CHAPTER 31
The boy King, Edward VI, died on 6 July 1553, and immediately England was plunged into chaos. He declared his half-sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, illegitimate and nominated a cousin, Lady Jane Grey, John Dudley’s (the Earl of Northumberland’s) daughter-in-law, as his successor. The failure of this plan was a disaster for all involved and even for some who weren’t. Northumberland himself, Lady Jane Grey and her husband Guildford Dudley (Northumberland’s second youngest son) were all executed for treason. The rest of the Dudley family was stripped of its ranks and titles, his other sons being imprisoned in the Tower of London. Had it not been for the intervention of Queen Mary’s husband, Philip II of Spain, they too might have been executed. As it was, they remained in prison until September 1554.
Also held prisoner in the Tower and in fear of her life was Queen Mary’s younger sister Elizabeth, who had to hide her Protestant leanings or face execution as a heretic. Her imprisonment in the Tower, however, had other consequences. During their shared captivity, when they both feared for their lives, she became close to Robert Dudley, one of the late Duke’s younger sons, and they would meet for walks. She had, of course, known him since she was eight, but this shared adversity drew them together. Whether they later became lovers is still a matter of debate. However, there is no doubting that Robert Dudley was the love of Elizabeth’s life, and under different circumstances they would probably have married. But these were not normal times; external circumstances, the scandal over the death of Robert Dudley’s first wife and her fear of allowing any man to become king made this an impossibility. She did, however, shower her favourite with gifts, and in 1564, she awarded him the title of Earl of Leicester.
Elizabeth was a highly intelligent and very well educated woman who, like Leicester and his sister Mary Dudley (the wife of Sir Henry Sidney), had studied mathematics under the tutelage of Dr John Dee. A Renaissance ‘Magus’ of the first order, Dee was a polymath who combined bona fidescience with what is now labelled as pseudo science: pursuits such as alchemy, astrology and even spiritualism. In 1555, this landed him in hot water when he was accused of using black magic to try to kill Queen Mary. In fact, all he had done was draw up her horoscope and show it to her sister Elizabeth. It is not recorded whether they inferred the date of Mary’s death (17 November 1558) from that. What is true is that he subsequently advised Elizabeth on the most astrologically propitious day on which to hold her coronation (15 January 1559). Despite the fact that she was a constant target for assassins throughout her reign, and yet she went on to have one of the longest reigns of any British monarch (she died on 24 March 1603), it could be argued that Dee picked the right day.
In many ways, Dee was ahead of his time. The dissolution of the monasteries had led to the loss of their libraries, an important resource for anyone doing serious research. When he couldn’t interest Queen Mary in the project of setting up a new, national library, he developed one of his own. His house in Mortlake (in South West London) became home to the largest collection of books in the kingdom. It was also the centre of an intellectual circle that included Sir Francis Drake, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, his brother Adrian Gilbert and their half-brother Sir Walter Raleigh. Other members of the group were the Earl of Leicester, his sister Mary, her two eldest sons, Philip and Robert Sidney, and her daughter, Mary Sidney.
This informal group, sometimes referred to as the ‘Dee circle’, made up what amounted to an esoteric school with Dee as their teacher. From him, they learned such arcane pursuits as astrology, alchemy and geometry. However, his interests went beyond mathematics and even the occult. Although born in London, Dee was of Welsh stock, and he too believed himself to be descended from the ancient kings of Britain. He also knew of a legend that, long before the time of Columbus, a Prince called Madoc had sailed to North America and claimed it for Gwynedd or North Wales. Because Queen Elizabeth was a granddaughter of Henry VII who was descended from the Royal House of Gwynedd, it could be argued that this Welsh claim to North America, which predates Spanish claims by several centuries, now rested with her. On this basis, regardless of objections from the Pope or the King of Spain, she was entitled to issue licences for exploration and settlement in this new world.
In this context, Dee’s geometry (he wrote a much-acclaimed foreword to Henry Billingsley’s 1570 translation of Euclid’s Elements) also had a practical purpose. He was a close friend of the Flemish cartographer Geradus Marcator, whose ‘projection’ is still used in map-making today. A knowledge of geometry was an essential skill in the growing field of navigation using such maps. The geometric skills that Dee taught to such early English explorers as Drake, the Gilberts and Raleigh gave them a necessary tool for the exploration of the coast of North America and, in Drake’s case, for circumnavigating the world.
