papers. When there was no lodging to be found at Hampton Court 
 for the courtiers or their servants, they lived in tents pitched in the squares 
 
 2 K 
 
546 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 honoured him, in her usual popular and gracious manner; hut the old 
 woman conquered the goddess, and she was, at last, fain to call for a 
 staff, to support her enfeebled frame; and we perceive, throughout, how 
 hard a day’s work it must have been for her. 
 
 “ ] do see the queen often !” observes he; “ she doth wax weak since 
 the late troubles, and Burleigh’s death doth often draw tears down her 
 goodly cheeks. She walketh out but little, meditates much alone, and 
 sometimes writes, in private, to her best friends. Her highness hath 
 done honour to my poor house by visiting me, and seemed much pleased 
 at what we did to please her. My son made her a fair speech, to which 
 she did give most gracious reply. The women did dance before her, 
 whilst the cornets did salute from the gallery, and she did vouchsafe to 
 eat two morsels of rich comfit-cake, and drank a small cordial from a 
 golden cup. She had a marvellous suit of velvet, 1 borne by four of her 
 first women attendants in rich apparel; two ushers did go before, and at 
 going up stairs she called for a staff, and was much wearied in walking 
 about the house, and said she would come another day. Six drums and 
 six trumpets waited in the court, and sounded at her approach and 
 departure. My wife did bear herself in wondrous good liking, and was 
 attired in a purple kyrtle fringed with gold, and myself in a rich band 
 and collar of needle-work, and did wear a goodly stuff of the bravest 
 cut and fashion, with an under-body of silver and loops. The queen 
 was much in commendation of our appearances, and smiled at the ladies, 
 who, in their dances, often came up to the step, on which the seat was 
 fixed, to make their obeisance, and so fell back into their order again. 
 
 “ The younger Markham did several gallant feats on a horse before 
 the gate, leaping down and kissing his sword, and then mounting swiftly 
 on the saddle, and passed a lance with much skill. The day well nigh 
 spent, the queen went and tasted a small beverage, that was set out in 
 divers rooms where she might pass, and then, in much order, was 
 attended to her palace, the cornets and trumpets sounding through the 
 streets. One knight, I dare not name, did say ‘ the queen hath done me 
 more honour than some that had served her better;’ but envious tongues 
 have venomed shafts, and so I rest in peace with what hath happened, 
 and God speed us all, my worthy knight.” 
 
 In the preceding part of this letter, Sidney tells Harrington, “that he 
 had presented his gift to the queen, by whom it was well received, anu 
 that her majesty had commended his verses. 
 
 “The queen,” says he, “hath tasted your dainties, and saith, ‘you 
 have marvellous skill in cooking of good fruits.’ ” In allusion to a 
 law-suit, touching Harrington’s title to the disputed manor of Harrington 
 Park, he continues, “ Visit your friends often, and please the queen all 
 you can, for all the great lawyers do fear her displeasure. * * * I know 
 not how matters may prosper with your noble commander, the lord 
 Essex,” pursues the cautious statesman, “ but must say no more in 
 writing.” 
 
 One day Elizabeth informed Bacon, “ that Essex had written to her 
 
 1 Meaning, a train 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 547 
 
 some dutiful letters, which had moved her; hut after taking them to 
 How from the abundance of his heart, she found them but a preparative 
 to a suit for renewing his farm of sweet wines,” of which she had 
 granted him the monopoly in the sunshine of her former favour. 1 
 
 To this petition she had replied, “ that she would inquire into its 
 annual value,” which is said to have amounted to the enormous sum of 
 50,000?. per annum. She added a taunt, which it was scarcely in the 
 nature of a brave man and a gentleman to brook, “ that when horses 
 became unmanageable, it was necessary to tame them by stinting them 
 in the quantity of their food.” But Essex, being deeply involved in 
 debt, renewed his suit, and was denied contemptuously. 2 
 
 Bacon wasted much elegant logic, in endeavouring to convince Eliza¬ 
 beth that a prudential care for his maintenance was by no means incom¬ 
 patible with the sincerity of his devotion to his sovereign, or his peni¬ 
 tence for his past faults ; and, at length, observing that the queen began 
 to look coolly on him when he came into her presence, he represented 
 to her, “ that he had, in the integrity of his heart, incurred great peril 
 for pleading the cause of the earl to her, and that his own fall was 
 decreed;” upon which the queen, perceiving how deeply he was 
 wounded, used many kind anti soothing expressions to comfort him, 
 bidding him rest on this, “ gratia mea sufficiV'’ —•“ my grace is sufficient 
 for you”—but she said not a word of Essex. Bacon took the hint, and 
 made no further efforts to avert the fate of his benefactor. 
 
 Harrington, who had ventured to present a petition to his royal god¬ 
 mother from the earl, remarks, “ that he had nearly been wrecked on the 
 Essex coast.” In fact, the imprudence of Essex rendered it very danger¬ 
 ous for any one to espouse his cause. 
 
 “ 1 have heard much,” says Harrington, w on both hands, but wiser he 
 who repeateth nothing thereof. Did either know what I know either 
 have said, it would not work much to contentment or good liking. Am¬ 
 bition, thwarted in its career, doth speedily lead on to madness; herein 
 I am strengthened by what 1 learn of my lord of Essex, who sliifteth, from 
 sorrow and repentance to rage and rebellion, so suddenly as well proveth 
 him devoid of good reason or ri<dit mind. At our last discourse he ut- 
 tered strange words, bordering on such strange designs, that made me 
 hasten forth, and leave his presence. Thank Heaven, I am safe at home, 
 and if I go in such troubles again, I deserve the gallows for a meddling 
 fool. Ilis speeches of the queen becometh no man who hath mens sana 
 in corpore sano. He hath ill-advisers, and much evil hath sprung from 
 this source. The queen well knoweth how to humble the haughty 
 spirit, the haughty spirit knoweth not how to yield, and the man’s soul 
 seemeth tossed to and fro, like the waves of a troubled sea.” 
 
 Essex had taken the loss of his monopolies and his exile from couit 
 in such evil part, that he now began to testify his resentment, in every 
 possible way. “ The queen,” said he, “ has pushed me down into pri¬ 
 vate life. I will not be a vile, obsequious slave. The dagger cf my 
 enemies has struck me to the hilt. I will not be bound to their car of 
 
 1 Bacon's Betters. 
 
 1 Lingard. 
 
548 
 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 triumph.” The councils of his secretary, Cuffe, and other violent or 
 treacherous advisers, induced him to assume the character of a dema¬ 
 gogue, that he might be carried into office, on the shoulders of the peo¬ 
 ple, in spite of the court party. 
 
 His house became the head-quarters of the disaffected and desperate, 
 lie courted the puritans, and encouraged them to hold conventicles, and 
 preach seditious sermons, to political congregations, under the shadow 
 of his roof. He publicly discussed his injuries, and was, at last, guilty 
 of the folly and ingratitude of speaking of the queen, as an “ old woman, 
 crooked both in body and mind” 1 —a taunt which it was not in Eliza¬ 
 beth’s nature to forgive. The dearer Essex had been to Iter heart, the 
 more keenly did the shaft pierce. His death was decreed in the self¬ 
 same hour when this remark reached her ear. His secret league with 
 the king of Scots, to incite that monarch to insist on being recognised 
 as the successor to the crown—his rash meetings with malcontents and 
 desperadoes, at Drury house, plotting the seizure of the palace and the 
 Tower—his final act of reckless rebellion, might have been forgiven; 
 but this was the spark which kindled a flame of vindictive anger in the 
 heart of the queen, which nothing but his blood could quench. 
 
 The daughter of Henry VIII. was not likely to endure such treatment 
 from the ungrateful object of her fierce and jealous fondness. She de¬ 
 layed her vengeance, but it was with the feline malice of tantalizing her 
 victim with visions of life and liberty. She knew that the mouse was 
 within the reach of her talons, and that with one blow it was in her 
 power to crush him. 
 
 His absurd plan was, for his step-father, sir Christopher Blount, with 
 a chosen party, to seize the palace-gate, Davis the hall, and Danvers the 
 guard-chamber, and then himself to rush in from the mews, with a fur¬ 
 ther detachment of his desperate followers, and to enter the queen’s pre¬ 
 sence, wherever she might be, and, on his knees, to beg her to remove 
 his adversaries from her council. 2 If this were resisted, he intended to 
 make a forced reform, by calling a parliament, and demanding justice. 
 It had been daringly advanced as a principle, by the political agitators, 
 who congregated at his house, that monarchs themselves were account¬ 
 able to the superior legislators of the realm: and the queen thought it 
 was time to bring the matter to a crisis. On the 7th of February, Essex 
 received a summons to appear before the privy-council, and, at the same 
 time, a note was put into his hand, warning him to take care of himself. 
 He was advised, by “prudent friends, to make his escape, but he vowed 
 that he never would submit to live in exile, and rashly resolved to set 
 everything on one last desperate die—an attempt to raise the citizens of 
 London against the court. He had an idea that sir Thomas Smith, the 
 sheriff, would aid him with a thousand of the trained bands, and he 
 summoned all his friends to rally to his assistance, at Essex IL>use. 
 How the council allowed him to remain at large is matter of wonder, 
 but, such was his popularity, that it was doubted whether his arrest 
 would be effected without causing great tumults among the populace. 
 
 ' Camden. 
 
 a Ibid 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 549 
 
 Harrington draws a vivid picture of the alarm and excitement that 
 pervaded the court, during the fearful pause that intervened before a 
 blow was struck :—“ The madcaps,” says he, “ are all in riot, and much 
 evil threatened. In good sooth, I fear her majesty more than the rebel 
 Tyrone, and wished I had never received my lord of Essex’s honour of 
 knighthood. She is quite disfavoured and unattired, and these troubles 
 waste her much. She disregarded every costly cover that cometli to 
 the table, and taketh little but manchet and succory pottage. Every 
 new message from the cit} r disturbs her, and she frowns on all her 
 ladies. 1 had a sharp message from her brought by my lord Buckhurst, 
 namely thus,—‘Go, tell that witty fellow, my godson, to get home; it 
 is no season to fool it here.’ I liked this as little as she doth my 
 knighthood, so took to my boots, and returned to my plough, in bad 
 weather. I must not say much, even by this trusty and sure messenger 
 but the many evil plots and designs have overcome all her highness’s 
 sweet temper.” 
 
 The strong mind of Elizabeth was evidently shaken, by the conflict¬ 
 ing passions that assailed her, at this agitating period, and reason tot¬ 
 tered. Who would say that the deportment, which her godson thus 
 describes, was that of a sane person ?—“ Site walks much,” pursues he, 
 “ in her privy-chamber, and stamps with her foot at ill news, and thrusts 
 her rusty sword, at times, into the arras, in great rage. My lord Buck¬ 
 hurst is much with Iter, and few else, since the city business, but the 
 dangers are over, and yet she always keeps a sword by her table. I 
 obtained a short audience, at my first coming to court, when her high¬ 
 ness told me, ‘ If ill counsel had brought me so far, she wished Heaven 
 might mar the fortune which she had mended.’ I made my peace on 
 this point, and will not leave my poor castle of Kelstone, for fear of 
 finding a worse elsewhere, as others have done. So disordered is all 
 order, that her highness hath worn but one change of raiment for many 
 days, and swears much at those that cause her griefs in such wise, to 
 the no small discomfiture of all about her, more especially our sweet 
 lady Arundel, that Venus pus quarn venusla. ,: 1 
 
 On Sunday morning, February 8th, Essex had collected three hundred 
 of his deluded partisans at his house, and had formed the plan of pro¬ 
 ceeding to Paul’s Cross, in Cheapside, thinking to induce the lord mayor, 
 sheriffs, and, in fact, the crowds of citizens and ’prentices who would 
 attend the preaching there, to join his muster, and assist him in forcing 
 his way to the presence of the queen. There was a traitor among his 
 confidants—sir Ferdinando Gorges, who betrayed all his projects to 
 Cecil. The lord mayor and his brethren received orders to keep the 
 
 1 Nugae Antique, vol. i., p. 317. This letter, though classed by the learned 
 editor of Harrington, for October, 1001, certainly can allude to no other period 
 than that of the Essex insurrection, and not, as supposed, to the state of Ireland. 
 Harrington’s allusions to his unlucky knighthood, and saying “ he would not leave 
 his poor castle of Kelstone, for fear of finding a worse elsewhere, as others had 
 done,” bears reference to the imprisonment of Essex's partisans. The queen’s 
 angry insinuation, that ill counsel had brought him up to court, all points to his 
 friendship with Essex, and proves the letter could have boon written at no other 
 period. 
 

 550 ELIZABETH. 
 
 people within their own dwellings, and not to attend the preaching. 
 The palace was fortified and doubly guarded, and every prudential mea¬ 
 sure taken to preserve the peace.' About ten in the morning, the lord- 
 chancellor Egerton, the lord chief justice, and some other officers of the 
 crown, applied for admittance at Essex House. After a long parley they 
 were admitted through a wicket. They demanded of Essex, in the 
 name of the queen, the meaning of the tumultuous gathering of persons 
 who were around him in the court, and commanded his followers to lay 
 down their arms. Essex began to complain of his wrongs; and South¬ 
 ampton said “that his life had been attempted in the Strand by lord 
 Grey, of Wilton, who had cut off his page’s hand.” 2 The lords replied, 
 
 “ that Grey had been imprisoned; and if Essex had had wrong, the 
 queen would redress his injuries.” “You lose time,” shouted the mob 
 to Essex. “Away with them! They betray you. Kill them! Keep 
 them in custody. Throw the great seal out of window.” Essex ac¬ 
 tually impounded the chancellor and his company in his house, while 
 he sallied forth into the streets like a madman, as he was, at the head , 
 of his equally frantic party, armed only with rapiers, and some few with 
 pistols, and, dashing down Fleet Street, raised the cry, “ England is sold 
 to Spain by Cecil and Raleigh! They will give the crown to the In¬ 
 fanta. Citizens of London, arm for England and the queen!” 3 
 
 All, however, was quiet; the streets were deserted, and he vainly 
 waved his sword and continued to cry, “For the queen! for the queen!” I 
 He endeavoured to obtain arms and ammunition at the shop of an ar¬ 
 morer, but was denied. The streets were barricadoed with chains and I 
 carts; but, on Ludgate Hill, he drew his sword, and ordered a charge, I 
 which his stepfather Blount executed, and, with his own hand, slew a 
 man who had been formerly suborned by Leicester to assassinate him. 
 Essex was shot through the hat: his followers began to desert. He had 
 been proclaimed a traitor, in one quarter of the city, by Garter King at ) 
 Arms and Thomas Lord Burleigh; in another, by the earl of Cumber¬ 
 land. Desperate, but unsubdued, he forced his way across St. Paul’s to I 
 Queenhithe, where he took boat, and, strange to say, succeeded in get¬ 
 ting back to Essex House. The queen was at dinner when the noise 
 of the tumult brought the news, that Essex was endeavouring to raise | 
 the city; nay, that he had succeeded; but she was no more disturbed 
 than if she had been told there was a fray in Fleet Street. Her attend¬ 
 ants were struck with consternation, not knowing whom to trust; and ] 
 Elizabeth alone had the courage to propose going to oppose the insur- i 
 gents, saying, “ that not one of them would dare to meet a single glance I 
 of her eye. They would flee at the very notice of her approach.” 4 
 This was more consistent with the energy of her temper, than the tale, I 
 that she finished her dinner as calmly as if nothing had happened. 
 
 When Essex returned to his house, he found his prisoners, whom he i 
 thought, at the worst, to keep as hostages for his own life, had all been i 
 liberated by the perfidious Gorges, who had taken them by water to the i 
 palace; and now all that remained to him was to defend his house, 
 
 * Camden. 
 
 Lingard's note; Winwood. 
 
 3 Camden. 
 
 4 Lingard. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 551 
 
 which was invested on every side. But when he beheld the great artil¬ 
 lery and the queen’s forces round about his house, being sore vexed 
 with the tears and incessant shrieks of the ladies, he, after several par¬ 
 leys, from the leads of his mansion, with the assailing force below, sur¬ 
 rendered his sword to the lord-admiral about ten o’clock at night, ou 
 promise of civil treatment for himself and his friends. 1 The other lords 
 and gentlemen who had adhered to his evil fortunes followed his exam¬ 
 ple. That night they were lodged in Lambeth Palace; for the night 
 was dark, and there was not sufficient water to shoot London Bridge. 
 The next day they were taken by water to the Tower. 
 
