Chapter 18
In January 1578, news came that the Protestant Dutch armies had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of Don John of Austria, which gave Elizabeth cause to point out to Leicester that she had been right all along about not wanting to involve England in a war it might lose. Instead, she now hoped to use her diplomatic influence with Philip II to bring about a settlement that was not only acceptable to both sides but also to English interests. Thanks to the provocation given to King Philip by English privateers and the help supplied to the Dutch by Elizabeth, the peace with Spain now seemed to be on a very precarious footing, and fears were expressed that Philip might yet invoke the Pope's interdict and make the rumoured Enterprise of England a reality.
Elizabeth had for some time been worried about reports that Alencon, now Duke of Anjou, was intending to meddle in the affairs of the Netherlands. The last thing she needed was the undermining of her negotiations for a peace that would safeguard England's security and economic prosperity, nor did she want any French military presence in the Netherlands. By the spring of 1578, when it had, to her relief, become clear that Anjou was acting without the backing of the French government, it occurred to her that the best way of controlling his activities to her advantage would be to revive negotiations for their marriage and a new treaty with France. She did not know it, but this was to be her last venture into the European marriage market.
The same idea had occurred to Anjou, whose ambition had found no outlet at the court of France, where he was regarded as a troublesome nuisance, and who still dreamed of a crown. This was why he had looked to find fame and glory in the Netherlands, though it now seemed unlikely he would achieve it without the backing of a powerful ruler such as the Queen of England. With her as his bride and the wealth of her kingdom behind him, matters would be very different. The evidence suggests that it was he who made the first approach: he certainly wrote to Elizabeth to assure her of his entire devotion and his willingness to be guided by her in all his doings. It was astonishing, he added, 'that after two years of absolute silence, he should wake up to her existence'. Elizabeth was gratified to hear from him and by the realisation that his letter gave her the perfect excuse to revive the courtship.
Walsingham, however, was not deceived by Anjou's flowery sentiments, believing that 'he entertaineth Her Majesty at this present only to abuse her', so that she would not protest when he marched at the head of an army into the Netherlands. Elizabeth was not pleased when she heard this, and instructed Leicester to inform Walsingham that it was not in the least surprising that Anjou should have fallen in love with her. He was, she asserted, only going to the Netherlands to give himself'better means to step over hither'.
Since the death of her husband, Lettice, Countess of Essex, had struggled to pay her debts. Ambitious and still beautiful, she was determined not to waste her assets, and, being a confident, opportunistic woman, saw no reason why her lover, the Earl of Leicester, should not be persuaded to marry her. It is not known how much Lettice knew of the circumstances of Leicester's union with Douglas Sheffield, although it is clear that both she and the Earl regarded him as a free man.
When Lettice discovered that she was pregnant, Leicester, desperate for a legitimate heir, agreed to marry her; the ceremony took place secretly in the spring of 1578 at Kenilworth. He then purchased the house and manor of Wanstead in Essex so that he could visit Lettice there when his duties at court permitted. Their union was undoubtedly happy, for the Earl 'doted extremely upon marriage'.
After the wedding, Leicester came up to London to stay at Leicester House, giving out that he was ill and unable to come to court. He may, in fact, have been enjoying a brief honeymoon with Lettice, or the 'illness' may have been tactical, for the evidence suggests that, on 28 April, Elizabeth found out what he had done. Mendoza reported that,
The Queen had fixed the 28th for my audience with her, but as she was walking in the garden that morning she found a letter which had been thrown into the doorway, which she took and read, and immediately came secretly to the house of the Earl of Leicester, who is ill here. She stayed there until ten o'clock at night, and sent word that she would not see me that day as she was unwell. I have not been able to learn the contents of the letter, and only know that it caused her to go to Leicester's at once.
There were two likely possibilities: either Leicester himself had written asking the Queen to visit him, giving good reasons why she should do so as a matter of great urgency, or someone else had found out about his marriage and had informed the Queen. Of course, her visit could have related to another matter entirely, but, given the circumstances and her behaviour afterwards, this is the likeliest version of events. If the letter had come from Leicester himself, it was in character for him to feign sickness in order to soften Elizabeth's heart and mitigate her anger.
In May, possibly prompted by Leicester's betrayal, the Queen sent an envoy to France to open negotiations for her marriage to Anjou. Around the same time, Leicester travelled north again to Buxton to take the waters, insisting he was still unwell. It may also have been politic for him to go away to give Elizabeth time to adjust to the situation and perhaps make her realise how lonely she would be if she cut him out of her life, as she may have threatened to do. Whatever the reason, he stayed away for more than two months, which was unusual, since the Queen normally hated to have him out of her sight.
While Leicester was away from court, Elizabeth took out her frustration on Hatton, apparently giving him to understand that she could not bear it if he were to betray her as Leicester had by marrying someone else, especially after he had sworn undying loyalty to her, who, if she were able, would leap at the chance of marrying him.
In perplexity, Hatton wrote to Leicester on 18 June:
Since Your Lordship's departure, the Queen is found in continual and great melancholy; the cause thereof I can but guess at, notwithstanding that I bear and suffer the whole brunt of her mislike in generality. She dreameth of marriage that might seem injurious to her: making myself to be either the man, or a pattern of the matter. I defend that no man can tie himself or be tied to such inconvenience as not to marry by law of God or man, except by mutual consents on both parts the man and woman vow to marry each other, which I know she hath not done for any man, and therefore by any man's marriage she can receive no wrong. But, my Lord, I am not the man that should thus suddenly marry, for God knoweth, I never meant it.
