by Alison Weir
Meanwhile, the Emperor, having heard that Elizabeth had rejected Philip II as a husband, and also having learned of her heretical sympathies, had decided not to press the suit of the pious and bigoted Archduke Ferdinand, whom Elizabeth had privately dismissed as being 'fit only for praying for his own family'. Instead, the Emperor planned to put forward his younger son, Charles, as the most suitable husband for the Queen of England. There was some risk involved, naturally, and the Emperor confided to von Helfenstein that he would never have permitted Charles to place his immortal soul in such danger were it not for weighty political reasons. Underestimating Elizabeth's commitment to the Anglican settlement, Ferdinand was confident that marriage to Charles would bring about her conversion to Catholicism.
English diplomats, on the other hand, were rather too optimistic that Charles would turn Protestant after the wedding, having read misleading reports that his faith was not too deeply rooted. 'He is not a Philip', observed one, 'but better for us than a Philip.'
In May, the Emperor dispatched a second ambassador, Baron Caspar Breuner, to England. He arrived on the 26th and immediately sought the help of the Spanish ambassador. De Quadra perceived that the Baron was 'not the most crafty person in the world'. Two days later de Quadra accompanied him when he had his first audience with the Queen, whom they found watching some dancing in her Presence Chamber. 'Breathing a prayer to the Almighty', Breuner laid the Archduke's proposal of marriage before her.
Elizabeth betrayed no emotion. She thanked the Emperor for deeming her worthy of one of his sons, but reminded Breuner that, although her subjects were continually exhorting her to marry, she had 'never set her heart upon, nor wished to marry anyone in the world', although she might indeed change her mind, 'for she was but human and not insensible to human emotions and impulses'. Breuner, his hopes dashed, warned the Archduke that he would have to be patient, but added that, having seen the palaces and possessions of this Queen, he had no doubt that she would be 'well worth the trouble'.
De Quadra had taken the opportunity to speak to Cecil about the Austrian marriage plan, but found the Secretary unenthusiastic. The ambassador then saw the Queen and, resorting to desperate measures, hinted that Charles might be thinking of leaving the Catholic church. Elizabeth displayed a flicker of interest, then 'went back to her nonsense and said she would rather be a nun than marry, without knowing with whom, and on the faith of portrait painters'. She told de Quadra she had heard rumours that Charles had an abnormally large head: she dared not risk accepting a deformed husband. De Quadra attempted to reassure her on this point, but after much 'wasting of words', she declared that she would never marry unless it was 'to a man of worth whom she had seen and spoken to'.
Slyly, she suggested that Charles might come to England and be inspected; did de Quadra think he would agree to this? De Quadra gave his opinion that the Archduke might well come out of love for her, but it was doubtful if the Emperor would send his son on approval. Indeed, he was to refuse to do so: it would be too public a humiliation were Elizabeth to refuse Charles. Given the constraints and etiquette that governed European royal courtships, the Queen's request was unusual, to say the least.
'I do not know whether she is jesting, which is quite possible', de Quadra told Philip, 'but I really believe she would like to arrange for this visit in disguise.' The Emperor was to veto that idea also, on the grounds that it was undignified and contrary to the usual way of conducting royal courtships. The Archduke himself proved reluctant to visit Elizabeth unless the marriage was a foregone conclusion.
Breuner, having completed his mission, now withdrew to await a reply. On 29 May, the Austrian proposal was laid before senior councillors, Elizabeth vowing to heed their advice, but only on condition that she would be able to 'see and know the man who was to be her husband' before accepting any offer of marriage. Nevertheless, in subsequent meetings with Breuner, she remained adamant that she would not marry at all for the present. God, with whom all things were possible, might change her mind in the future. She hoped that the Emperor would respect her honesty.