 On the l‘2th, a soldier of fortune, named Thomas Lee, was reported 
 to have said, “ that if the friends of Essex meant to preserve his life, 
 they should enter the queen’s presence in a body, and petition for his 
 pardon, and refuse to depart till it was granted.” The same evening 
 Lee was discovered, by the pursuivants, in the crowd at the door of the 
 presence-chamber, during the queen’s supper, and was arrested. In the 
 morning he was indicted on a charge of intending to murder the queen, 
 and was condemned, and suffered the death of a traitor. 2 
 
 Essex and Southampton were arraigned, on the 19th, before the com¬ 
 missioners appointed for their trial. Even if the majority of the com¬ 
 missioners had not been the sworn foes of Essex, he must have been 
 found guilty by the laws of the land, for he Imd committed overt acts 
 of treason, which nothing but madness could excuse. The crown law¬ 
 yers who pleaded against him w’ere, Yelverton, who compared him to 
 Catiline and a crocodile, and Coke, who added to the catalogue of his 
 crimes the incompatible charges of atheism and popery, although Essex 
 was a declared puritan, and told him “ that he who aspired to the king¬ 
 dom of Robert the First should, of his earldom, be Robert the last;” 
 and when Essex asked him, “ if he really believed any violence was 
 intended to the queen?” artfully replied, “You would have treated her 
 as Henry of Lancaster did Richard II.—gone to her as suppliants, and 
 then robbed her of her crown and life.” This was a base appeal to 
 Elizabeth’s absurd weakness touching Hayward’s history of Henry IV. 
 The worst pang for Essex was to see his former friend, Bacon, rise to 
 refute his defence, and to extol the characters of Cecil, Raleigh, and 
 Cobham. Essex bade him remember “that it was himself who had 
 composed the eloquent letters which he had been advised to write to 
 her majesty exposing their faults.” The details of this interesting trial 
 are, however, too diffuse for the limits of this work. Essex was, of 
 course, condemned to death; and when the sentence was pronounced, 
 he said, “ I am not a whit dismayed to receive this doom. Death is 
 welcome to me as life. Let my poor quarters, which have done her 
 majesty true service in divers parts of the world, be sacrificed and dis¬ 
 posed of at her pleasure.” 3 
 
 This arraignment began about nine o’clock in the morning, and con¬ 
 tinued till six at night. “ There was a world of people waiting to see 
 
 1 Camden, and contemporary document in Nichols. 
 
 a Camden. 8 State Trials; Camden. 
 
552 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 the event. The news was suddenly divulged in London; whereat, 
 many forsook their suppers, and ran hastily into the street to see the 
 earl of Essex, as he returned to the Tower, with the edge of the axe 
 carried towards him. He went a swift pace, bending his face towards 
 the earth, and would not look upon any of them, though some spake 
 directly to him.” 1 His execution was appointed to take place on the 
 25th, Ash-Wednesday. Elizabetli signed the warrant; and it has been 
 said that the tremor of her hand, from agitation, is discernible in that 
 fatal autograph ; but the fac-simile of the signature contradicts the fond 
 tradition; for it is firmly written, and as elaborately flourished, as if she 
 thought more of the beauty of her penmanship, titan of the awful act of 
 giving effect to the sentence that doomed the mangling axe of the exe¬ 
 cutioner to lay the severed head of her familiar friend and kinsman in 
 the dust. 2 
 
 The romantic story of the ring, which, it is said, the queen had given 
 to Essex, in a moment of fondness, as a pledge of her affection, with an 
 intimation, “ that if ever he forfeited her favour, if he sent it back to her, 
 the sight of it would ensure her forgiveness,” must not be lightly re¬ 
 jected. It is not only related by Osborne, who is considered a fair 
 authority for other things, and quoted by historians of all parties, but it 
 is a family tradition of the Careys, who were the persons most likely to 
 be in the secret, as they were the relations and friends of all the parties 
 concerned, and enjoyed the confidence of queen Elizabeth. The fol¬ 
 lowing is the version given by lady Elizabeth Spelman, a descendant of 
 that house, to the editor of her great-uncle Robert Carey’s memoirs :— 
 
 “ When Essex lay under sentence of death, he determined to try the 
 virtue of the ring, by sending it to the queen, and claiming the benefit 
 of her promise; but knowing he was surrounded by the creatures of 
 those who were bent on taking his life, he was fearful of trusting it to 
 any of his attendants. At length, looking out of his window, he saw, 
 early one morning, a boy whose countenance pleased him, and him he 
 induced by a bribe to carry the ring, which he threw down to him from 
 above, to the lady Scroope, his cousin, who had taken so friendly inte¬ 
 rest in his fate. The boy, by mistake, carried it to the countess of Not¬ 
 tingham, the cruel sister of the fair and gentle Scroope; and as both oi 
 these ladies were of the royal bed-chamber, the mistake might easily 
 occur. The countess carried the ring to her husband, the lord-admiral, 
 who was the deadly foe of Essex, and told him the message, but he 
 bade her suppress both. The queen, unconscious of the accident, waited 
 in the painful suspense of an angry lover for the expected token to ar¬ 
 rive ; but not receiving it, she concluded, that he was too proud to make 
 this last appeal to her tenderness, and after having once revoked the war¬ 
 rant, she ordered the execution to proceed. It was not till the axe had 
 absolutely fallen, that the world could believe that Elizabeth would take 
 the life of Essex. Raleigh incurred the deepest odium for his share in 
 
 1 Contemporary tract in Nichols. 
 
 a The fac-simile of this signature is engraved in Park's edition of Horace Wal¬ 
 poles Catalogue of Noble and Royal Authors, from the original in the Stafford 
 Collection. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 bringing his noble rival to the block. He had witnessed his execution 
 from the armory in the Tower, and soon after was found in the presence 
 of the queen, who, as if nothing of painful import had incurred, was that 
 morning amusing herself with playing on the virginals. 
 
 When the news was officially announced that the tragedy was over, 
 there was a dead silence in the privy-chamber, but the queen continued 
 to play, and the earl of Oxford, casting a significant glance at Raieigh, 
 observed, as if in reference to the effect of her majesty’s fingers on the 
 instrument, which was a sort of open spinnet, “When Jacks start up, 
 then heads go down.” 1 Ever)' one understood the bitter pun contained 
 in this allusion. Raleigh received large sums from some of the gentle¬ 
 men who were implicated in Essex’s insurrection, as the price of nego¬ 
 tiating their pardons. 2 He was on the scaffold when sir Christopher 
 Blount and sir Charles Danvers were beheaded, March 17th. Blount 
 was the third husband of queen Elizabeth’s cousin, Lettice, countess of 
 Leicester. If this lady had incurred the ill-will of her royal kinswoman, 
 as generally supposed, bv rivalling her in the regard of Leicester, it must 
 be acknowledged that Elizabeth paid the long-delayed debt of vengeance 
 with dreadful interest, when she sent both son and husband to the block 
 within one little month. 3 
 
 Merrick and Cuffe were hanged, drawn, and quartered ; but the queen 
 graciously extended her mercy to the earl of Southampton, by commu¬ 
 ting his death into an imprisonment, which lasted during the rest of her 
 life. 
 
 Elizabeth caused a declaration of the treasons of Essex to be published, 
 and a sermon very defamatory to his memory to be preached at Paul’s 
 Cross, by Dr. Barlowe; but the people took both in evil part. It was 
 observed withal, that her appearance in public was no longer greeted 
 with tokens of popular applause. Her subjects could not forgive her the 
 death of their idol. Fickle as the populace have proverbially been con- 
 I sidered, their affection for the favourite had been of a more enduring 
 nature than that of the sovereign. 
 
 The death of Essex left sir Robert Cecil without a rival in the court 
 or cabinet, and he soon established himself as the all-powerful ruler of 
 the realm. Essex had made full confession of his secret correspondence 
 
 1 Fragmenta Regalia, by Sir Robert Naunton. 2 Birch. 
 
 3 The unfortunate countess survived this twofold tragedy three-and-thirty years. 
 Her beauty, and connection with the two great favourites of Elizabeth, Leicester 
 and Essex, is thus noticed in the following lines of her epitaph, by Sir Gervas 
 Clifton:— 
 
 “ There you may see that face, that hand, 
 Which once was fairest in the land ; 
 She that, in her younger years, 
 Match'd with two great English peers; 
 [ She that did supply the wars 
 
 With thunder, and the court with stars; 
 She that in her youth had been 
 Darling to the maiden queen, 
 
 Till she was content to quit 
 Her favour for her favourite, 
 
 Whose gold thread, when she saw spun, 
 And the death of her brave son, 
 Thought it safest to retire 
 From all care and vain desiro, 
 
 To a private country cell, 
 
 Where she spent her days so well, 
 That to her the better sort 
 Came, as to a holy court; 
 
 And the poor that lived near, 
 
 Dearth nor famine could not fear. 
 
531 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 with the king of Scots, and also of the agent through whom it was car¬ 
 ried on; and Cecil lost no time in following the same course, and 
 through the same channel. As long as he had hopes of obtaining the 
 hand of lady Arabella Stuart, he had secretly advanced her pretensions 
 to the succession; but when it was known that this high-born young 
 lady had bestowed her heart on lord Beauchamp, the offspring of the 
 calamitous marriage of the earl of Hertford and lady Catharine Gray, the 
 unprincipled statesman, whose politics were as crooked as his person, 
 did all he could to poison the mind of his jealous sovereign against the I 
 innocent girl. In one of the private letters, in his correspondence with I 
 James, the malign hunchback speaks with all the bitterness of a despised • 
 and disappointed man, of her to whose hand he, the grandson of a tailor, 
 had presumed to aspire, as “ Shrewsbury’s idol, who,” continues he, “ if j 
 she follow some men’s council, will be made higher by as many steps j 
 as will lead her to the scaffold.” 
 
 The first result of Cecil’s secret understanding with the king of Scots, I 
 was an addition of two thousand pounds a year to the annual pension | 
 which that monarch received from queen Elizabeth; and this was sorely j 
 against the wiLl of the aged sovereign, who, at that very time, had been | 
 compelled by the destitute state of her exchequer, to borrow money on \ 
 her jewels. The flattery of Cecil, however, and the reverential deference j 
 with which he approached her, made him necessary to her comfort, now \ 
 that she was in the sere and withered leaf of life, with no faithful or j 
 tender ties of love, or friendship, to cheer and support her in her lonely j 
 passage to the tomb. 
 
 Sir William Brown, the deputy-governor of Flushing, who came over 
 this summer to explain the state of affairs in the Low Countries, gives a 
 very interesting narrative of his interview with her majesty in the month 
 of August, 1601. On Sunday morning, after prayers, he was introduced 
 by Cecil to the queen, as she walked in the gardens, at Mr. William 
 Clarke’s. 1 “ I had no sooner kissed her sacred hand,” says he, “ but 
 she presently made me stand up. She spoke somewhat loud, saying, 
 ‘Come hither, Brown,’ and pronounced that she held me for an old 
 faithful servant of hers, and said, ‘ I must give content to Brown;’ and 
 then, the train following her, she said, ‘ Stand—stand back ! Will you 
 not let us speak, but you will be hearers ?’ She then walked a turn or 
 two, protesting her gracious opinion of myself; ‘Before God, Brown,’ 
 said she, ‘they do me wrong, that will make so honest a servant jealous, 
 lest I should mistrust him ;’ and though her w'ords alone had been more I 
 than sufficient to content so mean a servant as myself, yet it pleased her 
 to swear unto me, that she had as good alliance in my loyalty as in any 
 man’s that served her.” 
 
 Brown notices that he delivered sir Robert Sidney’s letter, kneeling, 
 to her majesty, on his first presentation, but that she did not read it till 
 he was gone; and, indeed, appeared perfectly familiar with the subject.] 
 
 '• Having walked a turn or two,” says he, “she called for a stool, which 
 was set under a tree, and I began to kneel, but she would not suffer me; 
 
 1 Sidney Papers, vol. ii. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 535 
 
 and, after two or three denials, when I made to kneel, she was pleased 
 to say, 4 that she would not speak with me, unless 1 stood up.’ Where¬ 
 upon, 1 stood up, and after having repeated her gracious opinion of me, 
 she discoursed of many things, and particularly of the distaste she had 
 of the States army returning. It seems that sir Francis Vere hath lain all 
 the fault upon count Maurice. I said, ‘ that count Maurice did protest 
 that this journey was never of his plotting.’ 
 
 44 4 Tush, Brown !’ saith she, 4 I know more than thou dost. When I 
 heard,’ continued the queen, 4 that they were at first with their army, as 
 high as Nemigham, I knew no good would be done; but Maurice would 
 serve his own turn, and would, in the end, turn to the Grave (Land¬ 
 grave). I looked that they should have come down nearer to Ostend or 
 Flanders—that might have startled the enemy; and that they promised 
 me, or else I would not have let them have so many men, to the discon¬ 
 tentment of my subjects, as I know, and which, but for the dove they 
 bear me, they would not so well digest; and now, forsooth, Maurice is 
 come from his weapon to his spade, for at that he is one of the best in 
 Christendom.” 1 
 
 Brown, though he had some things to urge in explanation of the line 
 of policy adopted by the cautious Maurice, was too practised a courtier 
 to oppose the royal orator, after this burst of lion-like disdain at what 
 she deemed the selfishness of her ally. 44 It was not befitting for me to 
 answer anything for him,” says he, 44 when I saw her majesty so informed 
 already. The truth must appear to her in time, and from a better hand 
 than myself. Then she complained of the French king failing in his 
 promise to support the enterprise of her army.” Brown told her ma¬ 
 jesty, 44 that it was considered that the French king rather had marvelled 
 at their boldness in going so far, than offered any hope of co-operation 
 with them.” 
 
 44 Tush, Brown!” interrupted the queen, who appeared better informed 
 on this point than her foreign ministers suspected, 44 do I not know that 
 Buceval was written to, again and again, to move the army to go that 
 way, and that he would not help them ?” 44 If that were so,” said 
 
 Brown, 44 your majesty may think it was but a French promise.” Then, 
 after discussing various subjects with the queen, he mentioned to her 
 that the Zealanders put their sole hope in her majesty, trusting that her 
 powerful influence would induce the States General to render them the 
 succour they required. “Alas, poor Zealanders!” exclaimed Elizabeth, 
 44 1 know that they love me with all their hearts.” Brown told her ma¬ 
 jesty, 44 that they prayed for her.” Elizabeth received this information 
 with peculiar unction, and delivered a speech on the occasion, which, 
 of course, was spoken that it might be duly reported to those pious 
 Dutch patriots, to provoke them to further manifestations of their good¬ 
 will. 44 Yea, Brown,” said she, 44 I know it well enough; and I will tell 
 thee one thing. Faith, here is a church of that countrymen in London; 
 1 protest, next after the Divine Providence that governs all my well¬ 
 doing, I attribute much of the happiness that befalls me to be given of 
 
 Sidney Papers. 
 
55G 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 God, by those men’s effectual and zealous prayers, who, I know, pray 
 for me with that fervency, as none of mv servants can do more.” 
 
 After a long talk, Mr. Secretary (sir Robert Cecil) came, and the dis¬ 
 course turned on military affairs. Cecil paid her majesty the homage 
 of his knee, in the most deferential manner, while she was pleased to 
 converse on this business; and she, turning to Brown, said to him, 
 “ Dost see that little fellow that kneels there ? It hath been told you 
 that he hath been an enemy to soldiers. On my faith, Brown, he is the 
 best friend the soldiers have.” Cecil replied with his usual tact, “ that 
 it was from her majesty alone all the soldiers’ good flowedand with 
 this compliment, sir William Brown closes his detail of this characteris¬ 
 tic scene. 
 
 The same month queen Elizabeth, understanding that Henry IV. of 
 France was at Calais, made a progress to Dover, in the hope of tempt¬ 
 ing him to cross the channel to pay his compliments to her in person. 
 She had previously despatched a letter to him by lord Edmonds, full of 
 friendly expressions and offers of service; and when she reached Dover, 
 she sent sir Robert Sidney with another, intreating the king to allow her 
 the satisfaction of a personal interview, as she greatly desired to see him. 
 Her pride would have been flattered by the visit of a king of France, and 
 such a king as the hero of Navarre, and she omitted nothing that she 
 imagined might induce him to come. Henry remembering, perhaps, that 
 the queen of Sheba came to Solomon, not Solomon to her, forfeited his 
 reputation for always yielding due homage to the ladies, by excusing 
 himself, under the unanswerable plea of impossibility, from coming to 
 Dover, and courteously invited his good sister to visit him in France. 
 If Elizabeth had been nineteen instead of sixty-nine, he would probably 
 have acted more gallantly. 
 
 Elizabeth, in reply, wrote a very courteous letter, explaining the ob¬ 
 stacles that prevented her from coming to France, and lamented “the 
 unhappiness of princes, who were slaves to forms and fettered by cau¬ 
 tion and she repeated, “ that her regret at not being able to see him 
 was so much the greater, as she had something of the last importance to 
 communicate to him, which she neither durst commit to paper nor trust 
 to any person but himself, and that she was then on the point of quitting 
 Dover for London.” Though Henry ought to have had a pretty accu¬ 
 rate idea of Elizabeth’s habitual diplomacy, his curiosity was so greatly 
 excited by these mysterious hints, that he sent for his faithful minister, 
 Rosnv, 1 and said to him, “ I have just now received letters from my 
 good sister of England, whom you admire so greatly. They are fuller 
 of civilities than ever. See if you will have more success than I have 
 had in discovering her meaning.” The sage premier of France confessed 
 that he was not less puzzled than his sovereign, by the mysterious lan¬ 
 guage of the female majesty of England, and both agreed, that it must be 
 something of very great consequence, which prompted such a commu¬ 
 nication ; and it was agreed that Rosny should embark the following 
 morning for Dover, and make an incognito trip to London, for the pur- 
 
 Aflerwards the celebrated Due de Sully. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 557 
 
 pose of penetrating this important state secret. The moment he landed 
 it Dover, he was met and recognised by a whole bevy of the state offi¬ 
 cers and members of queen Elizabeth’s cabinet, who were evidently on 
 the look-out for his master. Sidney, who had seen him at Calais only 
 a few days before, welcomed him with an embrace, and asked him “ if 
 he were not come to see the queen ?” 
 