In fact, Elizabeth seems to have been broken-hearted rather than angry at Leicester's desertion, and when, during the next week or so, she received from him several letters, which have not survived, Hatton was able to inform the Earl, on 28 June, that she had been overjoyed to have them 'because they chiefly recorded the testimony of your most loyal disposition from the beginning to this present time'. She was now impatient for Leicester's return, and thought 'your absence much drawn in too length, and especially in that place, supposing indeed that a shorter time would work as good effect with you, but yet [she] chargeth that you now go through according to your physician's opinion. For if now these waters work not a full good effect, Her Highness will never consent that you cumber yourself and her with such long journeys again.'
Subtly, Elizabeth had set the tone for her future relationship with Leicester: in return for his behaving towards her as if nothing had happened and continuing as her favourite, she was prepared to ignore his unfortunate marriage, as long as he put her needs first. Relieved to have got off so lightly, Leicester played along with this fantasy, but he soon found that there was a heavy price to pay, for Elizabeth, who had once been so affectionate towards her cousin Lettice, now developed an implacable hatred for her and behaved as if she did not exist. Aside from her marriage to Leicester, Lettice had offended the Queen by not seeking her permission to marry, which, as the widow of an earl, she was obliged to do.
Leicester, caught in a conflict of loyalty between two strong women, one his wife and one his queen, suddenly realised that his life, from now on, was going to be very complicated. In the interests of keeping the peace, therefore, he resolved to avoid any reference to his marriage.
Of course, his relationship with the Queen had to change. He remained close to her in a way no other favourite did: for example, he sat up all night soothing her when she had toothache, and he continued to give her expensive and original gifts, such as the gold clock he presented to her at New Year 1579. But they could no longer enjoy the intimate friendship of the past: there were fewer shared private jokes and affectionate personal messages. Instead, the Queen lost her temper with him more frequently or was more capricious when it came to granting favours. She also made such demands on his time that he had few opportunities to visit his wife, which was exactly what the Queen intended.
The discovery of Leicester's marriage put Elizabeth into a bad mood that lasted throughout the summer and drove her councillors to near despair. It was exacerbated by her having such painful toothache as to cause her whole face to be inflamed, and her long-suffering doctors spent hours debating with her 'how Her Majesty might be eased of the grief. Depressed and in pain, she refused to make any decisions, snapped and snarled at her ministers and once shouted at Walsingham that he deserved to be hanged - in which case, he drily said later, he asked only that he could be tried by a Middlesex jury.
When the French ambassador spoke out against her treatment of the Queen of Scots, Elizabeth, who had just learned from Walsingham that Mary had been plotting with her Guise relatives again, hissed that her cousin was 'the worst woman in the world, whose head should have been cut off years ago, and who would never be free as long as she lived'.
Even in the face of pressing state business, the Queen sometimes refused to see her councillors at all, giving her toothache as an excuse. In the end, they defied her and insisted that she act to prevent Anjou from leading a French army into the Netherlands. Leicester, who now usually acted as spokesman for the Council to the Queen, spoke to her 'so plainly, so boldly and so faithfully against delays', and in a way that no other councillor would have dared, but to no avail. She told him to be silent. Nor would she speak even to Hatton. Leicester then tried the proven tactic of taking to his bed, feigning sickness in the hope that she would come hastening to his side, but even this did not work, and many wondered at the coolness in her attitude towards him. Nor did she intervene to prevent squabbles breaking out between Burghley and Leicester.
Then, on the morning of 9 August, Elizabeth finally woke to the realisation that Anjou was not playing games and might cause more trouble for her in the Netherlands than the Spanish ever had. She had, after all, delayed too long.
The Queen's progress that year took her to East Anglia, and was arranged at such short notice that there was a scramble by the worthies of the region to obtain new silks and velvets, which were soon sold out.
On to August, she visited Thetford, and stayed with the Catholic Mr Rookwood, the owner of nearby Euston Hall in Suffolk. The notorious sadist, Richard Topclyffe, who was later responsible for the torture of several Catholic priests, described Rookwood as a criminal and a 'blackguard. Nevertheless, her excellent Majesty gave Rookwood ordinary thanks for his bad house, and her fair hand to kiss.' During the visit someone had found a statue of the Virgin Mary in the house, which was brought into the hall and held up for Elizabeth to see. She ordered it to be burnt, which was done immediately, 'to the unspeakable joy of everyone'. After she had gone, Rookwood was arrested and imprisoned in Norwich gaol until his death twenty years later. His estates were declared forfeit to the Crown.
After a visit to Kenninghall where she lodged with Philip Howard, formerly Earl of Surrey, son of the executed Norfolk, who made her very welcome, the Queen paid a memorable visit to Norwich, arriving in 'her most dutiful city' on 16 August to a rapturous welcome, hundreds of people turning out to greet her.
She evinced great interest in children spinning and knitting worsteds, and in the craftsmen who demonstrated their weaving techniques for her on a stage near St Stephen's Church. At her insistence, time was made for local children to perform a pageant for her in the market place, in which the Queen was lauded as 'the Pearl of Grace, the Jewel of the World, her People's Whole Delight, the Paragon of Present Time, and Prince of Earthly Might'. They had been rehearsing for weeks, and although the Queen's schedule was tight, she did not want to disappoint them.