In 1577, Dee wrote a textbook on the subject, General and Rare Memorials Pertaining to the Perfect Art of Navigation. This, however, was not a course in navigation as such, but a political treatise. In this, Dee expounded his belief that England needed to build a ‘British Empire’ in the Americas. The justification for this call for Imperialism – it was the first time anyone had written of a British Empire – was both Elizabeth’s ‘Arthurian’ descent and the fact that, with the abolition of Catholicism, the British Church (according to this view) had been purified. To help with the realization of his vision, Dee introduced potential investors such as the Queen and Northumberland to adventurers daring enough to actually attempt to set up colonies. Although the early attempts by the Gilbert brothers (in Newfoundland) and Walter Raleigh (in Virginia) ended in failure, these 16th-century experimental colonies opened the way for the more successful settlements of the 17th century that ultimately resulted in the USA and Canada.
Having taken over the throne, Elizabeth lost no time in bringing key members of Dee’s circle to her court. Robert Dudley was immediately made her Master of the Horse and, in 1559, Knight of the Garter and Privy Councillor. Sir Henry Sidney, who had been a close friend of Edward VI throughout the latter’s life – indeed the boy King died in his arms – was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He was there before, and probably realized that this was a poisoned chalice for any aspiring courtier. However, he needed a job and this was what was on offer.
Much to the annoyance of the Queen, Sidney’s attempts at quashing successive Irish rebellions proved futile. Furthermore, as stationing an army in Ireland was costing her a great deal of money, Elizabeth was always reluctant to pay him what he was owed. As a result, the Sidneys were always short of cash, so much so that Sir Henry was forced to turn down the offer of a baronetcy as he knew he couldn’t afford to live up to being a Lord. A more genial task proved to be that of President of the Council of Wales, which he held from 1560 until his death in 1586. As we shall see, this connection with Wales was to have profound consequences not just for him but for the future of his family.
Sir Henry Sidney’s wife Mary Dudley, another member of the Dee circle, was a very close confidante of the Queen. She was a highly intelligent woman who spoke Latin, French and Italian fluently; it was undoubtedly she who was responsible for inculcating a love of learning in her children. In 1562, she showed how much she loved and cared for the Queen when she took on the dangerous task of nursing her through smallpox. She carried out her duties without complaint, deeming it an honour to serve her Queen in this way. Elizabeth recovered, but, inevitably, her nurse Mary caught smallpox from her. Although she too recovered, it is said that it left her so disfigured that thereafter she covered her face with a veil.
Leicester, the Queen’s favourite, was close to his sister Mary and was a frequent visitor to the Sidney’s family home of Penshurst. In due course, he brought Mary’s dazzling eldest son Philip to court. To say that Sir Philip Sidney was a celebrity is probably to underestimate his charismatic appeal both in England and throughout Europe. Like his mother, he was a good linguist and this led him, at an early age, to be employed by Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth’s Chief of Intelligence. His formal role was that of diplomat, but he was also a spy. In these two capacities he made a number of European trips.
This could be dangerous work, and indeed, Philip went through a baptism of fire when, at the age of 17, he found himself in Paris during the St Barthomew’s Day Massacre. The day, 24 August 1572, should have been a cause for celebration. It was hoped that the marriage of a Protestant, Henry of Navarre (later Henry IV of France) to the Catholic sister of the King would heal France’s religious divide. In the event, riots broke out and thousands of Protestants, in Paris to celebrate the wedding, were slaughtered by rampaging mobs. Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Francis Walsingham, who was with him, were lucky to escape with their lives. Both were deeply shocked by what they had seen, and it left a lasting impression with them that would influence England’s foreign policy.
The Dee circle was not just about navigation, magic and politics. Collectively, its members engineered a revolution in English letters. Sir Philip Sidney is most famous today as one of England’s greatest poets, but he was by no means the only one in the family. His sister Mary wrote poetry and so did his younger brother Robert. His own reputation owes as much to Mary as himself; after his death she carefully edited his poems and saw to it that they were published.
Mary Sidney took after her mother, being exceptionally intelligent, well educated and, like her brother Philip, gifted at languages: she is said to have spoken Latin, French, Italian, Greek and Welsh as well as being at least familiar with Spanish and Hebrew. Her childhood was spent between the family seat at Penshurst and Ludlow Castle, in the border county of Shropshire, where her father presided as Chairman of the Council of Wales. In addition to her academic studies, she learnt how to ride with hounds, hunt with a hawk, shoot with a bow, use a tennis racquet and play the popular game of bowls. As a well-bred woman, she was taught poetry and rhetoric from an early age and was expected to learn enough ‘Physic’ (medicine) as might be needed in due course by the lady of a large household. It went without saying that she learnt how to sing, play the lute and compose melodies of her own. If ever there was a Renaissance woman, it was her!
At age 13, Queen Elizabeth invited Mary to join the court, where she was a maid of honour for a short time. Delicately featured rather than pretty, we can imagine that even at this age she had charisma. This was certainly noticed by Sir Henry Herbert, 2nd Earl of Pembroke and the richest widower in England if not Europe. Therefore, it was only natural for her uncle, Robert Dudley, to negotiate a highly advantageous marriage for her with his old friend. Although Henry Herbert was 23 years older than she, this was not so unusual for the aristocracy of the time. Indeed, they seem to have had a relatively happy marriage, producing four children, three of whom survived to adulthood.