 The artful diplomatist told him “ he was not, and begged him not to 
 mention his arrival to her majesty, as he had brought no credentials, 
 having merely come over to make a private visit to London, without any 
 idea of seeing her.” The English gentlemen smiled, and told him “ that 
 he would not be suffered to pass so, for the guard-ship had doubtless 
 riven a signal of his arrival, and he might shortly expect to see a mes¬ 
 senger from the queen, who had, only three days ago, spoken publicly 
 af him in very obliging terms.” Rosny, though nothing was further 
 from his meaning, begged them to keep the secret, pretending “ that he 
 was only going to take a slight refreshment, and then proceed on his 
 journey;” and, saying this, left them abruptly. “After this fine piece 
 af acting,” he says, “I had but just entered my apartment, and spoken 
 i few words to my people, when 1 felt somebody embrace me from be- 
 tind, W'ho told me ‘ that lie arrested me as a prisoner to the queen.’ 
 This was the captain of her guards, whose embrace 1 returned, and re- 
 alied, smiling, that ‘ I should esteem such imprisonment an honour.’ 
 lis orders were to conduct me directly to the queen. I therefore fol- 
 owed him.” 
 
 “‘It is well, monsieur de Rosny,’ said this princess to me, as soon as 
 ||f appeared; ‘and do you break my fences thus, and pass on, without 
 mining to see me ? I am greatly surprised at it, for 1 thought you bore 
 ne more affection than any of my servants, and I am persuaded that I 
 tave given you no cause to change these sentiments.’ ” After this agrce- 
 , ible beginning, she entered into a long, political conversation, drawing 
 lim on one side, that she might speak with the greater freedom, but in¬ 
 stead of having anything to tell, she made it her business to endeavour 
 o draw from the French minister all she could of his sovereign’s plans, 
 .vitli regard to the house of Austria. Ireland was then threatened with 
 in invasion from Spain, which rendered her desirous of causing a diver- 
 i don, by attacking that portion of the dominions of Philip 111., that was 
 nider the jurisdiction of the archduke. Rosny explained to her, that 
 he finances of Henry would not allow him to launch into aggressive 
 varfare. She rejoined, “ that there was a vital necessity for keeping the 
 lower of the house of Austria within due bounds, in which they ought 
 >oth to unite, but that the Low Countries ought to form an independent 
 epublic. 
 
 “Neither the whole, nor any part of those states, need be coveted,” 
 he said, “ by either herself, the king of France, or the king of Scotland, 
 vho would,” she added, “become, one day, king of Great Britain.” 1 
 This speech is the more remarkable, as it contains, not only very sound 
 cnse, but a quiet, dignified, and positive recognition of James VI. of 
 
 1 Sully’s Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 373. 
 

 558 ELIZABETH. 
 
 Scotland by Elizabeth, as her rightful successor, and it is strange that 
 this should have escaped the attention of all our historians; Sully him¬ 
 self records it without comment. Her allusion to the increased import¬ 
 ance of her realm, when blended with the sister country, is worthy of a 
 patriotic sovereign. Elizabeth, at that moment, rose superior to all 
 paltry jealousies, for she proudly felt the lasting benefit which her celi¬ 
 bacy had conferred on her subjects, in making the king of Scotland her 
 heir. The fact is deeply interesting, that it was from the lips of this last 
 and mightiest of England’s monarchs, that the style and title by which 
 her royal kinsman and his descendants should reign over the united 
 kingdoms of the Britannic empire, was first pronounced. It surely ought 
 not to have been forgotten that it was queen Elizabeth, herself, who gave 
 to that prospective empire the name of Great Britain. 
 
 The importance which Elizabeth placed on the maintenance of the 
 balance of power in Europe, and the clear and comprehensive view she 
 took of almost every point of continental politics, astonished Rosny. 
 The mighty projects she expressed her wish of assisting to realize, filled 
 him with wonder. She desired to see Germany restored to its ancient 
 liberty in respect to the election of its emperors, and the nomination of 
 a king of the Romans; to render the united provinces an independent 
 republic, and annexing to them some of the Germanic states; to do the 
 same by Switzerland. To divide all Christendom into a certain number 
 of powers, as equal as might be; and, last, to reduce all the various re¬ 
 ligions therein into three, which should appear the most numerous and 
 considerable. 1 
 
 This great and good statesman-historian bestows the most unqualified 
 commendations on Elizabeth : u I cannot,” says he, u bestow praises 
 upon the queen of England equal to the merit which I discovered in 
 her in this short time, both as to the qualities of her heart and her un¬ 
 derstanding.” 
 
 Many courteous messages and letters passed between Henry and Eli¬ 
 zabeth, while he remained at Calais and she at Dover. In the beginning 
 of September, Henry sent a grand slate embassy to his good sister of 
 England, headed by his troublesome subject, the due de Biron, who was 
 accompanied by the count d’Auvergne, the natural son of Charles IX. 
 of France, and nearly four hundred noblemen and gentlemen of quality. 
 Biron and his immediate suite were lodged in the ancient palace of Ri¬ 
 chard III., in Bishopsgate-street, (Crosby Hall,) while in London; but, 
 as Elizabeth had commenced her progress into Hampshire on the 5th 
 of September, which was the day of his arrival, he was soon after invited 
 to join her there, that he might partake of the sylvan sports in which 
 our royal Dian still indulged. 
 
 Elizabeth was, at that time, the guest of the marquis and marchioness 
 of Winchester, at Basing; she was so well pleased with her entertain¬ 
 ment, that she tarried there thirteen davs, to the great cost of the hos¬ 
 pitable marquis. 2 At Basing, she was joined by the due de Biron, who 
 was conducted into her presence, with great solemnity, by the sherifi 
 
 1 Sully’s Memoirs. 
 
 * Nichols 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 5.39 
 
 of the county-, whom she had sent to meet and welcome the distin¬ 
 guished stranger. She herself came forth, rovally mounted and accom¬ 
 panied, to the interview, and when she approached the spot where the 
 duke and his train waited to receive her greeting, the high-sheriff who 
 rode bare-headed before her majesty, being unacquainted with the stately 
 temper of his liege lady, checked his horse and brought the cavalcade 
 to a stand, imagining that her majesty would have then saluted the duke, 
 but she was much displeased, and bade him go on. The duke, on this, 
 reverentially followed her, cap in hand, bowing low towards his horse’s 
 mane for about twenty yards. Then Elizabeth suddenly paused, took 
 off her mask, and looking back, very courteously and graciously saluted 
 him, not having considered it meet for her to offer the first attention to 
 the subject of any other sovereign, till he had first shown her the respect 
 of following her, although he was the representative of a mighty mo¬ 
 narch, and her ally. 1 2 While Elizabeth was at Basing. Biron was lodged 
 at the Vine, a princely mansion belonging to the lord Sandys, which was 
 furnished, for the occasion, with plate and hangings from the Tower, and 
 other costly furniture from Hampton Court, besides a contribution of 
 seven score beds, and other furniture, which was willingly brought as a 
 loan at her majesty’s need, at only two days’ warning, by the loyal 
 people of Southampton. 
 
 The queen visited Biron at the Vine, in return for his visit to her at 
 Basing, and they hunted and feasted together in princely fashion. At 
 her departure from Basing, Elizabeth made ten knights, the largest num¬ 
 ber that she had ever made at one time. She said, that she had done 
 more than any of her ancestors had ever done, or any other prince in 
 Christendom was able to do — namely, in her Hampshire progress, this 
 year, entertained a royal ambassador royally in her subjects’ houses.” 
 On her homeward progress, the queen visited sir Edward Coke, her 
 attorney-general, at Stoke Pogeis, where she was most sumptuously 
 feasted, and presented with jewels and other gifts to the value of lOOOf 
 or 1200Z. 
 
 This month, the Spaniards effected a landing in Ireland, and took the 
 town of Kinsale, but were defeated, and finally driven out of that realm, 
 by the new lord-deputy, Mountjoye. Elizabeth returned to London 
 early in October; while there, she entertained Biron very splendidly, 
 and among other national spectacles, she showed him one, that must 
 have appalled even the man who had witnessed the horrors of the day 
 of St. Bartholomew. “ Holding Biron by the hand,” says Perefixe, 2 M she 
 pointed to a number of heads that were planted on the Tower, and told 
 him, k that it was thus they punished traitors in England.’ Not satisfied 
 with calling his attention to this ghastly company, she coolly recounted 
 to him the names of all her subjects whom she had brought to the block, 
 and among these, she mentioned the earl of Essex, whom she had once 
 80 passionately loved. 3 This incident it must have been that gave rise 
 
 'Nichols’ Progresses of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 2 Histoire Henri le Grand, vol. ii., pp. 84, 85. 
 
 * In recording this trait of Elizabeth, Perefixe makes no detractory comment; 
 he merely relates it as an historical fact, without appearing by any means im 
 

 5G0 ELIZABETH. 
 
 to the absurd, but not more revolting tale, “ that she showed Biron the 
 skull of that unfortunate nobleman, which,” it was said, “she always 
 kept in her closet.” ' 
 
 The great number of executions for treason, in the last thirty years 
 of Elizabeth’s reign, had indurated her heart, by rendering her mind »; 
 familiar with the most revolting details of torture and blood, and her 
 eyes to objects from which other women not only turn with shuddering 
 horror, but sicken and swoon if accidentally presented to their view; 
 but Elizabeth could not cross London Bridge without recognising the 
 features of gentlemen whom she had consigned to the axe or the halter. 
 The walls of her royal residence, the Tower, were also converted into 
 a Golgotha, and fearful it must have been for the ladies of her house¬ 
 hold and court to behold these mangled relics, from day to day— 
 
 “ While darkly they faded 
 Through all the dread stages of nature’s decay.” 
 
 Hentzner affirms, “ that he counted on London bridge no less than 
 three hundred heads of persons, who had been executed for high trea- j 
 son” — a melancholy evidence that Elizabeth, in her latter years, had 
 flung the dove from her sceptre, and exchanged curtana for the sword 
 of vengeance. 
 
 Sully, the great panegyrist of Elizabeth, and the personal foe of Biron, 
 relates “that Biron had a most extraordinary conversation with that 
 queen, and that he had the want of tact, not only to mention the earl 
 of Essex to her, but to bewail the fate of that nobleman, whose great 
 services had not been able to preserve him from so tragical a fate. Eli¬ 
 zabeth condescended to justify her conduct, by explaining to Biron the 
 nature of the perilous schemes in which Essex had madly engaged, 
 which rendered it necessary for her to punish him. She, however, 
 added, “ that notwithstanding his engaging in open rebellion, he might 
 still, by submission, have obtained her pardon, but that neither his 
 friends nor relations could prevail on him to ask it.” She, it seems, ; 
 was well aware of the proceedings of Biron himself, and it is supposed 
 that, as a warning to him, she enlarged much on the reverence and obe- ] 
 dience that was due from subjects to their sovereigns. It might possibly 
 have been, that, in the climax of the excitement caused by this discus¬ 
 sion, she showed Biron the heads of the unfortunate adherents of Essex 
 on the Tower, as a terrific evidence of the evil consequences of his reck¬ 
 less courses to his friends. Perefixe observes, “ that those who stood 
 by, and heard what the queen of England said to Biron on '.his occasion, 
 recalled the circumstances to mind, when they, soon after, saw him fall 
 into the same misfortune as the earl of Essex, by losing his head, after 
 he had lost the favour of his prince.” 
 
 Elizabeth summoned her last parliament, to meet at Westminster, on 
 the 27th of October, 1601. She opened it in person, with unwonted 
 
 pressed with the want of feminine feeling which it indicated. If he had a pre¬ 
 judice, it was in favour of Elizabeth, whom he highly commends, not only as 
 one of the greatest princesses in the world, but the best. 
 
 1 Mezerai and other French writers of an earlier date. Camden confutes the 
 report, by affirming that the head of Essex was buried with his body 
 18 * o 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 561 
 
 pomp, but her enfeebled frame was unable to support the weight of the 
 royal robes, and she was actually sinking to the ground, when the nearest 
 nobleman caught and supported tier in his arms. 1 Yet she rallied her 
 expiring energies, and went through the fatiguing ceremonial, with her 
 wonted dignity and grace. 
 
 The sessions commenced with a stormy discussion on monopolies, 
 which had now increased to so oppressive a degree, that the sole right 
 to sell or issue licences for the sale of wine, vinegar, oil, salt, starch, 
 steel, coals, and almost every necessary of life, was vested in the person 
 of some greedy, unprincipled courtier, or wealthy individual, who had 
 purchased that privilege from the minister or ladies of the bed-chamber. 2 
 The time had arrived when the people of England would bear this griev¬ 
 ance no longer. The exigencies of the government required an extra¬ 
 ordinary supply to carry on the expenses of the civil war in Ireland, and 
 the commons chose to discuss the monopoly question first, but the 
 queen prevented this exposure of the abuses of her government, by 
 sending a most gracious and conciliatory message to the house, signify¬ 
 ing her intention of redressing all grievances by the exercise of her regal 
 authority. The commons’ deputation, of one hundred and forty mem¬ 
 bers with their speaker, waited upon her to return thanks, and she ad¬ 
 dressed them at some length, expressing her affection for her people, 
 and her satisfaction “ that the harpies and horse-leeches,” as she, in her 
 energetic phraseology, termed the monopolists, had been exposed to her. 
 
 “ 1 had rather,” said she, “ that my heart and hand should perish, 
 than either heart or hand should allow such privileges to monopolists 
 as may be prejudicial to my people. The splendour of regal majesty 
 hath not so blinded mine eyes, that licentious power should prevail 
 with me more than justice. The glory of the name of a king may de¬ 
 ceive those princes that know not how to rule, as gilded pills may de¬ 
 ceive a sick patient. But I am none of those princes. For I know that 
 the commonwealth is to be governed for the good and advantage of those 
 that are committed to me, not of myself, to whom it is intrusted, and 
 that an account is one day to be given before another judgment-seat. I 
 think myself most happy that, by God’s assistance, I have hitherto so 
 prosperously governed the commonwealth, in all respects, and that I 
 have such subjects, that for their good 1 would willingly lose both king¬ 
 doms and life.” She concluded this beautiful speech, the last she ever 
 addressed to her senate, by entreating them ‘‘not to impute the blame 
 to her, if they had suffered from the abuses of which they complained, 
 for princes’ servants were too often set more upon their private advan¬ 
 tage, than the good of either the sovereign or the people.” 
 
 The parliament returned the most dutiful acknowledgments, and after 
 granting an extraordinary supply, was dissolved in November, having 
 scarcely sat six weeks. It was the last of Elizabeth’s reign. The fol¬ 
 lowing spring, the aged queen appeared to have made a considerable 
 rally in point of health. In March, 1602, the French ambassador re¬ 
 cords, that her majesty took her daily walking exercise on Richmond- 
 
 1 Lingard. a Parliamentary History ; D'Ewes ; Mackintosh; Rapin. 
 
 2l 
 
562 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 green, with greater spirit and activity than could have been expected at 
 her years. 
 