Whilst she was touring the cathedral, she received news that Anjou had invaded the Netherlands and concluded a treaty with the Protestant States, who had invited him to be their governor and conferred upon him the title 'Defender of the Liberties of the Low Countries against Spanish Tyranny'. Later, in her lodgings in the bishop's palace, Elizabeth exploded with anger, accusing all her ministers of allowing this to happen, and refusing to concede that she herself had done nothing to prevent it. Her immediate reaction was to send a message of support to King Philip, although her covert plan was to distract Anjou with hopes of marriage.
Meanwhile, the Norwich ceremonies continued. On Thursday the 21st, she watched another play with many magical special effects, including underground music, although before it ended the heavens opened and everyone hastened for shelter. There was a farce about fairies, written by Thomas Churchyard, a contemporary writer of poetry and prose, on the last day, 'frowning Friday', 22 August, before the Queen, alternately smiling and looking sad, took her leave of the city at seven o'clock in the evening, after knighting the mayor.
'I have laid upon my breast such good will, as I shall never forget Norwich,' she told the citizens, with a catch in her voice. Then she shook her riding whip and cried, 'Farewell, Norwich!' with tears in her eyes.
Her visit was the occasion of twenty-two Catholic recusants being committed to jail for refusing to recognise the Acts of Uniformity. However, several local Catholics who had undertaken to conform were knighted alongside leading Protestants by the Queen, one of whose purposes in visiting the region was to subvert Catholic influence and reinforce the people's loyalty. Churchyard noted that, wherever Elizabeth went in East Anglia, she 'made the crooked paths straight and drew the hearts of the people after her'.
The Knollys family had constantly objected to the fact that Leicester had married Lettice in secret, and Lettice was determined not to be abandoned as casually as Douglas Howard had been. She resented the fact that her husband was still in contact with Douglas and their son, and insisted that this other woman in his life must go.
Leicester, whose passion for Douglas had long since died, arranged to meet her in the gardens of Greenwich Palace, where, in the presence of two witnesses, he told her he was releasing her from all obligations to him. He offered her an annuity of 700 if she would deny all knowledge of their marriage and surrender to him custody of young Robert Dudley. In the only account of their meeting, written by Douglas a quarter of a century later, she stated that she burst into tears at this point and turned down his offer, at which he lost his temper and shouted at her that their marriage had never been lawful.
Why he should have reached this conclusion is puzzling. The marriage had been freely entered into and performed before witnesses, by a priest, and neither party were contracted elsewhere at the time. It had been consummated, and both partners were of sound mind.
Douglas asked for a short time to think, and then capitulated, fearing that otherwise Leicester would seek revenge on her for thwarting him. His parting advice to her was that she should find herself a husband, and before the year was up he had arranged for her to marry a rising courtier of noble blood, Sir Edward Stafford, whose wife, Rosetta Robsart, a relative of Amy, had recently died.
In 1604, Leicester's 'base son', then Sir Robert Dudley, applied to the Court of Star Chamber to determine whether or not his parents' marriage was valid. However, he was opposed by the powerful Sidney family, who had inherited the earldoms of Leicester and Warwick and had much to lose if Dudley won his case. The Sidneys enjoyed the favour of the new King, James I, who may have influenced the outcome, which was inconclusive. The issue of the legality of the 1573 ceremony was left undecided, whilst Dudley was condemned for trying to prove his legitimacy, and his evidence was impounded. What little remains suggests that the marriage was, indeed, valid.
In the nineteenth century, the question of its legality was again revived when Sir John Shelley-Sidney laid claim to the barony of de Lisle and Dudley, to which he would not have been entitled had Robert Dudley been legitimate and left direct heirs to inherit it. The House of Lords investigated the matter, and concluded that Sir John had not succeeded in establishing his right to the barony, on the grounds that the marriage of Robert Dudley's parents had indeed been valid. Leicester, however, for reasons of his own, preferred to think otherwise, and though he was fond of his son, he never, until he died, acknowledged his legitimacy.
The Earl now felt it incumbent upon him to arrange a second, more appropriate wedding ceremony in order to satisfy Lettice and her father.
This took place early in the morning of 21 September 1578, at his house at Wanstead, with members of the Knollys family and the Earls of Warwick and Pembroke present. Lettice, now noticeably pregnant, wore 'a loose gown'. Two years later, just to make sure that all was in order, the officiating priest was required by the bride's family to make a sworn statement that he had married the couple. The Queen was not told about this second ceremony, which was kept a closely guarded secret.
Two days afterwards, Elizabeth and her court arrived at Wanstead on their way back to London. They stayed for several days, and were royally and expensively entertained, although the new Countess was nowhere to be seen. Philip Sidney had been commissioned by Leicester to produce a pastoral masque, The Lady of May, in the Queen's honour; it portrayed a lady being courted by rival lovers, and Elizabeth had to decide which of them she should choose.
By the autumn, having been engaged in a secret correspondence with Anjou, the contents of which she confided to no one, Elizabeth was considering seriously the advantages of marrying him, among which she numbered the possibility of England and France uniting in renewed friendship to achieve a real peace in the Netherlands and the fact that she would be in a position to help the Huguenots in France. Burghley and Sussex were again in favour of the marriage, even if they did not really believe it would ever take place, while Leicester, who now had nothing to lose, was strongly against it on religious grounds, although given the fragility of his relationship with the Queen, he had to be very wary of upsetting her.