Breuner, in despair, retorted that the Emperor would most likely be offended and upset, considering the warm welcome afforded von Helfenstein, but Elizabeth made the rejoinder that the Emperor was in too much of a hurry, and that she would write to him personally, explaining the situation. In the meantime, Breuner was welcome to stay on in England. The Baron took this as an encouraging sign, and during their next two meetings contrived to persuade Elizabeth to tell him whether there was any point in pursuing 'this marriage business'. If not, he would return to Vienna. Elizabeth, with infuriating complacency, told him to act as he thought best, although her manner suggested that she wanted him to stay. Throughout the next few days, she paid him a great deal of attention, flattered him and exercised her charm to devastating effect. But she would say nothing about the Archduke's proposal, and was now declaring that she had taken a vow not to marry anyone she had not seen, 'and will not trust portrait painters'. She recalled how King Philip had cursed both painters and ambassadors when he had first beheld Queen Mary; she, Elizabeth, would not give the Archduke any cause to curse in a like manner.
Breuner's chief concern was that the Queen might accept someone else as a husband. Early in April, Prince Erik of Sweden, who had been a suitor for her hand during Mary's reign, renewed his courtship, but his envoy committed a terrible faux pas by demanding from the Queen an answer to the proposal made before her accession. Elizabeth regally insisted that Erik propose again to her as queen, whereupon he obliged, dispatching a handsome gift of tapestries and ermines. On 6 May, Breuner worriedly reported that 'The Swedes have brought a likeness of their young King [sic.] with them and shown it to the Queen, who praised the portrait highly.' Unlike the Archduke, Erik was prone to sending the Queen letters containing passionate declarations of love, which greatly entertained her. However, she made it plain that he would have to leave his country to marry her, as she would not leave hers for any consideration in the world. It was not realistic for either to abandon their kingdoms, and in May, when the Swedish envoys had begun to outstay their welcome and were becoming the butt of courtly ridicule, Elizabeth turned Erik down. She had not, however, heard the last of him.
To add to Breuner's concern, ambassadors from the Duke of Saxony and Adolphus, Duke of Holstein, arrived in England around the same time with offers of marriage; these the Queen would also turn down after spinning out negotiations for as long as she decently could.
There were additionally English suitors competing for her hand, and by May two serious candidates had emerged.
The first, who had originally displayed an interest in Elizabeth - to her great amusement - while her sister was alive, was Henry FitzAlan, 12th Earl of Arundel, aged about forty-seven, a widower with married daughters and with no good looks, trim physique or courtly manners to commend him. He was 'a flighty man of no ability, rather silly and loutish', who had too good an opinion of his chances with the Queen. What he had to offer was his wealth - he lived in Henry VIII's magnificent Nonsuch Palace in Surrey, leased to him by the Queen -and a family lineage stretching back as far as the Norman conquest, although neither were sufficient compensation for his boorish stupidity. Nor did Elizabeth take his courtship seriously; she thought him a buffoon, although she hid it well and strung him along much as she did her other suitors.
The other candidate for her hand was the debonair diplomat, Sir William Pickering, who was five years Arundel's junior and had just returned that May from ambassadorial service abroad. As far back as December court gossips had linked his name to Elizabeth's. Pickering was the son of Henry VII's Knight Marshal, had studied under John Cheke at Cambridge, and had risen to prominence under Henry VIII. He had been a loyal supporter and friend of Elizabeth during Mary's reign, although in 1554 he had been obliged to escape abroad after being implicated in the rebellion led by his friend Sir Thomas Wyatt. Mary had later taken him back into favour and used him on diplomatic missions
to the courts of France and Italy. Illness had prevented him from returning to England at the time of Elizabeth's accession, and as soon as he arrived at court, on Ascension Day, and was received by the Queen at a private audience - only granted to the most privileged -which lasted for four or five hours, there was intense speculation that she might marry him, many considering that he was the only possible match for her among her subjects. The next day she spent a further five hours alone with him, and soon afterwards allocated him chambers in Greenwich Palace. This was her way of rewarding an old friend whom she was glad to see again after an absence of several years.
Pickering was 'tall of stature, handsome', muscular and gallant, and although many women had succumbed to his charms, he had never married. One affair had produced a bastard daughter, Hester, whom he was to name his heiress. He had bought former ecclesiastical property, and owned a fine London house in St Andrews Underhill, where he maintained an extensive library, which was the envy of the Queen. He had no claim to noble ancestry, but he was popular at court and in the capital, and it was his hope that his personal attractions would induce the Queen to marry him. Certainly he was the most popular choice among his compatriots, who believed it likely that the Queen might indeed take him as her consort.