 On the 28th of April, she entertained the duke of Nevers, with a 
 costly banquet, at her palace at Richmond, and, after dinner, opened the 
 ball with him, in a galliard, which she danced with wonderful agility for 
 her time of life. The French ambassador, Beaumont, notices, that this 
 was the first time she had honoured any foreign prince in this way since 
 she footed it so bravely with her last royal suitor, the duke of Alengon. 
 The duke of Nevers repaid the courtesy of his august partner, with 
 many compliments, not only kissing her hand, but her foot also, when 
 she showed him her leg, a trait of levity too absurd almost for credi¬ 
 bility, though recorded by an eye-witness, who says, that she used 
 many pleasant discourses with him. 1 
 
 On the 1st of May, Elizabeth honoured the sylvan customs of Eng¬ 
 land, in the olden time, by going a Maying, with her court, in the green 
 glades of Lewisham, two or three miles from her palace of Greenwich. 2 
 To use a familiar phrase, she appeared as if she had taken a new lease 
 of life; and she adopted the whimsical method of damping the eager 
 hopes of the king of Scotland, for his speedy succession to the English 
 throne, by keeping his ambassador, sir Roger Aston, waiting for his 
 audience, in a place where he could see her, behind a part of the tapes¬ 
 try, which was turned back, as if by accident, dancing, in her privy- 
 chamber, to the sound of a small fiddlo, and the royal Terpsichore, 
 actually kept his excellency cooling his heels in the lobby, while she 
 performed corantos, and other gallant feats of dancing, that he might re¬ 
 port to his sovereign how vigorous and sprightly she was, and that his 
 inheritance might yet be long in coming. 3 
 
 This summer, she made a little series of festive visits in the vicinity 
 of her metropolis, and was gratified with the usual sum of adulation and 
 presents, but it is expressly noticed, that, on her visit to the earl of Not¬ 
 tingham, she was disappointed, because she was not presented with the 
 costly suit of tapestry hangings, which represented all the battles of her 
 valiant host with the Spanish Armada. 4 
 
 In July, queen Elizabeth entertained the lady ambassadress of France 
 at her palace of Greenwich ; and it is noticed by Harrington, “ that her 
 excellency gave away fans, purses, and masks very bountifully.” Another 
 courtier describes the gay life Elizabeth was leading in the month of 
 September:— u We are frolic here at court: much dancing in the privy- 
 chamber, of country dances before the queen’s majesty, who is exceed¬ 
 ingly pleased therewith. Irish tunes are at this time most liked; but in 
 winter, Lullaby, an old song of Mr. Bird’s, will be more in request as 
 I think.” This was the opinion of the earl of Worcester, 5 an-ancient 
 servant and contemporary of the queen, who thought that a refreshing 
 nap. lulled by the soft sounds of Bird’s exquisite melody, 6 would better 
 
 ‘Lodge. Lingard. '■‘Nichols. 3 Weldon. “ Nichols’ Progresses. 
 
 “Letter of the earl of Worcester to the earl of Shrewsbury. Lodges Illustra¬ 
 tions, vol. ii. p. 578. 
 
 “William Bird was organist of the royal chapel in this reign, and one of the 
 greatest among English composers, at an era when England possessed national 
 music, and had composers who produced original melodies. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 5G3 
 
 suit his royal mistress than her usual afteV-uiniier diversions of frisking, 
 beneath the burden of seventy years, to some of the spirit-stirring Irish 
 times newly imported to the English court. Under this gay exterior the 
 mighty Elizabeth carried a heart full of profound grief; and she might 
 truly have said— 
 
 “ From sport to sport they hurry me, 
 
 To conquer my despair.'’ 
 
 It was observed that, after the death of Essex, the people ceased to 
 greet the queen with the demonstrations of rapturous affection with 
 which they had been accustomed to salute her when she appeared in 
 public. They could not forgive the loss of that generous and gallant 
 nobleman, the only popular object of her favour, whom she had cut off 
 in the flower of his days; and now, whenever she was seen, a gloomy 
 silence reigned in the streets through which she passed. These indica¬ 
 tions of the change in her subjects’ feelings towards her are said to have 
 sunk deeply into the mind of the aged queen, and occasioned that 
 depression of spirits which preceded her death. 
 
 A trifling incident is also supposed to have made a painful and 
 ominous impression on her imagination. Her coronation ring, which 
 she had worn, night and day, ever since her inauguration, having grown 
 into her finger, it became necessary to have it filed off; and this was 
 regarded by her as an evil portent. 
 
 In the beginning of June, she confided to the French ambassador, 
 Count de Beaumont, “ that she was a-weary of life,” and, with sighs 
 and tears, alluded to the death of Essex, that subject w'hich appears to 
 have been ever in her thoughts, and, “ when unthought of, still the 
 Spring of thought.” She said, “ that being aware of the impetuosity of 
 his temper and his ambitious character, she had warned him two years 
 before to content himself with pleasing her, and not to show such 
 insolent contempt for her as he did on some occasions, but to take care 
 not to touch her sceptre, lest she should be compelled to punish him 
 according to the laws of England, and not according to her own, which 
 he had always found too mild and indulgent for him to fear anything 
 from them. His neglect of this caution,” she added, “had caused his 
 ruin.” 
 
 Henry IV., notwithstanding the earnest intercessions he had made, 
 through his ambassador, for the life of Essex, greatly applauded Eliza¬ 
 beth for her resolution in bringing him to the block, and observed, “ that 
 if his predecessor, Henry III., had possessed a portion of her high spirit, 
 he would have quelled the insolence of the duke of Guise and his fac¬ 
 tion in their first attempts to overawe the throne.” He said, many times, 
 in the presence of his court, that “ she oniy was a king, and knew how 
 to govern — how to support the dignity of her crown; and that the 
 repose and weal of her subjects required the course she had taken.” 1 
 
 Elizabeth appears to have felt differently on this subject, which pressed 
 heavily on her mind; perhaps more so than many a less justifiable act 
 of severity, as the deaths of the duke of Norfolk and the queen of Scots 
 
 'Winwood’s Memorials. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 561 
 
 
 But this was the drop that surcharged the cup; and the infirmities of 
 frail humanity warned her that the hour was not far distant when she 
 must render up an account for the blood she had shed; and, however 
 satisfactory her reasons, for what she had done, might have appeared to 
 other sovereigns and to her partial subjects, neither expediency nor 
 sophistry would avail aught at the tribunal, where the secrets of all 
 hearts are unveiled. Besides, she had hitherto destroyed her enemies, 
 or those whom she deemed the friends of her foes. Now she had 
 taken the life of her nearest kinsman and best loved friend, of him whom 
 she had cherished in his early youth with the tenderness of a mother, 
 and, after he advanced to manhood, regarded with the perilous fondness 
 of a jealous lover. 
 
 One of the members of Elizabeth’s household gives the following 
 account of the state of the queen’s mind, in a letter to a confidential 
 correspondent, in the service of her successor :—“ Our queen is troubled 
 with a rheum in her arm, which vexeth her very much, besides the grief 
 she hath conceived for my lord of Essex’s death. She sleepeth not so 
 much by day as she used, neither taketh rest by night. Her delight is 
 to sit in the dark, and sometimes with shedding tears, to bewail Essex.” 
 
 There was a vain endeavour, on the part of her cabinet, to amuse the 
 mind of the declining melancholy sovereign, with a new favourite, the 
 young and handsome earl of Clanricarde, who was considered to bear 
 a striking likeness to him whom she so vainly lamented ; but the resem¬ 
 blance only increased her dejection. The countess of Essex, however, 
 found consolation for her loss, in this likeness: for she ultimately took 
 the earl of Clanricarde for her third husband. 
 
 The state of queen Elizabeth’s mind, as well as the breaking up of 
 her constitution, is pathetically described by her godson, Harrington, in 
 a confidential letter to his wife. 1 He says, “ Our dear queen, my royal 
 godmother, and this state’s natural mother, doth now bear show of 
 human infirmity too fast for that evil which we shall get by her death, 
 and too slow for that good which she shall get by her releasement from 
 her pains and misery. 1 was bidden to her presence; I blessed the 
 happy moment, and found her in most pitiable state. She bade the arch¬ 
 bishop ask me if I had seen Tyrone? I replied with reverence, ‘that I 
 had seen him with the lord-deputy (Essex). She looked up, with much 
 choler and grief in her countenance, and said, ‘ Oh ! now it mindeth me 
 that you were one, who saw this man elsewhere ,’ and hereat she dropped 
 a tear and smote her bosom. She held in her hand a golden cup, which 
 she oft put to her lips, but, in sooth, her heart seemeth too full to lack 
 more filling. This sight moved me to think of what passed in Ireland; 
 and I trust she did not less think on some who were busier there than 
 myself. She gave me a message to the lord-deputy (Mountjoye,) and 
 bade me come to the chamber at seven o’clock. 
 
 “ Her majesty inquired of some matters which I had written; and as 
 she was pleased to note my fanciful brain, I was not unheedful to feed 
 her humour, and read some verses; whereat she smiled once, and was 
 pleased to say, ‘ When thou dost feel creeping Time at thy gate, these 
 
 'Dated December 27, 1602. 
 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 565 
 
 fooleries will please thee less. I am past my relish for such matters. 
 Thou seest my bodily meal doth not suit me well. 1 have eaten but 
 one ill-tasted cake since yesternight.’ She rated most grievously, at 
 nooii, at some, who minded not to bring up certain matters of account. 
 Several men have been sent to, and, when ready at hand, her highness 
 hath dismissed in anger; but who, dearest Mall, shall say, * 1 Your high¬ 
 ness hath forgotten ?” 1 
 
 These fits of despondency occasionally cleared away; and we find 
 Elizabeth exhibiting fits of active mirthfulness, especially at the expense 
 of her dwarfish premier, Cecil, who habitually played the lover to her 
 majesty. She sometimes so far forgot the dignity of her age and exalted 
 station, as to afford him a sort of whimsical encouragement by making 
 a butt of him. A ludicrous instance of her coquetry is related by one 
 of her courtiers, in a letter to the earl of Shrewsbury :—“ 1 send your 
 lordship here enclosed,” writes he, “some verses compounded by Mr. 
 Secretary, who got Hales to frame a ditty to it. The occasion was, 1 
 hear, that the young lady Derby, 2 wearing about her neck and in her 
 bosom, a dainty tablet, the queen, espying it, asked, ‘ What fine jewel 
 that was?’ Lady Derby was anxious to excuse showing it; but the 
 queen would have it. She opened it, and, finding it to he Mr. Secre¬ 
 tary’s picture, she snatched it from lady Derby’s neck, and tied it upon 
 her own shoe, and walked about with it there. Then she took it from 
 thence, and pinned it on her elbow, and wore it some time there also. 
 When Mr. Secretary Cecil was told of this, he made these verses, and 
 caused Hales to sing them in his apartments. It was told her majesty 
 that Mr. Secretary Cecil had rare music and songs in his chamber. She 
 chose to hear them, and the ditty was sung.” The poetry was not 
 worth quoting; but the verses, it seems, expressed, “that he repines 
 not, though her majesty may please to grace others; for his part, he is 
 content with the favour his picture received.” This incident took place 
 when the royal coquette was in her seventieth year. Strange scenes are 
 occasionally revealed when the mystic curtain, that veils the penetralia 
 of kings and queens from vidgar curiosity, is, after the lapse of centuries, 
 withdrawn by the minuteness of biographical research. What a deli¬ 
 cious subject for an “ H. B.” caricature would the stately Elizabeth and 
 her pigmy secretary have afforded ! 
 
 Cecil was, however, at that time the creature of the expecting impa¬ 
 tient heir of his royal mistress, with whom he maintained almost a daily 
 correspondence. One day, a packet, from king James, was delivered to 
 him in the presence of the queen, which he knew contained allusions to 
 his secret practices with her successor. Elizabeth’s quick eye, doubt¬ 
 less, detected the furtive glance, which taught him to recognise that it 
 was a dangerous missive; and she ordered him instantly to open and 
 show the contents of his letters to her. A timely recollection of one 
 
 1 Nug:e Antiquae, vol. i. p. 320. 
 
 1 Lodge’s Illustrations, vol. ii. 576. Elizabeth, eldest daughter to the eari of 
 Oxford, hy Cecil's sister, lady Anne, married the earl of Derby, 1594. As the 
 
 lady was Cecil's niece, it is singular that she showed reluctance to display her 
 uncle's picture. 
 
5GG 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 of her weak points saved the wi!v minister from detection. “ This 
 packet,” said he, as he slowly drew forth his knife and prepared to cut 
 the strings, which fastened it— u this packet has a strange and evil smell. 
 Surely it has not been in contact with infected persons or goods.” Eli¬ 
 zabeth’s dread of contagion prevailed over both curiosity and suspicion, 
 and she hastily ordered Cecil to throw it at a distance, and not bring it 
 into her presence again till it had been thoroughly fumigated. 1 He, 
 of course, took care to purify it of the evidence of his own guilty 
 deeds 
 
 James I. obtained a great ascendancy in the councils of Elizabeth during 
 the last years of her life, although the fact was far from suspected by the 
 declining queen, who all the while flattered herself that it was she who, 
 from the secret recesses of her closet, governed the realm of Scotland, 
 and controlled the actions of her royal successor. The circumstance 
 of his being her successor, however, gave James that power in his re¬ 
 versionary realm of England, of which he afterwards boasted to the great 
 Sully, the ambassador from France, telling him, “ that it was he who 
 actually governed England for several years before the death of Eliza¬ 
 beth, having gained all her ministers, who were guided by his directions 
 in all things.” Even Harrington, dearly as he loved his royal mistress, 
 showed signs and tokens of this worship paid to the rising sun, when 
 he sent a jewel in the form of a dark-lantern, as a new year’s gift to 
 James, signifying that the failing lamp of life waxed dim with the de¬ 
 parting queen, and would soon be veiled in the darkness of the tomb. 
 
 The queen still took pleasure, between whiles, in witnessing the 
 sports of young people. It is noted in the Sidney papers, “ that on St. 
 Stephen’s day, in the afternoon, Mrs. Mary,” some maiden of the court, 
 “ danced before the queen two galliards, with one Mr. Palmer, the ad- 
 mirablest dancer of this time; both were much commended by her ma¬ 
 jesty ; then she (Mrs. Mary) danced with him a coranto. The queen 
 kissed Mr. William Sidney in the presence, as she came from the chapel; 
 my lady Warwick presented him.” 
 
 Elizabeth’s correspondence with lord Mountjoye is among the extra¬ 
 vaganzas of her private life. He was her deputy in Ireland, the successor 
 of Essex, formerly a rival favourite, and was forced to assume, like his 
 predecessor and Raleigh, the airs of a despairing lover of the queen, 
 whenever he had any point to carry with her, either for his public or 
 private interest. His letters generally begin with, “ Dear Sovereign,” 
 “ Sacred Majesty,” “ Sacred and dear Sovereign;” his phraseology, 
 though very caressing, is not so fulsome as that of Essex, nor so auda¬ 
 cious, in its flights of personal flattery, as that of Raleigh; however, 
 considering that Elizabeth was nearly seventy, and Mountjoye a hand¬ 
 some man of five-and-thirty, the following passage must have been diffi¬ 
 cult of digestion, written on some reverse in Ireland, for which he 
 anticipated blame at court: “ This, most dear sovereign, I do not write 
 with any swelling justification of myself. If any impious longue do tax 
 my proceedings, 1 will patiently bless it, that by making me suffer fot 
 
 1 Sir Walter Scott's History of Scotland. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 your sake—I that have suffered for your sake a torment above all others, 
 a grieved and despised love.” 1 * 
 
 Elizabeth answered this deceitful effusion with the following absurd 
 billet: 
 
 Thf. Queen to Lotid Mountjoye. 
 
 “ O what melancholy humour hath exhaled up into your brain from a full 
 fraughted heart that should breed such doubt—bred upon no cause given by us 
 at all, never having pronounced any syllable upon which such a work should be 
 framed 1 There is no louder trump that may sound out your praise, your hazard, 
 your care, your luck, than we have blasted in all our court, and elsewhere, 
 indeed ! 
 
 “ Well, I will attribute it to God’s good providence for you, that (lest all these 
 glories might elevate you too much) he hath suffered (though not made) such a 
 scruple to keep you under his rod, who best knows we have more need of bits 
 than spurs. Thus ‘ valeant ista aniara; ad Tartaros eat melancholia!’ 
 
 “ Your sovereign, 
 
 “E. R.” 
 
 “Endorsed in the hand of Robert Cecil:’—‘A copy of her majesty's letter, lest 
 you cannot read it,’ then in lord Mountjoye's hand, ‘ received in January, at 
 Arbracken.’ ” 
 
 It is by lady Southwell, one of queen Elizabeth’s ladies immediately 
 about her person, that the melancholy marvels attending her death are 
 recorded. This narrative is still in existence 3 * 5 in the original MSS.; the 
 costume of place, time, and diurnal routine, render it a precious docu¬ 
 ment. After making every allowance for the marvellousness of the 
 writer, it evidently depicts the departure of a person unsettled in reli¬ 
 gion, and uneasy in conscience. 
 
 “ Her majesty,” says lady Southwell, “being in very good health one 
 day, sir John Stanhope, vice-chamberlain, and sir Robert Cecil’s de¬ 
 pendant and familiar, came and presented her maiesty with a piece of 
 gold, of the bigness of an angel, full of characters, which he said an old 
 woman in Wales had bequeathed to her (the queen) on her death-bed, 
 and thereupon he discoursed how the said testatrix, by virtue of the 
 piece of gold, lived to the age of 120 years, and in that age having all 
 her body withered and consumed, and wanting nature to nourish her, 
 she died, commanding the said piece of gold to be carefully sent to her 
 majesty, alleging further, that as long as she wore it on her body she 
 could not die. The queen in confidence took the said gold, and hung 
 it about her neck.” This fine story has crept very widely into history, 
 and even into ambassadors’ despatches; but the genealogy of the magic 
 piece of gold has never before been duly defined. There can be little 
 doubt that Elizabeth and her minister were absurd enough to accept the 
 talisman, but its adoption was followed by a general breaking up of her 
 constitution, instead of its renewal. “ Though she became not suddenly 
 
 1 The deceiver was, in reality, passionately in love with Penelope, lady Rich, 
 the beauitful sister of Essex. 
 
 ’ It seems the letter was an autograph, but so illegible, being written but a few 
 
 weeks before the queen’s death, that her secretary was obliged to copy it, that 
 
 its sense might be comprehended. 
 