After Don John of Austria's death on 1 October, King Philip sent another army under the Duke of Parma to subjugate the Netherlands. Parma occupied the south, pushing back William of Orange's forces to Holland and Zeeland, which became formally known in 1579 as the United Provinces.
In November, Anjou, now back in France and desperate for someone to back his next foray into the Netherlands, sent his 'chief darling' and Master of the Wardrobe, Jean de Simier, Baron de St Marc, 'a most choice courtier, exquisitely skilled in love toys, pleasant conceits and court dalliances', to England to discuss the terms of the proposed marriage with Elizabeth and prepare her for the Duke's .
Simier was a dubious character, having just murdered his brother for having an affair with his wife, who had poisoned herself shortly before he sailed to England. Yet when he arrived on 5 January 1579 with an entourage of sixty gentlemen Elizabeth, who knew nothing of his background, was so taken with this 'perfect courtier', whom she nicknamed her 'Monkey' and called 'the most beautiful of her beasts', that anyone observing them together might have been forgiven for concluding that she meant to marry him rather than his master.
As soon as Simier arrived, laden with jewels worth 12,000 crowns as gifts for the English courtiers, negotiations began to proceed more smoothly, with Simier wooing the Queen with consummate skill on Anjou's behalf and Elizabeth responding like a skittish girl, never happier or better-humoured than when in his company. She gave a court ball in his honour, at which was presented a masque in which six ladies surrendered to six suitors. She summoned him to her side as often as she could, and frequently kept him with her until late at night. She treasured the gift he had brought her from Anjou, a miniature book with a gem-encrusted binding, and kept it with her at all times. In return, she gave Simier little mementoes to send to the Duke, including a miniature of herself and some gloves. One day, she declared, she hoped to give Monsieur many more fine and valuable things, but for now these must suffice.
Never before had any of her politically-motivated courtships generated such excitement, and as the winter months passed in a series of romantic interludes, her councillors and courtiers began to wonder if, this time, she really did mean to get married. 'It is a fine thing for an old woman like me to be thinking of marriage!' she told Mendoza teasingly.
'If Your Majesty will consent to marry me', wrote the eager bridegroom, 'you will restore a languishing life, which has existed only for the service of the most perfect goddess of the heavens.'
No longer did the age gap or Anjou's pockmarks seem important. Elizabeth replied to her suitor that she would have his words of love engraved in marble. She vowed eternal friendship and constancy, which 'is rare among royalty', and brazenly assured him she had never broken her word. Whenever Anjou's name was mentioned, reported Simier, her face would light up, and he had been told by her ladies that she never ceased talking about the Duke in private. She had also said she now believed there could be no greater happiness in the world than marriage, and wished that she had not wasted so much time.
However, closeted with Simier, she expressed doubts. Was his master interested in her for herself, or did he just want to be king? She could not rest until she knew, and she would only find out if the Duke paid her a personal visit.
When her councillors heard that Simier had gained access to the Queen's bedroom and, by her leave, appropriated her nightcap and handkerchief as 'trophies' for his master, and when they learned that the Queen had gone early one morning to Simier's lodging, so that he was obliged to receive her wearing only a jerkin, they began to have reservations about this method of courtship, which was condemned by some as 'an unmanlike, unprincelike, French kind of wooing'.
If Elizabeth was using her flirtation with Simier to make Leicester jealous, she succeeded spectacularly. Although the Earl was obliged to be outwardly friendly towards Simier and entertain him at court, his enmity was plain to all. Leicester, who may have found out about Simier's shady past, was heard to protest that the envoy was employing 'love potions and other unlawful acts' to procure the Queen for the Duke. Most people, unaware that Leicester was married, concluded that he was speaking out of pique because he still hoped to marry Elizabeth himself, but when the Queen's ladies, who also distrusted Simier, spoke out in his favour, Elizabeth answered scathingly, 'Dost thou think me so unlike myself and unmindful of my royal majesty that I would prefer my servant, whom I myself have raised, before the greatest prince of Christendom, in the honour of a husband?' After this, no one dared criticise Simier to her face.
'He has shown himself faithful to. his master, and is sage and discreet beyond his years in the conduct of the case,' she wrote to Sir Amyas Paulet, her ambassador in Paris. 'We wish we had such a servant of whom we could make such good use.'
Behind the Queen's back, however, it was being whispered that Simier had won his way, not only to her heart, but also to her body.
In March 1579, Simier presented a draft marriage treaty to the Council. 'I have very good hope, but will wait to say more till the curtain is drawn, the candle out, and Monsieur in bed. Then I will speak with good assurance,' he wrote on 12 April. Some Englishmen were even ordering their wedding suits.
In London, however, they were betting 3-1 against the marriage, whilst many people objected to it on the grounds that Anjou was not only a Frenchman but also a Papist. The Puritans were vocal in their opposition, and many Anglican preachers were denouncing it from their pulpits. One even dared to predict, in front of the Queen, that 'marriages with foreigners would only result in ruin to the country'. Much affronted, Elizabeth stalked out in the middle of his sermon. Such opposition was offensive, not only to herself but also, more importantly, to the French, and she took steps to ban any texts that might support her subjects' objections.
At the end of that month, the Council debated the treaty, but its members were divided in opinion. Religion was a stumbling block because, although Anjou was no fanatic and might willingly have converted for Elizabeth's sake, he was now heir to the French throne and therefore required to remain a Catholic.