Without being given much encouragement by Elizabeth, who seems never to have seriously contemplated marrying Pickering, councillors and courtiers began to seek Sir William's favour, and his new-found importance went to his head. He began spending extravagantly in order to adopt the lifestyle of a future king consort: he gave himself airs and graces, spent large sums on sumptuous clothes, and entertained on a grand scale, dining apart from his guests, with music playing as his food was served -just as if he were royal. Much excitement was generated by his behaviour, with London bookmakers giving odds of 25-100 that he would soon be King, though he openly maintained that the Queen would never marry anyone. This could have been a diplomatic facade to disguise his private hopes and ambitions. De Feria, in his last dispatch from England, commented: 'If these things were not of such great importance and so lamentable, some of them would be very ridiculous.'
Not to be outdone, Arundel too began swaggering about the court, handing out lavish bribes of jewels worth 600 to the Queen's ladies, as an inducement to them to sing his praises to their mistress. But even the nervous Baron Breuner, who had Arundel constantly in his sights, realised that here was no serious threat to the Archduke's prospects. It was Arundel alone who 'entertains that hope'.
Naturally, some of the older nobility resented Pickering's pretensions, and Arundel was glad of any opportunity to belittle him. One day, as Sir William was ostentatiously making his way to the Chapel Royal through the inner sanctum of the Queen's apartments, Arundel barred his way, saying he was too lowly in rank to be there: as a mere knight he should not have ventured beyond the Presence Chamber. Pickering retorted that he knew as much, just as he knew that Arundel was 'an impudent, discourteous knave'. At that, Arundel challenged him to a duel, but Pickering declined to fight, pointing out that Arundel was the weaker man. A furious Arundel thereafter went about protesting that, if Elizabeth married Pickering, he, Arundel, would sell all his estates and live abroad.
During the spring of 1559, public attention was focused upon Arundel and Pickering. But there emerged at this time a third English suitor, who was to prove a more serious contender for the Queen's hand, and who was probably the only man she ever loved. His name was Robert Dudley.
Chapter 4
'Bonny Sweet Robin'
The first evidence that Queen Elizabeth was becoming emotionally involved with Robert Dudley appears in a dispatch from de Feria to King Philip dated 15 April 1559. 'During the last few days', he wrote,
Lord Robert has come so much into favour that he does whatever he likes with affairs. It is even said that Her Majesty visits him in his chamber day and night. People talk of this so freely that they go so far as to say that his wife has a malady in one of her breasts, and that the Queen is only waiting for her to die to marry Lord Robert. I can assure Your Majesty that matters have reached such a pass that I have been brought to consider whether it would be well to approach Lord Robert on Your Majesty's behalf, promising him your help and favour and coming to terms with him.
It was essential that Dudley be made to see the advantages of a continuing friendship between England and Spain.
Others, too, saw what was going on between the Queen and her Master of Horse, and soon the gossip spread to the courts of Europe. Paolo Tiepolo, Venetian ambassador to the court of Philip II, reported to the Doge and Senate: 'Dudley is a very handsome young man, towards whom, in various ways, the Queen evinces such affection and inclination that many persons believe that, if his wife - who has been ailing for some time - were perchance to die, the Queen might easily take him for her husband.'
On 10 May, Il Schifanoya observed, 'My Lord Robert Dudley is in great fwour and very intimate with Her Majesty. On this subject I ought to report the opinion of many, but I doubt whether my letters may not miscarry or be read, wherefore it is better to keep silence than to speak ill.' Clearly, the most scurrilous of rumours were already circulating about the affair, but that was hardly surprising, since Dudley was a married man. Many were scandalised that Elizabeth should show him such favour, not the least of them William Cecil, who saw in Dudley's ascendancy a threat to his own power. Already, Elizabeth was consulting Dudley on state affairs, and there are indications that he had influenced her to stand her ground against the bishops during the discussions that preceded the recent religious legislation. Certainly he was instrumental in the advancement of no less than twenty-seven of the higher clergy during the early years of the reign.