 5 It is at Stonyhurst, endorsed by the hands of Persons, “ The relation of the 
 lady Southwell of the late Q(eeen’s) death, po. Aprilis, 1007.” 
 
558 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 sick, yet she daily decreased of her rest and feeding, and within fifteen 
 days,” continues lady Southwell, “ she fell downright ill, and the cause 
 being wondered at by my lady Scrope, with whom she was very private 
 and confidant, being her near kinswoman, her majesty told her, (com¬ 
 manding her to conceal the same), ‘ that she saw one night her own 
 body exceedingly lean and fearful in a light of fire.’ This vision was 
 at Whitehall, a little before she departed for Richmond, and was testified 
 by another lady, who was one of the nearest about her person, of whom 
 the queen demanded, ‘ Whether she was not wont to see sights in the 
 night?’ telling her of the bright flame she had seen.” This is a com¬ 
 mon deception of the sight, in a highly vitiated state of bile; but, in 
 the commencement of the 17th century, educated individuals were as 
 ignorant of physiology as infants of three years old of the present day; 
 these imaginative vagaries are very precious, as proofs of the gradual 
 progress of knowledge, and its best result, wisdom. The next anecdote, 
 however, goes far beyond all our present discoveries in optics : 
 
 tk Afterwards, in the melancholy of her sickness, she desired to see a 
 true looking-glass, which in twenty years before she had not seen, but 
 only such a one as on purpose was made to deceive her sight, which 
 true looking-glass being brought her, she presently fell exclaiming at all 
 those flatterers which had so much commended her, and they durst not 
 after come into her presence.” Her attendants had doubtless left olf 
 painting her, and she happened to see her natural face in the glass. 
 
 A fearful complication of complaints had settled on the queen, and 
 began to draw visibly to a climax. She suffered greatly with the gout 
 in her hands and fingers, but was never heard to complain of what she 
 felt in the way of personal pain, but continued to talk of progresses and 
 festivities, as though she expected her days to be prolonged through 
 years to come. 
 
 Early in the new year 1603, Elizabeth honoured the French ambas 
 sador, by standing godmother to his infant daughter, but performed this 
 office by proxy, as it would scarcely have been consistent with her 
 absolute prohibition ol the rites of the church of Rome, if she had 
 assisted in person at a Roman-catholic ceremonial. It is quaintly stated, 
 in the contemporary record, “ that the queen christened the French am¬ 
 bassador’s daughter by her deputy, the lady marquesse, the countess of 
 Worcester, and the lord-admiral, being her assistants.” 1 
 
 On the 14th of January, the queen having sickened two days before 
 of a cold, and being forewarned by Dee, who retained his mysterious 
 influence over her mind to the last, to beware of Whitehall, 2 removed to 
 Richmond, which she said,was the warm winter-box to shelter her 
 old age.” The morning before she departed, her kinsman, the lord- 
 admiral, coming to her to receive her orders, partly concerning the 
 removal and partly touching other matters, she fell into some speech 
 touching the succession, and then told him, tk that her throne had 
 always been the throne of kings, and none but her next heir of blood 
 
 1 Nichols. 
 
 ’The queen's last sickness and death. Cotton 3IS. Titus, c. vii. folio 46. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 539 
 
 and descent should succeed.” This, confirmed as it is by her remark 
 to Sully, “ that the king of Scotland would hereafter become king of 
 Great Britain,” proves that Elizabeth, however jealous she might be of 
 James during her life, had no wish to entail the legacy of a civil war on 
 her people, by changing the legitimate order of the succession. Her 
 displeasure against those, who might pretend to set up a rival claim to 
 the elder line, was sufficiently indicated by the acrimonious manner in 
 which she named the son of lady Katharine Gray, and her imprisonment 
 of the innocent lady Arabella Stuart, at Sheriff Hutton. Elizabeth re¬ 
 moved, on a wet, stormy day, to Richmond; but when she first arrived, 
 the change of air appeared to have had a salutary effect, for she was well 
 amended of her cold ; but, on the 28th of February, she began to sicken 
 again. 
 
 All contemporary writers bear witness to the increased dejection of 
 her mind, after visiting her dying kinswoman, the countess of Notting¬ 
 ham ; but the particulars of that visit rest on historical tradition only. 
 It is said that the countess, pressed in conscience on account of her de¬ 
 tention of the ring, which Essex had sent to the queen as an appeal to 
 her mercy, could not die in peace until she had revealed the truth to her 
 majesty, and craved her pardon. But Elizabeth, in a transport of mingled 
 grief and fury, shook, or, as others have said, struck the dying penitent 
 in her bed, with these words, “God may forgive you, but I never 
 can!” 1 
 
 The death-bed confession of the countess of Nottingham gave a rude 
 shock to the fast-ebbing sands of the sorrow-stricken queen. Her dis¬ 
 tress on that occasion, though the circumstances which caused it were 
 not generally known, till more than a century afterwards, is mentioned 
 by I)e Beaumont, the French ambassador, in a letter to Monsieur de 
 Villeroy, in which he informs him, “ that, having received the letter 
 from the king his master, he requested an audience of the queen in order 
 to present it, but she desired to be excused on account of the death of 
 the countess of Nottingham, for which she had wept extremely, and 
 shown an uncommon concern.” 
 
 It is almost a fearful task to trace the passage of the mighty Elizabeth 
 through the “dark valley of the shadow of death.” Many have been 
 dazzled with the splendour of her life, but few, even of her most ardent 
 admirers, would wish their last end might be like hers. 
 
 Robert Citrey, afterwards earl of Monmouth, was admitted to the 
 chamber of his royal kinswoman during her last illness, and has left the 
 following pathetic record of the state in which he found her:— 
 
 “When I came to court,” says he, “ I found the queen ill-disposed 
 and she kept her inner lodging; yet, hearing of my arrival, she sent for 
 me. I found her in one of her with drawing-chambers, sitting low upon 
 her cushions. She called me to her; I kissed her hand, and told her it 
 was my chiefest happiness to see her in safety and in health, which I 
 wished might long continue. She took me by the hand, and wrung it 
 
 ‘Lady Elizabeth Spelman's Narrative in Life of Carey, earl of Monmouth. 
 Be Maurier’s Memoirs of Holland. 
 
570 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 hard, and said, ‘No, Robin, I am not well? and then discoursed to me 
 of her indisposition, and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten 
 or twelve days, and in her discourse she fetched not so few as forty or 
 fifty great sighs. I was grieved, at the first, to see her in this plight, for 
 in all my lifetime before, I never saw her fetch a sigh, but when the 
 queen of Scots was beheaded. Then, upon my knowledge, she shed 
 many sighs and tears, manifesting her innocence that she never gave 
 consent to the death of that queen. I used the best words I could to 
 persuade her from this melancholy humour, but I found it was too deep- 
 rooted in her heart, and hardly to be removed. This was upon a Satur¬ 
 day night, and she gave command that the great closet should be pre¬ 
 pared for her to go to chapel the next morning. The next day, all 
 things being in readiness, we long expected her coining. 
 
 “ After eleven o’clock, one of the grooms (of the chambers) came out, 
 and bade make ready for the private closet, for she would not go to the 
 great. There we stayed long for her coming; but at the last she had 
 cushions laid for her in the privy-chamber, hard by the closet door, and 
 there she heard the service. From that day forward she grew worse 
 and worse; she remained upon her cushions four days and nights at the 
 least. All about her could not persuade her either to take any suste¬ 
 nance, or to go to bed.” 1 
 
 Beaumont, the French ambassador, affords a yet more gloomy picture 
 of the sufferings of mind and body, which rendered the progress of the 
 “ dreaded and dreadful Elizabeth” to the tomb, an awful lesson on the 
 vanity of all earthly distinctions and glories in the closing stage of life, 
 when nothing but the witness of a good conscience, and a holy reliance 
 on the mercy of a Redeemer’s love, can enable shrinking nature to con¬ 
 template, with hope and comfort, the dissolution of its earthly taber¬ 
 nacle. 
 
 On the 19th of March, Ue Beaumont informs the king, his master, 
 
 “ that queen Elizabeth had been very much indisposed for the last four¬ 
 teen days, having scarcely slept at all during that period, and eaten much 
 less than usual, being seized with such a restlessness, that, though she 
 had no decided fever, she felt a great heat in her stomach, and a con¬ 
 tinual thirst, which obliged her every moment to take something to 
 abate it, and to prevent the phlegm, with which she was sometimes op¬ 
 pressed, from choking her. Some ascribed her disorder to her uneasi¬ 
 ness with regard to lady Arabella Stuart; others, to her having been 
 obliged, by her council, to grant a pardon to her Irish rebel, Tyrone. 
 Many were of opinion that her distress of mind was caused by the death 
 of Essex; but all agreed, that, before her illness became serious, she 
 discovered an unusual melancholy, both in her countenance and man- • 
 ner.” “ The queen,” says another contemporary, “ had fallen into a 
 state of moping, sighing, and weeping melancholy; and being asked, by 
 her attendants, ‘ Whether she had any secret cause of grief.” she re¬ 
 plied, ‘ that she knew of nothing in this world worthy of troubling j 
 her.’ ” She was obstinate in refusing everything prescribed by her phy¬ 
 sicians. __I 
 
 1 Autobiography of Carey, earl of Monmouth, edited by the earl of Cork. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 571 
 
 Three days after, Beaumont wrote, “ that the queen of England had 
 been somewhat better the day before, but was that day worse, and so 
 full of chagrin, and so weary of life, that, notwithstanding all the en¬ 
 treaties of her councillors and physicians for her to take the proper 
 medicine and means necessary for her relief, she refused everything.’’ 
 
 “ The queen grew worse and worse,” says her kinsman, sir Robert 
 Carey, 1 “ because she would be so—none about her being able to per¬ 
 suade her to go to bed.” A general report of her death prevailed, not 
 only in her own dominions, but on the Continent, as we tind by the 
 reports of De Beaumont, the French ambassador. 
 
 On Wednesday, the lord-admiral was sent for, as the person who 
 possessed the most influence with the queen; he was one of her nearest 
 surviving kinsmen, being the first-cousin of queen Anne Boleyn, whose 
 mother, the lady Elizabeth Howard, was his father’s sister. He had also 
 married a Carey, the grand-daughter of the queen’s aunt, Mary Boleyn. 
 He was then in great affliction for the death of his lady, and had retired 
 from the court, to indulge his grief in privacy, for tbe sight of doole 
 (mourning) was as distasteful to queen Elizabeth as to her father. She 
 was aware that those about her anticipated a fatal termination to her 
 present malady, and felt in herself the unmistakeable symptoms of the 
 slow, but sure approach of death, and though she had, with sighs and 
 tears, acknowledged herself weary of life, there was a fearful shrinking 
 manifested, when she found herself actually poised on the narrow 
 threshold that divides time from eternity; and, as if she thought that 
 her reluctance to cross that awful bound would alter the immutable 
 decree that had gone forth against her, she refused to admit her danger, 
 or to do anything which bore the appearance of death-bed preparations. 2 
 
 The archbishop of Canterbury and Cecil entreated her to receive 
 medical aid, but she angrily told them, “ that she knew her own consti¬ 
 tution better than they did, and that she was not in so much danger as 
 they imagined.” 3 The admiral came, and knelt beside her, where she 
 sat among her cushions, sullen and unresigned; he kissed her hands, 
 and, with tears, implored her to take a little nourishment. After much 
 ado, he prevailed so far, that she received a little broth, from his hands; 
 he feeding her with a spoon. But when he urged her to go to bed. she 
 angrily refused, and then, in wild and wandering words, hinted of phan¬ 
 tasma, that had troubled her midnight couch. “ If he were in the habit 
 of seeing such things in his bed,” she said, “as she did when in hers, 
 he would not persuade her to go there.” Secretary Cecil, overhearing 
 this speech, asked, “ If her majesty had seen any spirits ?” A flash of 
 Elizabeth’s mighty mind, for an instant, triumphed over the wreck of 
 her bodily and mental faculties; she knew the man, and was aware he 
 had been truckling with her successor, lie was not in her confidence, 
 and she answered, majestically, “ she scorned to answer him such a 
 question!” But Cecil’s pertness was not subdued by the lion-like mien 
 of dying majesty, and he told her, that “ to content the people, she must 
 go to bed.” At which she smiled, wonderfully contemning him, ob- 
 
 1 Autobiography of Carey, earl of Monmouth. 
 
 * Birch. 
 
 5 Ibid. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 57'3 
 
 serving, “ the word must was not to be used to princes,” adding, “ Little 
 man, little man, if your lather had lived, ye durst not have said so much, 
 but ye know I must die, and that makes ye so presumptuous.” She 
 then commanded him and the rest to depart out of her chamber, all but 
 lord-admiral Howard, to whom, as her near relation and fast friend 
 through life, she was confidential to the last, even regarding those unreal 
 phantasms, which, when her great mind awoke for a moment, it is plain 
 she referred to their proper causes. When Cecil and his colleagues 
 were gone, the queen, shaking her head piteously, said to her brave 
 kinsman, “ My lord. 1 am tied with a chain of iron about my neck.” 
 
 The lord-admiral reminded her of her wonted courage, but she re¬ 
 plied, despondiugly, “ I am tied—I am tied, and the case is altered with 
 me.” The queen understood that secretary Cecil had given forth to the 
 people that site was mad; therefore, in her sickness, she did many times 
 say to him, “Cecil, I know I am not mad; you must not think to make 
 queen Jane of me.” She evidently alluded to the unfortunate queen- 
 regnant of Castille, the mad Joanna, mother of Charles V., whose sad 
 life, as a regal maniac, was fresh in the memory of her dying contem¬ 
 porary. 
 
 Her ladies, however, bear firm witness of her sanity; “for,” says lady 
 Southwell, “ though many reports, by Cecil’s means, were spread of her 
 distraction, neither myself, nor any other lady about her, could ever 
 perceive that her speeches, ever well applied, proceeded from a dis¬ 
 tracted mind.” Partly by the admiral’s persuasions, and partly by force, 
 she was at length carried to bed; but there she lay not long, for again 
 the French ambassador informs the king, his master, “ that the queen 
 continued to grow worse, and appeared in a manner insensible, not 
 speaking above once in two or three hours, and at last remained silent 
 for four-and-twenty, holding her finger almost continually in her mouth, 
 with her rayless eyes open, and fixed on the ground, where she sat on 
 cushions, without rising or resting herself, and was greatly emaciated 
 by her long watching and fasting.” 
 
 Some attempt appears to have been made to charm away the dark 
 spirit that had come over the queen, by the power of melody, at this 
 dread crisis; for Beaumont says, “ This morning, the queen’s music has 
 gone to her.” He sarcastically adds, “ I believe she means to die as 
 gaily as she has lived.” In his next report, he says, “The queen hastens 
 to her end, and is given up by all her physicians. They have put her 
 to bed, almost by force, after she had sat upon cushions for ten days,' 
 and has rested barely an hour each day in her clothes.” After she was 
 undressed, and pieced more at her ease, in a recumbent posture, she re¬ 
 vived, and called for broth, and seemed so much better, that hopes were 
 entertained of her, but soon after she became speechless. When she 
 found herself failing she desired some meditations to be read to her, 
 and named those ol Du Plessis de Mornaye. Yet more, alas ! of super¬ 
 stition than devotion appears to have attended the last days of this 
 
 1 Tin's must be a great exaggeration, since Carey and lady Southwell only say 
 four. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 573 
 
 mighty victress—mighty queen; and gloomy indeed were the clouds in 
 which she, who had been proudly styled “ the western luminary,” set 
 at last. If we may credit the details of lady Southwell, who has re¬ 
 corded every circumstance of her royal mistress’s last illness with gra¬ 
 phic minuteness, some singular traits of weakness were exhibited by 
 Elizabeth, and before the testimony of this daily witness of the occur¬ 
 rences of that epoch be rejected, the reader must bear in mind Eliza¬ 
 beth’s well-authenticated practices with the astrologer, Dee. 
 
 Lady Southwell affirms, “ that the two ladies in waiting discovered 
 the queen of hearts, with a nail of iron knocked through the forehead, 
 and thus fastened to the bottom of her majesty’s chair; they durst not 
 pull it out, remembering that the like thing was used to the old countess 
 of Sussex, and afterwards proved a witchcraft, for which certain persons 
 were hanged, as instruments of the same.” It was perfectly inconse¬ 
 quential whether the queen of hearts or any other bit of card, was nailed 
 at the bottom of the queen’s chair; but the fantastical idea of putting it 
 there, and the terror of the poor ladies who would, but durst not, re¬ 
 move it, because of the horrid sacrifice of human life that attended all 
 suspicion of witchcraft, are lively illustrations of the characteristics of 
 that era. As the mortal illness of the queen drew towards its close, the 
 superstitious fears of her simple ladies were excited almost to mania, 
 even to conjuring up a spectral apparition of the queen while she was 
 yet alive. Lady Guildford, then in waiting on the queen, and leaving 
 her in an almost breathless sleep in her privy-chamber,' went out to take 
 a little air, and met her majesty, as she thought, three or four chambers 
 off. Alarmed at the thoughts of being discovered in the act of leaving 
 the royal patient alone, she hurried forward, in some trepidation, in 
 order to excuse herself, when the apparition vanished away. Lady 
 Guildford returned, terrified, to the chamber, but there laid queen Eliza¬ 
 beth still in the same lethargic, motionless slumber, in which she had 
 left her. 
 