There was also the problem of the Queen's age. She was forty-five, and old, even by modern standards, to be contemplating having children. Elizabeth was herself concerned about this, and it was reported in foreign courts that she had consulted a panel of physicians, who had nevertheless assured her that all would be well. Lord Burghley pointed out to the Council that the Duchess of Savoy had borne a healthy prince at nearly fifty, and survived. The Queen, he went on, 'was a person of most pure complexion, of the largest and goodliest stature of well-shaped women, with all limbs set and proportioned in the best sort, and one whom, in the sight of all men, Nature cannot amend her shape in any part to make her more likely to conceive and bear children without peril'.
Prompted by concern for Elizabeth's safety, Burghley had carried out thorough inquiries to determine whether or not the business of getting heirs would put her at risk. Noting the results in a private memorandum, he wrote that she was well-formed and had 'no lack of functions in those things that properly belong to the procreation of children, but contrary- wise, by judgement of physicians that know her estate in those things, and by the opinion of women being most acquainted with Her Majesty's body'. These same doctors predicted that Elizabeth had at least six years left in which to bear children, and we may conclude from this that she had not ceased to menstruate. That did not mean, however, that she would, at her age, conceive a child, nor did it ensure that she would not die in childbirth, as happened to an estimated one in forty women in the sixteenth century.
While Burghley believed that sexual fulfilment and childbirth would help to cure the neuralgia Elizabeth suffered in her face and 'the dolours and infirmities as all physicians do usually impute to womankind for lack of marriage', and felt that the benefits of a royal marriage far outweighed the risks, Walsingham was more realistic, and spoke for the majority when he expressed his fear that motherhood would place the Queen in extreme peril.
The French ambassador shared Burghley's optimism. Her Majesty, he informed Catherine de' Medici, 'has never been more pretty or more beautiful. There is nothing old about her except her years.' Women born under her constellation were invariably fertile, and rarely died childless. It was commonplace in England for women of advanced age to bear children: his neighbour was a woman of fifty-six, and she was at present eight months pregnant.
Simier flounced out of the room in anger when he was told by the Council that they had rejected three of the marriage articles, namely, that Anjou be crowned immediately after the wedding, that he share jointly with the Queen the power to grant lands and church offices, and that Parliament should settle upon him an annual income of _ 60,000, payable until his children had reached their majority. Nor would the Council reach any decision on the treaty until Anjou had come to England and met the Queen.
Simier went straight to the Queen, who was walking in her Privy Garden and listened 'with much graciousness and many expressions of sorrow that her councillors disapproved of her marriage, which she desired so much'. According to Mendoza, she became 'very melancholy' and declared afterwards to her ladies, 'They need not think that it is going to end this way. I must get married.'
Mortified, Simier informed the Duke of these developments, but Anjou was conciliatory and said he would leave everything to the Queen's good judgement. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had become so distressed at her councillors' attitude that her ministers hurriedly backed
down and hastily summoned her best-loved ladies to court to calm her.
In May, she was sufficiently restored to complain to the French that they were making too many demands: 'If they had to deal with a princess that either had some defect of body or nature, or lacking mental gifts, such a kind of strainable proceeding might have been tolerated. But considering how otherwise - our fortune laid aside - it hath pleased God to bestow His gifts upon us in good measure, which we do ascribe to the giver and not glory in as proceeding from ourselves (being no fit trumpet to set out our own praises), we may in true course of modesty think ourself worthy of as great a prince as Monsieur is without yielding to such hard conditions.'
Fortunately, Anjou had already instructed Simier not to insist on every condition being met, which was as well, since the Queen was now expressing 'such a strong desire to marry that not a councillor, whatever his opinion may be, dares to say a word against it'.
Throughout the spring and summer, Anjou had repeatedly sought an invitation to England to meet the Queen. Elizabeth wavered: on the one hand, she had Burghley and Sussex urging her to agree, and on the other, daily opposition from Leicester, who reportedly even prostrated himself at her feet and begged her not to go through with this marriage, and was suspected, on flimsy evidence, of being behind two abortive attempts to murder Simier. In the end, Burghley prevailed, but only after Elizabeth had 'deferred three whole days with an extreme regret and many tears before she would subscribe the passport, being induced thereunto and almost forced by those that have led this negotiation in despite of Leicester'.
In 1615, Elizabeth's biographer, William Camden, claimed that early in July, Simier, desperate to neutralise Leicester's malevolent influence, told the Queen that the Earl was married, at which Elizabeth 'grew into such a chafe that she commanded Leicester not to stir out of the Palace of Greenwich, and intended to have committed him to the Tower of London, which his enemies much desired. But the Earl of Sussex, though his greatest and deadliest adversary, dissuaded her. For he was of opinion that no man was to be troubled for lawful marriage, which estate amongst all men hath ever been held in honour and esteem.'
As we have seen, it is more probable that the Queen had found out about the marriage fourteen months earlier. Camden claims that she briefly confined Leicester to his rooms at court and then banished him to Wanstead, but at a time when foreign ambassadors were reporting every titbit of gossip from the English court, there is no mention of this episode in any other source. Leicester was certainly away from court and staying at Wanstead at this time, but he was not out of favour. Mendoza reported on 6 July that Anjou's passport 'was given against Leicester's wish, and he is so much offended that he has retired to a house of his five miles away, where the Queen has been to see him and where she remained two days because he feigned illness. She afterwards returned secretly to London.' Hence we may conclude that Camden's tale is apocryphal.