Mary Sidney, now known as the Countess of Pembroke, had been keen on theatre all her life. With her marriage to one of the richest men in the kingdom, she was in a position to become, in the Earl’s name, a major patron of the arts. Their home, Wilton House, was at the epicentre of an artistic and linguistic revolution. It was probably at Mary’s instigation that the Earl sponsored William Shakespeare’s company, which was accordingly known as ‘Pembroke’s Men’. The connection with Shakespeare continued, and when the first folio of his works was published, in 1623, it was dedicated to the ‘incomparable pair’, the Countess’ sons – William Herbert, 3rd Earl of Pembroke, and his brother Philip, Earl of Montgomery and, later on, 4th Earl of Pembroke. The printing began in February 1621, just weeks after the death of their mother. She, meanwhile, was recently identified in a quite extraordinary book, Sweet Swan of Avon, as the real author of Shakespeare’s plays. Discussion of the Shakespeare authorship question goes far beyond the present work. However, it is worth noting that the plays themselves imply a combination of high intelligence, advanced knowledge of poetic metre, access to very obscure books (some only available in foreign languages), detailed knowledge of courtly life and a great sympathy for women. The Countess of Pembroke fits the bill on all these counts and more. She also knew the jobbing actor Shakespeare personally and would have had a motive for keeping her identity secret behind his.
Be that as it may, she is best remembered today for editing and publishing the poems of her brother, Sir Philip Sidney, whose untimely death resulted indirectly from the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, which had a profound effect upon English policy. In 1577, he was sent by Queen Elizabeth to Prague to convey her condolences to Rudolf II, the newly crowned Holy Roman Emperor, on the death of his father. Philip used this trip as an excuse to travel extensively through Germany, then divided into a multiplicity of small principalities. His orders were to sound out the more important of the avowedly Protestant princes to see if they would be willing to join an informal alliance aimed at curtailing the Catholic powers of France, Spain and the Hapsburg Empire. As a further inducement, willing princes were to be offered the enticing possibility of being elected to the Order of the Garter, the most prestigious in Europe. The garter collar was, of course, composed of interlinked Tudor Roses and this has led to a now widespread belief (first put forward by the historian Dame Frances Yates) that the ‘Rosicrucian Brotherhood’, which was to go public in Germany a generation later, was somehow connected with the Order of the Garter.
Sir Philip found the warmest response to these overtures in Heidelberg, the capital of a small, Rhineland province called the Palatinate. Sir Philip’s visit started a friendship between England and the Palatinate that would have profound consequences for all of Europe. He also met up with William of Orange, the leader of the Dutch rebellion against Spain. On his return, he proposed to the Queen that England should back William and help the Protestant Dutch break free from Spanish rule. She had long been sceptical of such involvement, but eventually, in 1585, agreed to send a small army under the command of his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. Unsurprisingly, Sir Philip Sidney went over to Holland with this expeditionary force, and in due course he was appointed Governor of the city of Flushing, which was then in the frontline of the insurrection. Disaster struck the following year. In the Battle of Zutphen, his thigh was shattered by a musket ball. Ten days later, the unthinkable happened: Sir Philip Sidney died from gangrene.
The whole of Europe mourned his passing as though Lancelot himself had died on that battlefield, but this was only the final chapter in what turned out to be an annus horribilis for the Sidney family. In May, his father, Sir Henry Sidney, died, exhausted but little the richer for all his years of service to the Crown. A few weeks later, his wife, Lady Mary, who had never fully recovered her health after the smallpox, also passed over. Now their son and heir had been killed in battle. It was as though the gods themselves had conspired against the Sidneys and were punishing them for some unknown failing.
Following Sir Philip’s death, the new head of the family was his brother Robert. He was Sir Henry’s second son and had also been present at Zutphen. Two years later, on 4 September 1588 and just weeks after the destruction of the Spanish Armada, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, also died. His death was sudden and unexpected, but is thought to have been the result of malaria.
For the young Robert Sidney, this last tragedy was also an opportunity. Leicester’s only son and one-time heir had predeceased him by several years. Now, even though his lands were to go to an illegitimate son, Robert could confidently expect to inherit his titles. However, as long as the old Queen lived, this did not happen. For whatever reason, Elizabeth, always stingy about giving honours, refused to give him the titles. It was not until James I came onto the throne that he was rewarded with the family titles of Viscount De L’Isle and Earl of Leicester. The reason for this snub was not obvious, but further investigation uncovered the extraordinary fact that it was Sir Robert Sidney and not his brother Philip who was destined to stand at the epicentre of the Rosicrucian mystery.