 On the 24th of March, Beaumont, the French ambassador, made the 
 following report of the state of the departing monarch :—“ The queen 
 was given up three days ago; she had lain long in a cold sweat,and had 
 not spoken. A short time previously she said, ‘ I wish not to live any 
 longer, but desire to die.’ Yesterday and the day before, she began to 
 rest, and found herself better after, having been greatly relieved by the 
 bursting of a small swelling in the throat. She takes no medicine what¬ 
 ever, and has only kept her bed two days; before this she would on no 
 account suffer it, for fear (as some suppose) of a prophecy that she 
 should die in her bed. She is, moreover, said to be no longer in her 
 right’senses; this, however, is a mistake; she has only had some slight 
 wanderings at intervals.” 
 
 Carey reports the last change for the worse to have taken place on 
 Wednesday, the previous day:—“That afternoon,” says he, “she made 
 signs for her council to be called, and, by putting her hand to her head, 
 when the king of Scotland was named to succeed her, they all knew he 
 
 1 Lady Southwell's MS. 
 
574 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 was the man she desired should reign after her.” By what logic the 
 council were able to interpret this motion of the dying queen into ail 
 indication that such was her pleasure, they best could explain. Lady 
 Southwell’s account of this memorable scene is more circumstantial and 
 minute She says of the queen :— 
 
 “ Being given over by all, and at the last gasp, keeping still her sense 
 in everything, and giving apt answers, though she spake but seldom, 
 having then a sore throat, the council required admittance, and she 
 "’ished to wash (gargle) her throat, that she might answer freely to what 
 they demanded, which was to know whom she would have for king?” 
 A servile and unconstitutional question, which it is well no sovereign is 
 expected to answer in these better days. “ Her throat troubling her 
 much, they desired her to hold up her finger when they named who she 
 liked; whereupon, they named the king of France, (this was to try her 
 intellect,) she never stirred; the king of Scotland — she made no sign; 
 then they named lord Beauchamp—this was the heir of Seymour, whose 
 rights were derived from his mother, lady Katharine Gray, one of the 
 most unfortunate of Elizabeth’s victims : anger awakened the failing 
 mind of the expiring queen; she roused herself at the name of the 
 injured person, whom she could not forgive, and said, fiercely, “I will 
 have no rascal’s son in my seat, but one worthy to be a king.” How 
 sad is the scene—what a dismal view of regality the various versions of 
 this death-bed present! where the interested courtiers sat watching the 
 twitchings of the hands, and the tossing of the arms of the dying Eliza¬ 
 beth, interpreting them into signs of royalty for the expectant heir. In 
 her last struggles, the clasping of her convulsed hands over her brow is 
 seriously set forth as her symbolical intimation that her successor was 
 to be a crowned king! 
 
 “ The queen kept her bed fifteen days,” continues lady Southwell, 
 “besides the three days she sat upon a stool; and one day, when, being 
 pulled up by force, she obstinately stood on her feet for fifteen hours. 
 When she was near her end, the council sent to her the archbishop of 
 Canterbury and other prelates, at the sight of whom she was much 
 offended, cholericly rating them, bidding them 4 be packing,’ saying k she 
 was no atheist, but she knew full well they were but hedge-priests.’” 
 That Elizabeth, in the aberration of delirium or the petulance of sick¬ 
 ness, might have used such' a speech, is possible; but her reluctance to 
 receive spiritual assistance from the hierarchy of her own church is not 
 mentioned by the French ambassador; and Carey assures us, “that, 
 about six at night, she made signs for the archbishop of Canterbury and 
 her chaplains to come to her. At which time,” says he, “ I went in 
 with them, and sat upon my knees, full of tears to see that heavy sight. 
 Her majesty lay upon her back, with one hand in the bed, and the othei 
 without. The bishop kneeled down by her, and examined her first of 
 her faith; and she so punctually answered all his several questions by 
 lifting up her eyes and holding up her hand, as it was a comfort to all 
 the beholders. Then the good man told her plainly what she was, and 
 what she was to come to, and, though she had been long a great queen 
 here upon earth, yet shortly she was to yield an account of her stew- 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 575 
 
 ardship to the great King of kings.” The following striking anecdote 
 is related by the learned author of u L' l Jlrt de Verifier les Dates ,” in 
 connexion with this memorable scene; but it is scarcely in accordance 
 with Carey’s record of the archbishop’s apostolical address to the queen, 
 and still less with the fact that she was speechless. The incident must, 
 however, be related, because it is deeply interesting, if true :— 
 
 “The archbishop of Canterbury,” says our authority, “ who assisted 
 her last moments with his consolations, said to her, 4 Madam, you ought 
 to hope much in the mercy of God. Your piety, your zeal, and the 
 admirable work of the Reformation, which you have happily established, 
 afford great grounds of confidence for you.’ 4 My lord,’ replied the 
 queen, 4 the crown which I have borne so long has given enough of 
 vanity in my time. I beseech you not to augment it in this hour, when 
 I am so near my death.” 
 
 44 After this,” continues Carey, 44 he began to pray, and all that were 
 by did answer him. After he had continued long in prayer, the old 
 man’s knees were weary: he blessed her, and meant to rise and leave 
 her. The queen made a sign with her hand. My sister Scrope, know¬ 
 ing her meaning, told the bishop, the queen desired he would pray still. 
 He did so for a long half-hour after, and then thought to leave her.” 
 Elizabeth, speechless, agonizing, and aware of the utter inefficiency of 
 ,the aid of the physician or the nurse, was eager now for spiritual medi¬ 
 cine. She had tasted, in that dark hour, of the waters of life, and the 
 thirst of the immortal spirit was not lightly satiated—the weakness of 
 the dissolving tabernacle of feeble clay was forgotten. She made, a 
 second time, a sign to have the archbishop continue in prayer. 1 He did 
 so for half an hour more, with earnest cries to God for her soul’s health, 
 which he uttered with that fervency of spirit that the queen, to all our 
 sight, much rejoiced thereat,” continues the eye-witness of this impres¬ 
 sive scene, 44 and gave testimony to us all of her Christian and comfort- 
 . able end. By this time it grew late, and every one departed, all but the 
 women who attended her.” 
 
 “This,” pursues he, 44 that I heard with my ears, and did see with 
 mine eyes, I thought it my duty to set down, and to affirm it for a truth 
 upon the faith of a Christian, because I know there have been many false 
 lies reported of the end and death of that good lady.” As those of a 
 trusted and beloved kinsman of Elizabeth, the statements of sir Robert 
 Carey are doubtless of great importance. Few, indeed, of those, who 
 ' are admitted to visit the death-beds of sovereigns have left such graphic 
 records of their last hours. It is melancholy to add, that there is every 
 reason to believe, that, while death was thus dealing with the aged queen, 
 this very Carey and his sister, lady Scrope, were intently watching the 
 ebbing tide of life for the purpose of being the first to hail the impatient 
 king of Scots as her successor 
 
 The spirit of the mighty Elizabeth, after all, passed away so quietly 
 that the vigilance of the self-interested spies, by whom she was sur¬ 
 rounded, was baffled, and no one knew the moment of her departure 
 
 1 Autobiography of sir Robert Caroy, earl of Monmouth. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 5TG 
 
 Exhausted by her devotions, she had, after the archbishop left her, sunk 
 into a deep sleep, from which she never awoke; and, about three in the 
 morning, it was discovered that she had ceased to breathe. Lady Scrope 
 gave the first intelligence of this fact, by silently dropping a sapphire 
 ring to her brother, who was lurking beneath the windows of the cham¬ 
 ber of death at Richmond Palace. This ring, long after known in court 
 tradition as the “ blue ring,” had been confided to lady Scrope by James, 
 as a certain signal which was to announce the decease of the queen. Sir 
 Robert Carey caught the token, fraught with the destiny of the island 
 empire, and departed, at fiery speed, to announce the tidings in Scot¬ 
 land.' His adventures belong to another portion of this work. 
 
 Carey gives us a very different account of his proceedings, in his auto¬ 
 biography. He affirms that, after he had assisted at the last prayers for 
 his dying mistress, he returned to his lodging, leaving word with one in 
 the cofferer’s chamber to call him 2 if it mas thought the queen would 
 die, and that he gave the porter an angel to let him in at any time when 
 he called. Early on the Thursday morning, the sentinel he had left in 
 the coherer’s chamber brought him word that the queen was dead. “ 1 
 rose,” says he, “ and made all the haste to the gate to get in. I was 
 answered, 1 could not enter—all the lords of the council having been 
 there, and commanded that none should go in or out, but by warrant 
 from them. At the very instant one of the council, the comptroller, 
 asked if I were at the gate. I answered, ‘ Yes,’ and desired to know 
 how the queen did; he answered, ‘ Pretty well.”’ When Carey was 
 admitted, he found all the ladies in the cofferer’s chamber weeping bit¬ 
 terly—a more touching tribute, perhaps, to the memory of their royal 
 mistress, than all the pompous and elaborate lamentations that the poets 
 and poetasters of the age laboured to bestow on her, in illustration of 
 the grief which was supposed to pervade all hearts throughout the realm 
 at her decease. 
 
 This great female sovereign died in the seventieth year of her age, and 
 the forty-fourth of her reign. She was born on the day celebrated as 
 the nativity of the Virgin Mary, and she died, March 24th, on the eve 
 of the festival of the annunciation, called Lady-day. Among the com¬ 
 plimentary epitaphs which were composed for her, and hung up in many 
 churches, was one ending with the following couplet:— 
 
 “ She is, she was—what can there more be said i 
 On earth the first, in heaven the second maid.” 
 
 It is stated by lady Southwell, that directions were left by Elizabeth 
 that she should not be embalmed; but Cecil gave orders to her surgeon 
 to open her. 
 
 “Now, the queen’s body being cered up,” continues lady Southwell, 
 “ was brought by water to Whitehall, where, being watched every night 
 by six several ladies, myself that night watching as one of them, and 
 being all in our places about the corpse, which was fast nailed up in a 
 board coffin, with leaves of lead covered with velvet, her body burst 
 
 ‘Brydges’ Peers of king James, p. 413. 
 
 "Memoirs of Robert Carey, earl of Monmouth, p. 1S2. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 57? 
 
 with such a crack that it splitted the wood, lead, and cere-cloth, where¬ 
 upon, the next day. she was fain to he new trimmed up.” The council 
 were displeased that their orders, in coincidence with the dying request 
 of their royal mistress, should be disobeyed by the malapert contradic¬ 
 tion of Cecil regarding the last duties to her corpse;' but no one dared 
 to rebuke him publicly or officially. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth was most royally interred in Westminster Abbey, on 
 the 28th of April, 1 603 ; “ at which time,” says old Stowe, “ the city of 
 Westminster was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people, in 
 the streets, houses, windows, leads, and gutters, who came to see the 
 obsequy ; and when they beheld her statue, or effigy, lying on the coffin, 
 set forth in royal robes, having a crown upon the head thereof, and a 
 ball and sceptre in either hand, there was such a general sighing, groan¬ 
 ing, and weeping, as the like hath not been seen or known in the me¬ 
 mory of man, neither doth any history mention any people, time, or 
 state, to make like lamentation for the death of their sovereign.” 2 
 
 The funeral statue, which, by its close resemblance to their deceased 
 sovereign, moved the sensibility of the loyal and excitable portion of the 
 spectators at her obsequies, in this powerful manner, was no other, gentle 
 reader, than the faded wax-work effigy of that queen, preserved in that 
 little mysterious cell of Westminster Abbey, called the Waxwork cham¬ 
 ber, for the sight of which an additional sixpence was formerly extorted 
 from the visitors to that venerable fane. As the waxwork chamber is 
 now closed to the public for ever, and these quaint memorials of the 
 royal and illustrious dead are never more to excite the mirth, the won¬ 
 der, or terror, of the unsophisticated sight-seers of London again, a de¬ 
 scription of the posthumous figure of Elizabeth, which, tradition affirms, 
 was modeled from her person, after death, and is clad in garments from 
 her royal wardrobe, of the precise fashion she wore in life, may prove 
 an acceptable addition to her personal biography. 
 
 There can be little doubt that such as the maiden monarch appeared 
 in the last year of her life and reign, we behold a striking fac-simile in 
 this curious work of art. 
 
 It is well known that Elizabeth caused the die of the last gold coin, 
 that was struck with the likeness of her time-broken profile, to be de¬ 
 stroyed, in her indignation at its ugliness, and could she have seen the 
 grim posthumous representation of her faded glories, that was borne 
 upon her bier, it is probable that she would have struggled to burst her 
 cere-cloths and her leaden coffin to demolish it. Yet there are the 
 remains of considerable beauty and much majesty to be traced in this 
 
 1 She seems to have been embalmed, by the mention of cering and cerec.oth, 
 probably as it was against her wish, hurriedly and ineffectually, which occa¬ 
 sioned the natural explosion of gas, that scared lady Southwell into a super¬ 
 natural terror. 
 
 a The waxen effigies of the great, that were carried on their coffins, were 
 meant to represent the persons themselves. It was the fashion, in the olden 
 time, to deck lie corpse in gala array, and carry it to the church uncovered, as 
 we may see even by Shakspeare’s allusions, ‘ They bore him bare-faced on the 
 
 bier.” 
 
 2 M 
 
578 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 
 very statue. It lias the high aristocratic, yet delicately modelled fea- d 
 tures, with which we are familiar, in the coins and pictures of the last 
 of the Tudors. There is even a likeness of Anne Boleyn, discernible 
 in the contour of the face, especially in the broad, powerful forehead » 
 and high cheek-bones. The backward carriage of the head is peculiarly 
 indicative of Elizabeth, in all her latter portraits, and she holds the scep¬ 
 tre and the ball, with the characteristic haughtiness of one fully aware 
 of the full importance of those emblems of regality. Her height is com¬ 
 manding, and her figure stately and symmetrical. She is attired in her 
 royal robes—a kirtle and boddice of very rich crimson satin, embroidered 
 all over with silver; the front of the skirt is wrought in a bold coral 
 pattern, and fringed with tufted and spangled silver fringe; the boddice 
 is very long and slightly rounded at the point; the stomacher, embroi¬ 
 dered in quatre-feuilles of silver bullion, interspersed with rosettes and 
 crosses of large round Roman pearls, and medallions of coloured glass, 
 to imitate rubies, sapphires and diamonds; it is also edged with silver 
 lace and ermine. The boddice is cut low in front, so as to display the 
 bosom, without any tucker or kerchief, but with a high ruff of guipure, 
 which is now embrowned with the dust of centuries. The ruff is of the 
 Spanish fashion, high behind, and sloping towards the bust. The sleeves 
 are tuftied over at the wrists, with cuffs and reversed ruffles of the same 
 curious texture as the ruff About her throat is a carcanet of large round 
 pearls, and rubies, and emeralds; besides this ornament, her neck is 
 decorated with long strings of pearls, festooned over the bosom, and 
 descending, on either side, below the elbows, in tassels. 
 
 Her regal mantle of purple velvet, trimmed with rows of ermine and 
 gold lace, is attached to the shoulders with gold cordons and tassels, and 
 falls behind, in a long train. The skirt of her under-dress, or kirtle, is 
 cut short, to display the small feet and well-turned ancles, of which she 
 was so proud. She wears high-heeled shoes of pale-coloured cloth, 
 with enormous white ribbon bows, composed of six loops, edged with 
 silver gimp, and in the centre a large pearl medallion. Her ear-rings are 
 circular pearl and ruby medallions, with large pear-shaped pearl pen¬ 
 dants. Her light-red wig is frizzled very short above the ears, but de¬ 
 scends behind in stiff cannon curls, and is altogether thickly beset with 
 pearls. Her royal crown is affioriated, small, high, and placed very far 
 back on her head, leaving her high and broad retreating forehead, and 
 part of her head, bare and bald. 
 
 She has a gold cordon, with large tufted and spangled gold tassels 
 descending nearly to her feet. It is surprising how well the bullion 
 with which her dress is decorated has stood the test of time, for its dis¬ 
 coloration proceeds rather from an accumulation of dust than tarnish. 
 
 As an undoubted specimen of the costume worn by Elizabeth in the last 
 year of her reign, this figure is very valuable. 
 