Elizabeth did, however, vent her rage on Lettice. When Lettice dared to appear at court sumptuously attired, as befitted a countess, and attended by a large train of servants, the Queen advanced upon her like an avenging angel and boxed her ears, shouting, 'As but one sun lights the East, so I shall have but one queen in England.' After such public humiliation, Lettice did not dare venture to court again for many years, nor would Elizabeth have allowed it, despite Leicester's frequent pleas.
On 8 July, the Council informed Simier that they had sanctioned a visit by Anjou. His brother, Henry III, objected that it might be unwise, but the Duke ignored him and went to England, heavily disguised, in the middle of August. In case nothing came of it, his visit was meant to be a secret between himself, the Queen and Simier, but most people at court knew of it, although they wisely kept up the pretence that they did not. To ensure secrecy, Simier was assigned a pavilion in the gardens of Greenwich Palace, where Anjou would lodge with him.
Mendoza reported that Elizabeth was 'burning with impatience for his coming, although her councillors have laid before her the difficulties which might arise. She is largely influenced by the idea that it should be known that her talents and beauty are so great that they have sufficed to cause him to come and visit her without any assurance that he will be her husband.'
On 17 July, Elizabeth had a narrow brush with death as she left Greenwich in her barge to visit Deptford in the company of the Earl of Lincoln and the French ambassador. John Stow recorded that a fowler, Thomas Appletree, 'with two or three children of Her Majesty's Chapel, was rowing up and down the reach with a caliver, shooting at random, very rashly'. One shot passed within six feet of the Queen, piercing both arms of an oarsman and sending him toppling out of his seat, which 'forced him to cry and screech out piteously, supposing himself to be slain'. Elizabeth, unabashed, 'bid him be of good cheer, and said he would want of nothing that might be for his ease'.
On her orders, Appletree was condemned to be hanged, and four days later the gallows were set up at the water's edge where he had committed his crime. But Elizabeth merely meant to teach him a stern lesson, and 'when the hangman had put the rope around his neck, he was, by the Queen's most gracious pardon, delivered from execution'.
The Duke of Anjou arrived at Greenwich early in the morning of 17 August, and went directly to Simier's pavilion, where he woke him up and demanded to see the Queen. When Simier pointed out that she was still asleep, the eager Anjou had to be restrained from going to wake her up and kiss her hand. Instead, Simier sent her a note, to say he had put his exhausted master between two sheets. 'Would to God it was by your side.'
At sunset, Anjou dined with the Queen, who had stolen out of the palace with one of her ladies. Until their meeting, she had expected him to be a hideously disfigured, misshapen dwarf; instead, there now stood before her a mature and attractive man, whose pitted skin did not detract from his dark hair and eyes and witty gallantry, and it occurred to her that here was a very desirable husband indeed. 'I have never in my life seen a creature more agreeable to me,' she declared.
'The lady has with difficulty been able to entertain the Duke, being captivated, overcome with love,' the French ambassador reported to the Queen Mother. 'She told me she had never found a man whose nature and actions suited her better.'
'The Queen is delighted with Anjou, and he with her, as she has let out to some of her courtiers,' wrote Mendoza to King Philip. She had said 'that she was pleased to have known him, was much taken with his good parts, and admired him more than any man. She said that, for her part, she would not prevent his being her husband.' Philip, knowing that nothing definite had yet been decided, dismissed this as mere pretence.
But there was no mistaking the sexual chemistry between the royal lovers. The Duke, who possessed both charm and sex appeal, was an ardent suitor and Elizabeth responded with delight. She nicknamed him her 'Frog' and they exchanged gifts, made extravagant promises, and swore to love each other until death parted them. Several courtiers were aware of this love-play, among them Leicester, who was sickened and embarrassed by it. But he could do nothing because officially, as Mendoza reported,
the councillors deny that Anjou is here, and in order not to offend the Queen, they shut their eyes and avoid going to court, so as not to appear to stand in the way of interviews with him, only attending the Council when they are obliged. It is said that if she marries before consulting her people, she may repent it. Leicester is much put out, and all the councillors are disgusted except Sussex. A close friend of Leicester tells me he is cursing the French, and is greatly incensed against Sussex.
Meanwhile, the talk in London was all of the French duke's ostentatious courtship of the Queen, which left many people, notably the Puritans, scandalised, and inspired the poet Edmund Spenser, under Leicester's patronage, to write a satire entitled Mother Hubbard's Tale. This was less than flattering to Simier, and caused Leicester such embarrassment when the Queen condemned it that he was obliged to dismiss Spenser from his household, although not before he had used his influence to obtain a post for him with Lord Grey in Ireland, where Spenser was to write his greatest work, The Faerie Queen, which was dedicated to Elizabeth.
Because the Duke was not supposed to be in England, Elizabeth's fascination for him was fuelled by the necessity for snatching moments together in private. She saw him whenever she could and hated being apart from him. On 23 August, she arranged for him to view a court ball from behind a tapestry, and then gave the game away by showing off outrageously for his benefit, joining in more dances than usual and waving and smiling in his direction. Her courtiers politely pretended not to notice. Elizabeth even denied to Mendoza that Anjou was in England, and when two of her ladies gossiped openly about him, she ordered them to stay in their chamber.
Two days later, Leicester, 'in great grief, sought an interview with Elizabeth, from which he emerged in a state of visible emotion. That evening, he and the Sidneys, who also opposed the marriage, held a conference at Pembroke's house, after which Leicester decided that he could take no more, and left court with his sister Mary Sidney. All he could hope for now was that 'Parliament would have something to say as to whether the Queen married or not.'
