As soon as she realised that her mistress had died, Lady Scrope, as prearranged, removed a sapphire ring from the late Queen's finger and dropped it through a window to her brother, Robert Carey, who was waiting below, ready saddled to ride to Scotland. King James knew that, when he received that ring, he would be King of England in truth.
Later that morning, the accession of King James I was proclaimed at Whitehall and in Cheapside. There was 'no great shouting', and Manningham felt that 'the sorrow for Her Majesty's departure was so deep in many hearts, they could not so suddenly show any great joy'. Nevertheless, that evening saw some muted celebrations, as bonfires were lit and bells rung in honour of a new king, a new dynasty, and a new era. Slowly, it was beginning to dawn on people that the great Elizabethan age was over.
Three days later, Carey arrived in Edinburgh, just as the King had retired for the night. Muddied and dusty as he was after his long ride, he fell to his knees and saluted James as King of England, Scotland, Ireland and France. Then he gave him Queen Elizabeth's ring.
At Richmond, now virtually deserted after the court had returned to London, 'The Queen's body was left in a manner alone a day or two after her death, and mean persons had access to it.' No post mortem was carried out, and it was left to three of her ladies to prepare the corpse for burial. Then it was embalmed, wrapped in cere-cloth and 'enshrined in lead'.
After five days, the coffin was taken at night, on a barge lit by torches, to Whitehall, where it lay in state in a withdrawing chamber, attended round the clock by many lords and ladies. It was then moved to Westminster Hall, where it lay 'all hung with mourning; and so, in accordance with ancient custom, it will remain, until the King gives orders for her funeral'.
On 28 April, more than a month after her death, Elizabeth's body was taken in procession to Westminster Abbey. It was an impressive occasion: the hearse was drawn by four horses hung with black velvet, and surmounted by a life-sized wax effigy of the late Queen, dressed in her state robes and crown, an orb and sceptre in its hands; over it was a canopy of estate supported by six earls. It was followed by her riderless palfrey led by Elizabeth's Master of Horse, and the Marchioness of Northampton, who as the senior noblewoman acted as chief mourner and led the peeresses of the realm in their nun-like mourning hoods and cloaks, and a thousand other black-clad people: lords, councillors, gentlemen, courtiers, heralds, and servants, as well as 276 poor persons. The Lord Mayor and his brethren were there, as were the Children of the Chapel Royal, and in the rear marched Raleigh with the Gentlemen Pensioners, their halberds pointed downwards. The solemnity was overlaid with gorgeous pageantry as colourful banners and standards fluttered in the breeze and trumpets sounded.
Thousands lined the funeral route: Stow says that 'Westminster was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people in their streets, houses, windows, leads and gutters, that came to see the obsequy, and when they beheld her statue lying upon the coffin, there was such a general sighing, groaning and weeping as the like hath not been seen or known in the memory of man, neither doth any history mention any people, time or state to make like lamentation for the death of their sovereign.'
With Whitgift officiating, Elizabeth 1 was buried in the north aisle of the Henry VII Chapel in the Abbey; after her coffin had been placed above that of her sister Mary in the vault, the chief officers of her household, as was customary, broke their white staves of office and cast them down on the coffin, to symbolise the termination of their allegiance. The vault was then sealed.
James I ordered a magnificent tomb to be erected to his predecessor's memory. It was designed by Maximilian Colt, at a cost of 765, and was completed in 1606. Colt's white marble effigy of the Queen portrays an old woman, and it has been conjectured that he may have worked from a death mask. The effigy was painted by Nicholas Hilliard and gilded by John de Critz, although all traces of colour and gilding have long since disappeared. A Latin inscription on the tomb would have pleased Elizabeth greatly, for it describes her as 'The mother of this her country, the nurse of religion and learning; for perfect skill of very many languages, for glorious endowments, as well of mind as of body, a prince incomparable.'
For forty-five years, 'though beset by divers nations', Elizabeth had given her country peace and stable government - her greatest gift to her people. During that time, England had risen from an impoverished nation to become one of the greatest powers in Europe. Bolstered by the fame of her seamen, her navy was respected and feared on the high seas, and not for nothing had Elizabeth been lauded as 'the Queen of the Sea, the North Star'.
The Queen had also brought unity to her people by effecting a religious compromise that has lasted until this day, and making herself an enduring focus for their loyalty. She had enjoyed a unique relationship with her subjects, which was never seen before and has never been seen since. Few queens have ever been so loved. Under her rule, her people grew ever more confident in the belief that they were a chosen nation, protected by Divine Providence, and this confidence gave rise, in the years after the Armada, to the flowering of the English Renaissance.
Of course, there had been failures. A careful housekeeper, she had striven throughout her reign to live within her means, but towards the end, even she had been defeated by economic forces, and she died 400,000 in debt. Ireland was not fully subdued, Calais remained in French hands, and the English had so far been unable successfully to found a permanent colony in the New World. Yet, under Elizabeth, England had defeated the might of Spain, won the respect of the rest of Europe, and established a lasting peace with Scotland through the union of the crowns. Elizabeth had also been extremely fortunate in her advisers, which was due in part to her having an uncanny ability to choose those men of the greatest merit as her chief servants.
By constantly shelving or avoiding problems, such as the royal finances, the resurgence of Puritanism, or Parliament's attempts to limit the royal prerogative, Elizabeth passed on to her successor the potential for future conflict, but she had managed as best she could, even when she had been beset on all sides by seemingly insurmountable threats and concerns.
Many of her contemporaries bore witness to her abilities. Lord Burghley had said of her, 'She was the wisest woman that ever was, for she understood the interests and dispositions of all the princes in her time, and was so perfect in the knowledge of her own realm, that no councillor she had could tell her anything she did not know before.'
'Our blessed Queen was more than a man', wrote Cecil, 'and, in troth, something less than a woman.' Then he added wistfully, 'I wish I waited now in her Presence Chamber, with ease at my foot and rest in my bed.' Life under James was less easy than he had imagined it would be.
Yet it was not until some years later that most people came to realise what they had lost. 'When we had had experience of a Scottish government, the Queen did seem to revive,' recalled Godfrey Goodman, Bishop of Gloucester. 'Then was her memory much magnified: such ringing of bells, such public joy and sermons in commemoration of her, the picture of her tomb painted in many churches, and in effect more solemnity and joy in memory of her coronation than was for the coming of King James.' Within a generation of her death, the unity she had fostered in her realm would have disappeared, a casualty of an unavoidable clash between Crown and Parliament. Then, people would look back on the reign of Good Queen Bess with nostalgia, and the legends would become embellished and pass into popular folk-lore: Drake playing bowls before the Armada, Raleigh spreading his cloak for Elizabeth to walk on, Elizabeth herself playing at the marriage game and giving rise to centuries of speculation.
The most fitting epitaph to this extraordinary woman is to be found in the pages of Camden's biography: 'No oblivion shall ever bury the glory of her name; for her happy and renowned memory still liveth and shall for ever live in the minds of men.'