 Elizabeth was interred in the same grave with her sister and prede¬ 
 cessor in the regal office, Mary Tudor. Her successor, king James I., 
 has left a lasting evidence of his good taste, and good feeling, in the 
 noble monument he erected to her memory in Westminster Abbey. Her 
 recumbent effigies repose beneath a stately canopy, on a slab of pure 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 579 
 
 white marble, which is supported by four lions. Her head rests on tas 
 selled and embroidered cushions, her feet on a couchant lion. She is 
 mantled in her royal robes, lined with ermine, and attired in fardingale 
 and ruff, but there is almost a classical absence of ornament in her dress. 
 Her closely curled hair is covered with a very simple cap, though of the 
 regal form, but she has no crown, and the sceptre has been broken from 
 her hand, so has the cross from the imperial orb, which she holds in the 
 other. She was the last sovereign of this country to whom a monument 
 has been given, but one of the few whose glory required it not. 
 
 There is a curious original painting of queen Elizabeth at Henham 
 Hall, in Suffolk, in the possession of the earl of Stradbroke, by whose 
 courteous permission we were permitted minutely to examine the pic¬ 
 ture. 
 
 The name of the artist is unknown; but it is evidently the work of 
 the court painter, and one of those portraits for which Elizabeth con¬ 
 descended to sit in person, for the face is executed in strict accordance 
 with the royal contempt for the rules of art; and though the features 
 are elegantly delineated with regard to outline, the total absence of shade 
 spoils the effect; but Elizabeth forbade the use of these darkening tints, 
 as injurious to the lustre of her complexion. The portrait is a three- 
 quarter length, and represents the queen, somewhere about the thirtieth 
 year of her age, when the iron signet of care began to reveal its impress 
 on her ample brow, the elongated visage, and the thin and sternly com¬ 
 pressed lips. The eyes are dark and penetrating, the complexion fair 
 and faded, the hair of the indeterminate shade, which foes call red, and 
 panegyrists auburn : it is curled, or rather frizzled, in a regular circle 
 round the brow, and very short at the ears. The costume fixes the date 
 of the picture between the years 1565 and 1570, before Elizabeth had 
 launched into the exuberance of dress and ornament, which rendered 
 her portraits so barbaric in their general effect, as she advanced into the 
 vale of years, and every year increased the height and amplitude of her 
 radiated ruff, till it rose like a winged back-ground, behind the lofty 
 fabric of jewels she wore on her head, and at last, overtopped the cross 
 of her regal diadem. 
 
 In the Henham portrait, her ruff is of a less aspiring fashion, and 
 resembles those worn by her beautiful rival, Mary Stuart, when queen 
 of France: it is formed of small circular quillings, of silver guipure, 
 closely set round the throat, and confined by a rich carcanet or collar 
 of rubies, amethysts, and pearls, set in a beautiful gold filagree pattern, 
 with large pear-shaped pearls depending from each lozenge. The bod- 
 dice of the dress, which is of rich white brocade, embroidered in diagonal 
 stripes, with bullion, in a running pattern of hops and hop-leaves, fastens 
 down the front, and is made tight to the shape, and with a point, like 
 a dress of the present times, it is ornamented between the embroidery 
 with gems set in gold filagree of the same pattern as the carcanet. The 
 boddice is also slashed with purple velvet, edged with bullion. The 
 sleeves are of the form, which, in the modern nomenclature of costume, 
 has been termed gigot; they are surmounted on the shoulder with puffs 
 of gold gauze, separated with rubies and amethysts, and two small 
 
580 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 rouleaus, wreathed with pearls and bullion. The sleeves are slashed 
 with velvet, embroidered with bullion, and decorated with gems to match 
 the boddice, and finished at the wrists with quilled ruffles of the same 
 pattern as her ruff. She wears the jewel and ribbon of the garter about 
 her neck. The George is a large oval medallion, pendent from a pale 
 blue ribbon, and decorated with rubies and amethysts of the same lozenge 
 form and setting, as those in her carcanet. Her waist is encircled with 
 a jewelled girdle to correspond. The skirt of her dress is very full, 
 and faced witli three stripes of miniver, in the robing form. Her head¬ 
 dress is very elegant, consisting of a coronal of gems and goldsmith’s 
 work, placed on crimson velvet, somewhat resembling the front of the 
 pretty hood of queen Katharine Parr, in the Strawberry-hill miniature, 
 but surmounted with a transparent wreath of laurel leaves made of gold 
 gauze, and stiffened with gold wire; very beautiful lappets descend from 
 this wreath, formed of pipes of gold gauze, arranged in latticed puffs, 
 edged with vandyked guipure of bullion, and fastened at every crossing 
 with a large round pearl. A white rose confines one of the lappets on 
 the right temple. The effect of these lappets is very striking, and the 
 dress, as a whole, is in excellent taste, yet very different from that in 
 any other of the numerous portraits of Elizabeth, I have seen. 
 
 In one hand she holds a white rose carelessly. Her hands are un¬ 
 gloved and very delicate in contour, the fingers long and taper, with nails 
 of the almond shape, which has been said to be one of the tokens of 
 aristocratic lineage. Elizabeth was always excessively vain of the beauty 
 of her hands. De Maurier, in his Memoirs of Holland, says, “ I heard 
 from my father, who had been sent to her court, that at every audience 
 he had with her, she pulled off her gloves more than a hundred times, 
 to display her hands, which were indeed very white and beautiful.” 
 Her gloves were always of thick white kid, very richly embroidered 
 with bullion, pearls, and coloured silks on th*e back of the hands, fringed 
 with gold, and slashed with coloured satin at the elbows, stiffened with 
 bullion gimp. In the palm, five air-holes, rather larger than melon- 
 seeds, were stamped, to prevent any ill effects from confined perspira¬ 
 tion. 
 
 The costume of the celebrated portrait of Elizabeth, in the Cecil col¬ 
 lection, presented by her to Burleigh, is much more elaborately deco¬ 
 rated than the Henham picture. She wears a lofty head-dress, with a 
 heron plume, and two ruffs, one, the small close-quilled ruff’just de¬ 
 scribed, round the throat, and a high, radiated ruff, somewhat in the 
 Spanish style, attached to her regal mantle, which is thrown a little back 
 on the shoulders, and becomes gradually narrower as it approaches the 
 bust; behind this, rises a pair of wings, like a third ruff. Her robe, in 
 this celebrated picture, is covered with eyes and ears, to signify her om¬ 
 niscient qualities, and her power of acquiring intelligence ; and, to com¬ 
 plete the whole, a serpent, indicative of her wisdom, is coiled up on her 
 sleeve. 
 
 As a direct and amusing contrast to this allegorical representation ot 
 the maiden monarch in her sagacity, may be named a quaint portrait in 
 the Hampton Court collection, by Zuchero, where she is attired in a 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 581 
 
 loose robe, formed of the eyes of peacock’s feathers, with a high-crowned 
 cap, suclt as limners have, in all ages, consecrated to Folly’s especial 
 use, with a mask in her hand, and a wanton smile upon her face. Only 
 it was the right royal pleasure of the mighty Elizabeth to be thus deli¬ 
 neated in her sportive vein, we might be apt to fancy that she had been 
 profanely caricatured in this undignified costume. 
 
 The miniatures of Elizabeth are rare, and in better taste than her por¬ 
 traits in oil. There is one in the Tollemache collection, at Ham House, 
 highly worthy of attention. From the softness of the features, the youth¬ 
 ful appearance, and the utter absence of regal attributes, it must have 
 been painted when she was only the lady Elizabeth, and would be the 
 more valuable on that account, independently of the fact that she is re¬ 
 presented as prettier, more feminine, and, above all, more unaffected than 
 in her maturer portraits. Her age is apparently about twenty. She 
 wears a black dress, trimmed with a double row of pearls, and fastened 
 down the front with bows of rose-coloured ribbon. Her elaborate point 
 lace rutiles are looped with pearls and rose-coloured ribbons. Her hair, 
 which is of a light-auburn colour, approaching to red, is rolled back 
 from the forehead, and surmounted with a stuffed satin fillet, decorated 
 in front with a jewel, set with pearls, and from which three pear-shaped 
 pearls depend. She has large pearl tassel ear-rings. This miniature is 
 a very small oval, with a deep-blue back-ground. 1 
 
 A greater mass of bad poetry was produced on the death of queen 
 Elizabeth, (and the assertion is a bold one,) than ever was perpetrated 
 on any public occasion. Lamer and tam'er lines may have appeared at 
 later eras; but for original and genuine absurdity, the Elizabethan elegies 
 challenge the poetic world to find their equals. The following lines 
 wtve greatly admired, and were preserved in more than one chronicle. 
 They were written on the water procession, when her corpse was rowed 
 down the Thames from Richmond, to lie in state at Whitehall: four 
 lines will prove a sufficient specimen : 
 
 “ The queen did come by water to Whitehall; 
 
 The oars at every stroke did tears let fall; 
 
 Fish wept their eyes of pearl quite out, 
 
 And swam blind after- 
 
 Scarcely less absurd is the following sycophantic effusion, written by 
 one of the sons of lord Burleigh ; but whether Robert Cecil, afterwards 
 earl of Salisbury, or his elder brother, Thomas, afterwards created earl 
 of Exeter, it is not easy to decide, as both have obtained the credit of 
 them : 
 
 'The portrait at Hampton Court, said to be Elizabeth at sixteen, is, certainly, 
 her sister Mary, as the features denote; but the similarity of the costume worn 
 by the two princesses has occasioned this very general mistake. An example 
 of this graceful style of dress may be seen in a recent pictorial publication of 
 great interest to fair students—“The Costumes of British Ladies,” by Mrs. Du- 
 puy; No. 3 — a work that contains very beautifully-coloured specimens of the 
 varying fashions adopted by the ladies of England, from the Norman conquest 
 to the present times, and will, when completed, form an attractive volume for 
 the boudoir. 
 
582 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 Now is my muse clad like a parasite 
 In party-colour’d robes of black and white; 
 
 Grieving and joying too, both these together, 
 
 But grieves or joys she most, I wot not whether. 
 
 Eliza's dead—that splits my heart in twain, 
 
 And Janies proclaim’d—that makes me well again. 
 
 After these specimens of folly and pretence, the elegant melody of 
 these verses, by George Fletcher, appears to great advantage; and here 
 follow three stanzas, selected from a monody on queen Elizabeth, by 
 that great poet, when a youthful student: 
 
 “Tell me, ye velvet-headed violets, 
 
 That fringe the fountain’s side with purest blue— 
 
 So let with comely grace your pretty frets 1 
 Be spread—so let a thousand playful zephyrs sue 
 To kiss your willing heads, that seem to eschew 
 Their wanton touch, with maiden modesty— 
 
 So let the silver dew but lightly lie, 
 
 Like little watery worlds within an azure sky. 
 
 “Lo! when your verdant leaves are broadly spread 
 Let weeping virgins gather you in their laps, 
 
 And send you where Eliza lieth dead, 
 
 To strew the sheet which her pale body wraps. 
 
 Ay me! in this I envy your good haps— 
 
 Who would not die there to be buried? 
 
 Say, if the sun deny his beams to shed 
 
 Upon your living stalks, grow you not withered? 
 
 “That sun, in morning clouds enveloped, 
 
 Flew fast into the western world to tell 
 News of her death : Heaven itself sorrowed 
 With tears that fast on earth's dank bosom fell; 
 
 But when the next Aurora gan to deal 
 Handfuls of roses ’fore the team of day, 
 
 A shepherd drove his flock by chance that way, 
 
 And made the nymphs to dance* who mourned but yesterday.” 
 
 The following record was borne of queen Elizabeth, by her godson, 
 Harrington, several years after the hand that wielded the sceptre and the 
 sword of empire were in the dust, and the tide of court favour and pre¬ 
 ferment were flowing liberally to him from her successor :— 44 Her mind 
 was ofttime like the gentle air that cometh from the westerly point in a 
 summer’s morn,—’twas sweet and refreshing to all around her. Her 
 speech did win all affections, and her subjects did try to show all love 
 to her commands, for she would say, 4 her state did require her to com¬ 
 mand what she knew her people would willingly do, from their own 
 love to her.’ Surely, she did play her tables well, to gain obedience 
 thus, without constraint; but then she could put forth such alterations 
 in her fashion, when obedience was lacking, as left no doubtings whose 
 daughter she was.” 
 
 Again, he says, in a familiar letter to his brother-in-law, Markham, 
 and surely, the memoir of this great sovereign and most extraordinary 
 
 * Fret is a chased or embroidered edge or border. 
 
 “This allusion is to the rejoicings on the proclamation of king James. 
 
ELIZABETH. 
 
 583 
 
 woman ran scarcely close in a more appropriate manner than with this 
 noble tribute to her memory :—^JSven her errors did seem marks of 
 surprising endowments; when she smiled, it was a pure sunshine, that 
 every one did choose to bask in; but anon came a storm, from a sudden 
 gathering of clouds, and the thunder fell, in wondrous manner, on all 
 alike. 1 never did find greater show of understanding than she was 
 blest with, and whoever livetl 1 ban 1 can, will look back and 
 
 become laudator temporis acti. 
 
 TIIE END. 
 
_ 
 
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 LIVES OF THE LORD CHANCELLORS 
 
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4 
 
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 A POPULAR DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE, HIS¬ 
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 In fourteen large octavo volumes of over 600 double-columned pages each. 
 
 For sale very low, in various styles of binding. 
 
 Some years having elapsed since the original thirteen volumes of the ENCY¬ 
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 SUPPLEMENTARY VOLUME (THE FOURTEENTH), 
 
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 Edited by HENRY VETHAKE, LL. D. 
 
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 THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF GEOGRAPHY, comprising a Complete Description 
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 and Social State of all Nations. By Hugh Murray, F. R. S. E., &c. Assisted 
 in Botany, by Professor Hooker—Zoology, &c., by W. W. Swainson—Astrono¬ 
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 DE LA BECHE’S GEOLOGY-(Just Issued.) 
 
 THIS GEOLOGICAL OBSERVER. 
 
 BY SIR HENRY T. DE LA BECHE, C. B., F. R. S., 
 
 Director-General of the Geological Survey of Great Britain, &c. 
 
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 WITH OVER THREE HUNDRED WOOD-CUTS. 
 
 We have here presented to us, by one admirably qualified for the task, the most com¬ 
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 not rendered unreadable from its bulk, owing to the judicious subdivision of its contents, 
 and the copious index which is appended.— John Bull. 
 
 Having had such abundant opportunities, no one could be found so capable of direct¬ 
 ing the labors of the young geologist, or to aid by his own experience the studies of those 
 who may not have been able to range so extensively over the earth's surface. We 
 strongly recommend Sir Henry De la Beche’s book to those who desire to know what 
 has been done, and to learn something of the wide examination which yet lies waiting 
 for the industrious observer.— The Athenceum. 
 
 KNAPP’S CHEMICAL TECHNOLOGY. 
 
 TECHNOLOGY; or, Chemistry Applied to the Arts and to Manufactures. 
 By Dr. F. Knapp, Professor at the University of Giessen. Edited, with nu¬ 
 merous Notes and Additions, by Dr. Edmund Ronalds, and Dr. Thomas 
 Richardson. First American Edition, with Notes and Additions by Prof. 
 Walter R. Johnson. In two handsome octavo volumes, printed and illus¬ 
 trated in the highest style of art, with about 500 wood engravings. 
 
 The style of excellence in which the first volume was got up is fully preserved in this. 
 The treatises themselves are admirable, and the editing, both by the English and Ameri¬ 
 can editors, judicious; so that the work maintains itself as the best of the series to which 
 it belongs, and worthy the attention of all interested in the arts of which it treats.— 
 Franklin Institute Journal. 
 
 W El S B AC H ’ S MECHANICS. 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF THE MECHANICS OF MACHINERY AND ENGINEER¬ 
 ING. By Professor Julius Weisbach. Translated and Edited by Prof. 
 Gordon, of Glasgow. First American Edition, with Additions by Prof. Wal¬ 
 ter R. Johnson. In two octavo volumes, beautifully printed, with 900 illus¬ 
 trations on wood. 
 
 The most valuable contribution to practical science that has yet appeared in this 
 country.— Athencpum. 
 
 Unequalled by anything of the kind yet produced in this country—the most standard 
 book on mechanics, machinery, and engineering now extant.— N. Y. Commercial 
 In every way worthy of being recommended to our readers —Franklin Institute 
 Journal. 
 
6 
 
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 ILLUSTIt.lTJRU 8CIEJYTIFIC LIBRARY—(Continued.) 
 
 CARPENTER’S COMPARATIVE PHYSIOLOGY—(Just Issued.) 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF GENERAL AND COMPARATIVE PHYSIOLOGY; in¬ 
 tended as an Introduction to the Study of Human Physiology, and as a Guide 
 to the Philosophical Pursuit of Natural History. By William B. Carpenter, 
 M. D., F. R. S., author of “ Human Physiology,” “ Vegetable Physiology,” 
 &c. &c. Third improved and enlarged edition. In one very large and hand¬ 
 some octavo volume, with several hundred beautiful illustrations. 
 
 MULLER’S PHYSICS. 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF PHYSICS AND METEOROLOGY. By Professor J. Mul¬ 
 ler, M. D. Edited, with Additions, by R. Eglesfeld Griffith, M. D. In 
 one large and handsome octavo volume, with 550 wood-cuts and two colored 
 plates. 
 