Naturally, de Feria was still cherishing hopes that the Habsburg marriage negotiations might bear fruit, but he admitted that it was not easy trying to negotiate anything with Elizabeth because she was so changeable. 'For my part I believe she will never make up her mind to anything that is good for her. Sometimes she appears to want to marry [the Archduke], and speaks like a woman who will only accept a great prince, and then they say she is in love with Lord Robert and never lets him leave her.' The ambassador suspected that Dudley might pose a far greater threat to the Habsburg negotiations than Arundel or Pickering ever had. Not that they were yet out of the running, for Elizabeth continued to flirt with both; she even timed her first interviews with Pickering to take place while Dudley was away hunting at Windsor.
Dudley's duties brought him into daily contact with her, and there were plenty of opportunities for their relationship to flourish. They rode out together most days since both of them shared a passion for hunting. He was cultivated, witty, charming and attractive: in fact, a stimulating companion. Elizabeth could relax in his company, and he, sharing the same mischievous sense of humour, knew well how to amuse her. He alone had the gift of teasing her without giving offence, and it was later said of him, by one of his friends, that he knew her 'better than any man'.
When she was with him, she was anything but discreet, making no secret of her affection for him. She spoke of him often and never missed a chance to praise his talents as a horseman or as an arranger of tournaments and courtly entertainments. She openly danced spirited galliards with him, leaping into the air 'after the Florentine style, with a high magnificence that astonished beholders'.
For someone who normally set a high value on the good opinion of her people, she appeared to care not a jot what they were thinking. But as she was to point out on several occasions, much of the more salacious gossip - such as the rumour that 'Lord Robert did swyve the Queen' -was unfounded, because she was attended round the clock by her ladies and maids-of-honour. Court etiquette was such that she was hardly ever alone, and there would have been very few opportunities for her to carry on a sexual relationship with Dudley without other people finding out. The few allegations that the affair had progressed this far were made only by hostile ambassadors who would believe anything of a Queen who had
embraced heresy. Yet even de Quadra, whose spies were everywhere, could find no evidence of a sexual relationship and refused to believe the rumours.
On 23 April, the first St George's Day she celebrated as Queen, Elizabeth bestowed the Order of the Garter upon Dudley, and upon the three senior peers of the realm, the Duke of Norfolk - Dudley's great rival - the Marquess of Northampton and the Earl of Rutland. This caused bad feeling, for the three noblemen had for many years served their country in various capacities, while Dudley was the son and grandson of upstart traitors. His only qualifications for the honour were good looks and superb horsemanship.
Not long afterwards, Elizabeth granted him the 'capital mansion' known as the Dairy House at Kew, Knole Park in Kent, lands in Leicestershire and Yorkshire, and the first of several grants of money.
Before long, he was freely dispensing patronage to a growing clientele of his supporters at court, and although he had no official political role in the government, the Queen looked to him frequently for acivice. 'In the Privy Chamber', wrote one of his opponents, 'next to Her Majesty's person, the most part are his creatures, as he calleth them; and the rest he so overruleth that nothing can pass but by his admission.' Elizabeth fondly tolerated this situation, but never permitted Dudley to forget who was mistress and who was servant; there is no evidence that she ever allowed his advice to override decisions taken by her ministers. Nevertheless, many at court were suspicious of his motives and resentful of his over-familiarity with the Queen. Norfolk reviled him as an upstart, and many of the older nobility agreed with him. A lot of people thought Dudley a self-seeker who was professing love for the Queen only to further his own ambitions.
Yet there can be little doubt that the love between Elizabeth and Dudley was genuine on both sides. It endured through many storms until death intervened. There is no escaping the sincerity in Dudley's letters, the warmth of his addresses, nor his obvious concern for her welfare. With others he was usually haughty and reserved, but in the Queen's company he was congeniality itself. He was attracted to redheads, and enjoyed a sexual rapport with the Queen. It is also true that his feelings for her were not entirely selfless, yet she too was not above using him for her own ends. She certainly found him attractive physically, for she 'always took personage in the way of affection'. She admired his nerve, his sense of adventure and his robust masculinity. She could not resist the challenge of taming such a charmer and making him her creature. To her, he represented all that a man should be; his presence uplifted her spirits, and she declared it was imperative that she see him every day. In letters, he referred to himself as her 'Eyes', a nickname she had bestowed on him, and to which he alluded in his signature cipher of two lines above two circles.