Anjou's visit was abruptly curtailed when news arrived from France that a close friend had been killed in a duel, and he had to make arrangements to leave the next day. The Queen placed a royal ship, the Scout, at his disposal.
Simier told Elizabeth that, on the last night of the visit, a sleepless Anjou had kept him awake with his sighs and moans, and hauled him out of bed early to tell him about her 'divine beauties' and swear a thousand oaths that, without hope of ever seeing her again, he could not live another quarter of an hour. She was, confessed the Duke, 'the gaoler of his heart and mistress of his liberty'.
When Anjou left Greenwich on 29 August, 'the parting was very tender on both sides'. After he reached Dover, he wrote Elizabeth four letters; then he crossed the Channel and wrote three more from Boulogne to tell her that he was desolate without her, and could do nothing but wipe away his tears. He signed himself the most faithful and affectionate slave in the world, declaring that he kissed her feet from the coast of that comfortless sea. He enclosed with his letters 'a little flower of gold, with a frog thereon, and therein [a miniature of] Monsieur, and a little pearl pendant'.
Although Elizabeth behaved as if nothing had happened, privately she seems to have been in turmoil, which is apparent from some pensive lines composed by her at this time, entitled 'On Monsieur's Departure':
I grieve, yet dare not show my discontent; I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate, I dote, but dare not what I meant; I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate. I am, and am not, freeze, and yet I burn, Since from myself my other self I turn. My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when 1 pursue it, Stands and lives by me, does what I have done. Oh, let me live with some more sweet content, Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.
Anjou left Simier behind to finalise negotiations for the marriage treaty and keep Elizabeth happy. Yet opposition to the match was now stiffer than ever in England, especially in the capital, and even some courtiers were violently opposed to it. Philip Sidney, remembering the horrors of St Bartholemew's Eve, wrote Elizabeth an open but courteous letter of protest, reminding her how perfidious were the French Catholics and insisting that Anjou, whose mother was 'a Jezebel of our age', would be wholly unacceptable to her Protestant subjects, 'your chief, if not your sole, strength'. The Queen wept as she read it and castigated him soundly. He therefore felt it politic to stay away from court for a year, during which he wrote his celebrated work Arcadia whilst staying with his sister at Wilton House. Mendoza gleefully reported that he feared there would be a revolution in England if the Queen married Anjou.
The French ambassador would have disagreed, for he witnessed the Queen's return to London that autumn, and was overwhelmed to see her looking 'more beautiful than ever, bedizened like the sun, and mounted on a fine Spanish horse, and with so many people before her that it was a marvellous thing. They did not merely honour her, but they worshipped her, kneeling on the ground, with a thousand blessings and joyful remarks.'
Yet the Queen's apparently unshakeable popularity was soon to be under threat. In September, a Norfolk gentleman and Puritan, John Stubbs, wrote a pamphlet with the wordy title, The Discovery of a Gaping Gulf whereby England is like to be swallowed by another French marriage, if the Lord forbid not the banns by letting Her Majesty see the sin and punishment thereof. The pamphlet was printed and published in London, and thereafter widely distributed throughout England, becoming very popular and helping to influence public opinion.
It is not hard to see why the government was angered by its contents, for it was written in such strong language as to give great offence to the Queen, and to the Duke of Anjou in particular, since it described the House of Valois as being rotten with disease and sealed with the marks of divine vengeance for its cruelties, and the Duke as being 'eaten by debauchery'. He was 'the old serpent himself in the form of a man, come a second time to seduce the English Eve and ruin the English paradise', and was 'not fit to look in at her great chamber door'. Stubbs also called into question the wisdom of the Queen bearing children at her age.
Elizabeth was incandescent with anger when she read the pamphlet, not only because it had incited her people to oppose her, but also because of the way in which it slandered and insulted her allies, the French. On 27 September, she issued a proclamation condemning it as lewd and seditious, confiscated all copies and had them burned, then sent a preacher to Paul's Cross to assure her subjects that she had no intention of changing her religion on her marriage: 'She had been brought up in Christ, so she would live and die in Christ.' Although 'the people seemed, with a shout, to give God thanks' for this, they showed resentment 'at the sharp and bitter speeches' against Stubbs, who was a popular man and respected for his integrity.
Informed of this, Elizabeth consulted her judges and ordered that he be arrested and hanged for sedition, along with his printer, one Singleton, and his publisher, William Page. However, as this was not a capital crime, the men were condemned instead to have their right hands cut'off and be sent to prison. A judge and lawyer who questioned the legality of the sentence were summarily thrown into gaol.
The Queen showed her customary clemency by pardoning the printer, on account of his great age, but told the French ambassador that she would rather lose one of her own hands than mitigate the sentence passed on Stubbs and Page. Both were taken from the Tower to a public scaffold I front of Whitehall Palace, where Stubbs made a speech protesting his loyalty to the Queen.
'Pray for me, now my calamity is at hand,' he punned bravely. The executioner then chopped off his right hand 'with a cleaver driven through the wrist with a beetle'.* After the stump had been cauterised with a hot iron, Stubbs took off his hat with his left hand and cried, 'God save Queen Elizabeth!' before he fainted. Page, in turn, raised his bleeding stump and said, 'I have left there a true Englishman's hand.' Then he bravely walked away with his guards without assistance. The huge crowd of spectators watched the proceedings in sympathetic and disapproving silence.