 The style in which the volume is published is in the highest degree creditable to the 
 enterprise of the publishers. It contains nearly four hundred engravings executed in 
 a style of extraordinary elegance. We commend the book to general lavor. It is the 
 best of its kind we have ever seen.— N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 MOHR, REDWOOD, AND PROCTER’S PHARMACY. 
 
 PRACTICAL PHARMACY: Comprising the Arrangements, Apparatus, and 
 Manipulations of the Pharmaceutical Shop and Laboratory. By Francis 
 Mohr, Ph. D., Assessor Pharmacia of the Royal Prussian College of Medicine, 
 Coblentz ; and Theophilus Redwood, Professor of Pharmacy in the Pharma¬ 
 ceutical Society of Great Britain. Edited, with extensive Additions, by Prof. 
 William Procter, of the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy. In one hand¬ 
 somely printed octavo volume, of 570 pages, with over 500 engravings on 
 wood. 
 
 THE MILLWRIGHT’S GUIDE. 
 
 THE MILLWRIGHT’S AND MILLER’S GUIDE. By Oliver Evans. Eleventh Edi¬ 
 tion. With Additions and Corrections by the Professor of Mechanics in the Franklin 
 Institute, and a description of an improved Merchant Flour Mill. By C. and O. Evans. 
 In one octavo volume, with numerous engravings. 
 
 HUMAN HEALTH ; or, the Influence of Atmosphere and Locality, Change of Air and 
 Climate,Seasons, Food, Clothing, Bathing, Mineral Springs, Exercise. Sleep, Corporeal 
 and Mental Pursuits, &c. &c., on Healthy Man. constituting Elements of Hygiene. 
 By Robley Dunglison, M D. In one octavo volume. 
 
 THE ANCIENT WORLD; OR, PICTURESQUE SKETCHES OF CREATION. By 
 D. T. Ansted, author of “ Elements of Geology,” &.C. In one neat volume, royal 12mo , 
 with numerous illustrations. 
 
 A NEW THEORY OF LIFE. By S T. Coleridge. Now first published from the 
 original MS. In one small 12mo. volume, cloth. 
 
 ZOOLOGICAL RECREATIONS. By W. T. Broderip, F. R. S. From the second 
 London edition. One volume, royal 12mo., extra cloth. 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION TO ENTOMOLOGY; or, Elements of the Natural History of 
 Insects. By the Rev. Wm. Kirby, and Wm. Spence, F. R. S. From the sixth London 
 edition. In one large octavo volume, with plates, plain or colored. 
 
 THE RACES OF MEN; a Fragment. By John Knox. In one royal 12mo. volume, 
 extra cloth. 
 
 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. By Charles Bonaparte.Prince of Canino. In four folio 
 volumes, half bound, with numerous magnificent colored plates. 
 
 LECTURES ON THE PHYSICAL PHENOMENA OF LIVING BEINGS. By 
 Carlo Matteucci. Edited by Jonathan Pereira, M. D. In one royal 12mo. volume, 
 extra cloth, with illustrations. 
 
7 
 
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 GRAHAM S CHEMISTRY, NEW EDITION. Part I.-(Now Ready.) 
 
 ELEMENTS OF~ CHEMISTRY; 
 
 INCLUDING THE APPLICATIONS OF THE SCIENCE IN THE ARTS. 
 
 BY THOMAS GRAHAM, F. R.S.,&c., 
 
 Professor of Chemisiry in University College, London, &c. 
 
 Second American, from an entirely Revised and greatly Enlarged English Edition. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS WOOD ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Edited, with Notes, by ROBERT BRIDGES. M. D., 
 
 Professor of Chemistry in the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy, &c. 
 
 To be completed in Two Parts, forming one very large octavo volume. 
 PART I, now ready, of 130 large pages, with 1S5 engravings. 
 
 PART II, preparing for early publication. 
 
 From the Editor's Preface. 
 
 The “ Elements of Chemistry,” of which a second edition is now presented, 
 attained, on its first appearance, an immediate and deserved reputation. The 
 copious selection of facts from all reliable sources, and their judicious arrange¬ 
 ment, render it a safe guide for the beginner, while the clear exposition of the¬ 
 oretical points, and frequent references to special treatises, make it a valuable 
 assistant for the more advanced student. 
 
 From this high character the present edition will in no way detract. The 
 great changes which the science of Chemistry has undergone during the interval 
 have rendered necessary a complete revision of the work, and this has been 
 most thoroughly accomplished by the author. Many portions will therefore be 
 found essentially altered, thereby increasing greatly the size of the work, while 
 the series of illustrations has been entirely changed in style, and nearly doubled 
 in number. 
 
 Under these circumstances but little has been left for the editor. Owing, 
 however, to the appearance of the London edition in parts, some years have 
 elapsed since the first portions were published, and he has therefore found oc 
 casion to introduce the more recent investigations and discoveries in some sub¬ 
 jects, as well as to correct such inaccuracies or misprints as had escaped the 
 author’s attention, and to make a few additional references. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO PRACTICAL CHEMISTRY, including Analysis. By 
 John E. Bowman, M. D. In one neat royal 12mo. volume, extra cloth, with numer¬ 
 ous illustrations. - 
 
 DANA ON CORALS. 
 
 ZOOPHYTES AND CORALS. By James D. Dana. In one volume imperial 
 quario, extra cloth, with wood-cuts. 
 
 Also, an Atlas to the above, one volume imperial folio, with sixty-one magnificent 
 plates, colored after nature. Bound in half morocco. 
 
 These splendid volumes form a portion of the publications of the United States Explor¬ 
 ing Expedition. As but very few copies have been prepared for sale, and as these 
 are nearly exhausted, all who are desirous of enriching their libraries with tills, the most 
 creditable specimen of American Art and Science as yet issued, will do well to procure 
 copies at once. 
 
 THE ETHNOGRAPHY AND PHILOLOGY OF THE UNITED STATES EX¬ 
 PLORING EXPEDITION. By Horatio Hale. In one large imperial quarto volume, 
 beautifully printed, and strongly bound in extra cloth. 
 
 BARON HUMBOLDT'S LAST WORK. 
 
 ASPECTS OF NATURE IN DIFFERENT LANDS AND DIFFERENT 
 CLIMATES With Scientific Elucidations. By Alexander Von Humboldt Trans¬ 
 lated by Mrs. Sabine. Second American edition. In one handsome volume, large 
 royal 12mo., extra cloth- 
 
 CHEMISTRY OF THE FOUR SEASONS, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and 
 Winter By Thomas Griffith. In one handsome volume, royal 12mo , extra cloth, 
 with numerous illustrations. 
 
8 BLANCHARD & LEA’S PUBLICATIONS .—(Educational Worts.) 
 
 A NEW TEXT-BOOK ON NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 HANDBOOKS 
 
 OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY AND ASTRONOMY. 
 
 BY DIONYSIUS LARDNER, LL. D„ ETC. 
 
 FIRST COURSE, containing 
 
 Mechanics, Hydrostatics, Hydraulics, Pneumatics, Sound, and Optics. 
 
 Id one large royal 12mo. volume of 750 pages, strongly bound in leather, with 
 over 400 wood-cuts, (Just Issued.) 
 
 THE SECOND COURSE, embracing 
 
 HEAT, MAGNETISM, ELECTRICITY, AND GALVANISM, 
 
 Of about 400 pages, and illustrated with 250 cuts, is just ready. 
 
 THE THIRD COURSE, constituting 
 
 A COMPLETE TREATISE ON ASTRONOMY 
 
 THOROUGHLY ILLUSTRATED, IS IN PREPARATION FOR SPEEDY PUBLICATION. 
 
 The intention of the author has been to prepare a work which should embrace the 
 principles of Natural Philosophy, m their latest state of scientific development, divested 
 of the abstruseness which renders them unfitted for the younger student, and at the same 
 time illustrated by numerous practical applications in every branch of art and science. 
 Dr. Lardner’s extensive acquirements in all departments of human knowledge, and his 
 well known skill in popularizing his subject, have thus enabled him to present a text¬ 
 book which, though strictly scientific in its groundwork, is yet easily mastered by the 
 student, while calculated to interest the mind, and awaken the attention by showing the 
 importance of the principles discussed, and the manner in which they may be made 
 subservient to the practical purposes of life. To accomplish this still further, the editor 
 lias added to each section a series of examples, to be worked out by the learner, thus 
 impressing upon him the practical importance and variety of the results to be obtained 
 from the general laws of nature. The subject is still further simplified by the very large 
 number of illustrative wood-cuts which are scattered through the volume, making plain 
 to the eye what might not readil\*be grasped by the unassisted mind : and every care 
 has been taken to render the typographical accuracy of the work what it should be. 
 
 Although the first portion only has been issued, and that but for a few months, yet it 
 has already been adopted by many academies and colleges of the highest standing and 
 character. A few of the numerous recommendations with which the work has been 
 favored are subjoined. 
 
 From Prof. Millington. Univ. of Mississippi, April 10.1652. 
 
 I am highly pleased with its contents and arrangement. It contains a greater number 
 of every day useful practical facts and examples than I have ever seen noticed in a 
 similar work, and 1 do not hesitate to say that as a book for teaching 1 prefer it to any 
 other of the same size and extent that I am acquainted with. During the thirteen years 
 that I was at William and Mary College I had to teach Natural Philosophy, and I should 
 have been very glad to have such a text-book. 
 
 From Edmund Smith, Baltimore, May 19,1852. 
 
 I have a class using it, and think it the best book of the kind with which I am ac¬ 
 quainted. 
 
 From Prof. Cleveland , Philadelphia, October 17,1S51. 
 
 I feel prepared to say that it is the fullest and most valuable manual upon the subject 
 that has fallen under my notice, and I intend to make it the text book for the first class 
 in my school. 
 
 From S. Schooler, Hanover Academy, Ya.. 
 
 The “ Handbooks*’ seem to me the best popular treatises on their respective subjects 
 with which I am acquainted. Dr. Lardner certainly popularizes science very well, and 
 a good text-book for schools and colleges was not before in existence. 
 
 From Prof. J. S. Henderson, Farmer's College, O , Feb. 16,1852 
 
 It is an admirable work, and well worthy of public patronage. For clearness and 
 fulness it is unequalled by any that I have seen. 
 
BLANCHARD & LEA’S PUBLICATIONS .—(Educational Works ^ 9 
 
 NEW AND IMPROVED EDITION.—(Now Ready.) 
 
 OUTLINES OF ASTRONOMY. 
 
 BY SIR JOIfN F. W. IIERSCHEL, F. R. S., &c. 
 
 A NEW AMERICAN FROM THE FOURTH LONDON EDITION. 
 
 In one very neat crown octavo volume, extra cloth, with six plates and nu¬ 
 merous wood-cuts. 
 
 This edition will be found thoroughly brought up to the present state of as¬ 
 tronomical science, with the most recent investigations and discoveries fully 
 discussed and explained. 
 
 We now take leave of this remarkable work, which we hold to be. beyond a doubt, 
 the greatest and most remarkable of the works in which the laws of astronomy and the 
 appearance of the heavens are described to those who are not mathematicians nor ob¬ 
 servers, and recalled to those who are. It is the reward of men who can descend from 
 the advancement of knowledge to care for its diffusion, that their works are essential 
 to all. that they become the manuals of the proficient as well as the text-books of the 
 learner.— Athencp.um. 
 
 There is perhaps no book in the English language on the subject, which, whilst it con¬ 
 tains so many of the facts of Astronomy (which it attempts to explain with as little tech¬ 
 nical language as possible), is so attractive in its style, and so clear and forcible in its 
 illustrations.— Evangelical Review. 
 
 Probably no book ever written upon any science, embraces within so small a compass 
 an entire epitome of everything known within all its various departments, practical, 
 theoretical, and physical.— Examiner. 
 
 A TREATISE ON ASTRONOMY. 
 
 BY SIR JOHN F. W. HERSCHEL. Edited by S.C. Walker. In one 12mo. 
 volume, half bound, with plates and wood-cuts. 
 
 A TREATISE ON OPTICS. 
 
 BY SIR DAVID BREWSTER, LL. D., F. R. S., &c. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 WITH AN APPENDIX, CONTAINING AN ELEMENTARY VIEW OF THE APPLICATION 
 OF ANALYSIS TO REFLECTION AND REFRACTION. 
 
 BY A. D. BACHE, Superintendent U. S. Coast Survey, &c. 
 
 In one neat duodecimo volume, half bound, with about 200 illustrations. 
 
 BOLMAR’S FRENCH SERIES. 
 
 New editions of the following works, by A. Bolmar, forming, in connection 
 with “ Bolmar’s Levizac,” a complete series for the acquisition of the French 
 language:— 
 
 A SELECTION OF ONE HUNDRED PERRIN’S FABLES, accompanied by 
 a Key, containing the text, a literal and free translation, arranged in such a manner as 
 to point out the difference between the French and English idiom. &c. In one vol l2mo. 
 A COLLECTION OF COLLOQUIAL PHRASES, on every topic necessary to 
 
 maintain conversation. Arranged under different heads, with numerous remarks on 
 the peculiar pronunciation and uses of various words; the whole so disposed as con¬ 
 siderably to facilitate the acquisition of a correct pronunciation of the French. In 
 one vol. ISmo 
 
 LES AVENTURES DE TELEMAQUE, PAR FENELON, in one vol. 12mo., 
 accompanied by a Key to the first eight books. In one vol. ltiino., containing, like the 
 Fables, the Text, a literal and free translation, intended as a sequel to the Fables. 
 Either volume sold separately. 
 
 ALL THE FRENCH VERBS, both regular and irregular, in a small volume. 
 
10 BLANCHARD & LEA’S PUBLICATIONS .—{Educational Works.) 
 
 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY; 
 
 BEING 
 
 AN EXPERIMENTAL INTRODUCTION TO THE PHYSICAL SCIENCES. 
 
 Illustrated with over Three Hundred Wood-cuts. 
 
 BY GOLDING BIRD, M.D., 
 
 Assislani Physician 10 Gay’s Hospital. 
 
 From the Third London edition. In one neat volume, royal 12mo. 
 
 We are astonished to find that there is room in so small a book for even the bare 
 recital of so many subjects. Where everything is treated succinctly, great judgment 
 and much time are needed in making a selection and winnowing the wheat from the 
 chaff Dr. Bird has no need to plead the peculiarity of his position as a shield against 
 criticism, so long as his book continues to be the best epitome in the English lan¬ 
 guage of this wide range of physical subjects.— North American Review , April 1,1851. 
 
 From Prof John Johnston , Wesleyan TJnivMiddletown , Ct. 
 
 For those desiring as extensive a work, I think it decidedly superior to anything of 
 the kind with which I am acquainted. 
 
 From Prof. R. O. Currey , East Tennessee University. 
 
 I am much gratified in perusing a work which so well, so fully, and so clearly sets 
 forth this branch of the Natural Sciences. For some time I have been desirous of ob¬ 
 taining a substitute for the one now used—one which should embrace the recent dis¬ 
 coveries in the sciences, and I can truly say that such a one is afforded in this work of 
 Dr. Bird’s. 
 
 From Prof. W. F. Hopkins , Masonic University , Tenn. 
 
 Tt is just the sort of book I think needed in most colleges, being far above the rank of 
 a mere popular work, and yet not beyond the comprehension of all but the most accom¬ 
 plished mathematicians. 
 
 ELEMENTARY CHEMISTRY; 
 
 THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL. 
 
 BY GEORGE FOWNES, Ph. D„ 
 
 Chemical Lecturer in the Middlesex Hospital Medical School, Ac. Ac. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Third American, from a late London edition. Edited, with Additions, 
 
 BY ROBERT BRIDGES, M. D„ 
 
 Professor of General and Pharmaceutical Chemistry in the Philadelphia 
 College of Pharmacy, &c. &c. 
 
 In one large royal 12mo. volume, of over five hundred pages, with about 180 
 wood-cuts, sheep or extra cloth. 
 
 The work of Dr. Fownes has long been before the public, and its merits have been 
 fully appreciated as the best text-book on Chemistry now in existence. We do not, of 
 course, place it in a rank superior to the works of Braude, Graham, Turner, Gregory, 
 or Gmelui. but we say that, as a work for students, it is preferable to any of them.— Lon¬ 
 don Journal of Medicine. 
 
 We know of no treatise so well calculated to aid the student in becoming familiar 
 with the numeious facu in the science on which it treats, or one better calculated as 
 a text book for those attending Chemical Lecture*. * * * * The best text-book on Che¬ 
 mistry that has issued from our press.— American Med. Journal. 
 
 We know of none within the same limits, which has higher claims to our confidence 
 as a co'lege class-book, both for accuracy of detail and scientific arrangement.— Au¬ 
 gusta Med. Journal. 
 
 ELEMENTS OF PHYSICS. 
 
 OR. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, GENERAL AND MEDICAL. Written for uni- 
 versal use, in plain, or non-technical language By Neill Ahnott, M. D. In oue 
 octavo volume, with about two hundred illustrations.