When the furore had died down, Elizabeth realised that, by acting impulsively and with uncharacteristic cruelty, she had outraged public opinion. After eighteen months, she released Stubbs and later received him at court; he became an MP in 1581.
Parliament was due to meet on 20 October to conclude the marriage treaty, but the Queen, concerned about public opinion and remembering that she had never yet forfeited the good will of her subjects, prorogued it for a month and asked her Council for advice.
This gave rise to heated discussions. With Walsingham absent, Leicester and Hatton mustered five other councillors who were against the marriage, while Burghley led four others in favour. Bearing in mind that the Queen 'seemeth not pleased with any person or with any argument appearing to mislike of the marriage', they agreed at length to ask her to 'open her mind' to them as to her own inclinations.
Elizabeth must already have realised that it would be folly to go ahead with this marriage in the face of such focused opposition from her councillors and subjects, but when, on 7 October, a deputation of four councillors waited on her to know 'the inclination of her mind', she burst into tears at the realisation that she would have to turn down her last chance of marriage and motherhood. She marvelled that 'her councillors should think it doubtful whether there could be any more surety for her and her realm than to have her marry and have a child to inherit and continue the line of Henry VIII'. It had been foolish of her to ask for their advice, she sobbed, but she had anticipated 'a universal request made to her to proceed in this marriage'; she had not wanted to hear of their doubts. At this point, she was too distressed to go on.
*A heavy hand tool used for pounding or beating. With their tails between their legs, the deputation slunk off to report to their colleagues. The next day, they were back, to tell the Queen that the Council was ready to offer its wholehearted support 'in furtherance of the marriage, if so it shall please her', and to explain that they had been moved to a change of heart by her obvious desire to have issue and because she had made it plain that she wanted the Duke for a husband, and no one else. Elizabeth, who had recovered her composure, spoke sharply against those who had opposed the marriage, saying that, had it not been for their eloquence, the majority would have been content for it to proceed. She was finally prevailed upon to promise the Council an answer, but gave no hint of what this would be. All she would say was 'she thought it not meet to declare to us whether she would marry with Monsieur or no'.
Mendoza reported: 'She remained extremely sad after the conversation, and was so cross and melancholy that it was noted by everyone who approached her. She has been greatly alarmed by all this.'
When she next met her councillors, she was in a difficult mood, telling Walsingham that he had better be gone, since he was good for nothing but protecting Puritan interests. She was not on speaking terms with Leicester, and Knollys and Hatton also felt the sharp end of her tongue, the latter being banished from court for a week for having opposed the marriage.
Elizabeth knew now that, if she wished to retain the love of her subjects, she could never accept Anjou as a husband, although it was important that the marriage negotiations be prolonged in order to keep the French friendly and the Duke under control. So, on to November, attired in a veil adorned with fleurs-de-lys, the emblem of France, she summoned her Council and 'told them she had determined to marry and that they need say nothing more to her about it, but should at once discuss what was necessary for carrying it out'.
On 24 November, she agreed that she and Simier should sign the marriage articles, with the proviso that she be allowed two months in which to dispose her subjects, as represented by Parliament, to agree to the marriage, before concluding the treaty. If she was unable to do so, the agreement would be rendered null and void. The Queen knew that there was little likelihood of Parliament's approval and that this would give her an excuse to break off negotiations.
'You realise, my dearest,' Elizabeth wrote to Anjou, 'that the greatest difficulties lie in making our people rejoice and approve.
The'public practice of the Roman religion so sticks in their hearts. I beg you to consider this deeply, as a matter which is so hard for Englishmen to bear that it passes all imagination. For my part, I confess there is no prince in the world to whom I think myself more bound, nor with whom I would rather pass the years of my life, both for your rare virtues and sweet nature. With my commendations to my dearest Frog.
In the words of the Archbishop of York, 'The French matter was dashed.'
At the end of November, Simier and his retinue returned to France, with an impressive escort and many fine gifts, but Elizabeth had not heard the last of him, for he sent her a stream of passionate letters tied with pink silk ribbon.
During that same month, Douglas Sheffield married Sir Edward Stafford, now England's ambassador in Paris. The Queen, who had heard about Douglas's involvement with Leicester, seized upon this as an opportunity to be revenged upon Lettice Knollys, and voiced fears that there might be an impediment to this new marriage because of the earlier ceremony in which Douglas had been allegedly married to Leicester. If that ceremony could be proved legal and binding, then the Queen had resolved to give Leicester an ultimatum: either have his union with Lettice annulled and honour Douglas with marriage, 'or rot in the Tower'.
Sussex, who was cousin to Douglas, was appointed to question her on the matter, but she was unable to produce witnesses to the 1573 ceremony or documentary evidence. Understandably, she now hated Leicester, and wanted nothing more to do with him.
The Queen, put out at being cheated of her revenge, was further incensed when, in December, Lettice Knollys presented Leicester with an heir - their first child had been stillborn late in 1578. The baby was christened Robert and given his father's title Baron Denbigh, but his parents invariably referred to him as their 'noble imp'. Given this, and his undisguised distaste for the Anjou marriage, it would be some time before Leicester was received back into favour.
At the close of the year, Simier wrote to Elizabeth, 'Be assured, on the faith of a Monkey, that your Frog lives in hope.' Around the same time, Elizabeth discussed the subject of her marriage with Mendoza and 'referred to it so tenderly as to make it clear how ardently she desired it'. But already, the magic of the spell Simier had woven was wearing off, and Elizabeth was once again mistress of her destiny.