by Alison Weir
Elizabeth, who, according to Leicester, was 'more bent to marriage than heretofore she hath been', could see the wisdom in this, and that February she sent her cousin Lord Buckhurst to Paris, ostensibly to congratulate Charles on his marriage, but chiefly secretly to inform the French that she 'thankfully accepted' their proposals and was ready to treat with them over the marriage. This news delighted King Charles, who wanted his unstable, ambitious and meddling brother safely out of the country before the Guises could get him into their clutches. The thankless task of negotiating the marriage was left to Walsingham, England's resident ambassador in Paris.
'If I be not much deceived', noted Burghley, 'Her Majesty is earnest in this.' If the marriage went ahead, 'the curious and dangerous question of the succession would in the minds of quiet subjects be buried - a happy funeral for all England'.
Yet from the first it was obvious that religion was going to be a major obstacle. Elizabeth insisted that Anjou convert to the Anglican faith, while he, a fervent Catholic who was influenced by the Papal Nuncio and the Cardinal of Lorraine, refused to violate his conscience even for the hope of a kingdom.
Anjou, who was unenthusiastic about the match, complained to his mother that he feared he would be universally ridiculed if he took such a notorious bride. When an anxious Catherine de' Medici asked Fenelon to make discreet inquiries at the English court in order to discover if the rumours were true, the ambassador reported back that he had heard nothing to justify them, and Anjou reluctantly had to agree to negotiations proceeding. It was not surprising that they speedily reached an impasse.
That same February saw the arrival in London of the Earl of Morton and other commissioners from James VI, come to make it clear to the Queen that the Scots did not want her to press for Mary Stuart's restoration. In fact, Elizabeth now had no intention of doing so, for since the Pope had issued the Bull of Excommunication, she had become far less enthusiastic about having a troublesome Catholic monarch as her near neighbour, although she affected to be offended by James's impertinence.
The realisation that Elizabeth would now do nothing to help her soon filtered through to Mary, who declared to her friend, the Bishop of Ross, that 'our good sister must pardon us if, seeing no further deliverance to be had at her hand', she looked to foreign princes for help. If intrigue could secure her liberation, and hopefully the crown of England, that was the course she was now obliged to take. Indeed, she was already involved in one of the most dangerous plots of Elizabeth's reign.
Since the collapse of the Northern Rising, nothing had been heard of Roberto Ridolfi, the Florentine banker who doubled as a papal agent, until in January 1571 he had written to Mary offering to act as her representative in the courts of Europe, where he would be well placed to stir up support for her. He had conceived a plan whereby the Catholic powers would invade England, overthrow Elizabeth, and set Mary and Norfolk up in her place; already, King Philip and the Pope had agreed in principle to support it. Now he needed the consent of Mary herself.
Mary, after obtaining the Pope's approval, was only too happy to give it: this was what she had been praying for. She told Ridolfi to inform her friends that, if they did invade England, they could expect the support of many influential lords, and provided him with credentials issued by herself to show King Philip, the Pope and the Duke of Alva.
Mary still cherished hopes of Norfolk. While he languished in the Tower, she had written to him to persuade him that they should still marry when it became possible: 'You have promised to be mine, and I yours. I believe the Queen of England and country should like of it. You promised you would not leave me.' Even Norfolk could not have believed now that Elizabeth would welcome such a marriage, and he had, on his release, promised the Queen that he would 'never deal in the cause of the marriage of the Queen of Scots'. However, as with many men before and after him, she continued to exert a fatal fascination for him.
On 8 February 1571, Mary wrote to Norfolk, outlining Ridolfi's plans and inviting him to join the conspiracy. The Duke had no desire to become involved, at great danger to himself, in what was undoubtedly high treason. He was also alarmed at Mary's insistence that he become a Catholic. By 10 March, however, Mary had worn down his resistance, and, driven by the hope of a crown, he met Ridolfi in secret and offered his help and support. When he refused to sign a written request for men and supplies to King Philip, Ridolfi simply forged his name on the document.
Two weeks later, Ridolfi left for Rome, where the Pope was pleased to bless his enterprise.
In April, Burghley's agents in Scotland reported that they had evidence that the Queen of Scots was corresponding with the Duke of Alva. This could only mean trouble, and Shrewsbury was instructed to keep careful watch on Mary's doings.
Confirmation of the government's fears came soon afterwards, when the Grand Duke of Tuscany, whose court Ridolfi had visited en route to Rome, wrote to warn Burghley that the banker was involved in a conspiracy concerning the Queen of Scots. After that, Shrewsbury closely questioned Mary about her involvement with foreign courts, but she denied all knowledge of what he was talking about. Nevertheless, he remained vigilant, since the government were hopeful that she would incriminate herself and thus give them an excuse to proceed against her.
When Parliament reassembled in May 1571, its priority was to preempt any Catholic plots and tighten national security, and three Acts were passed. From now on, it would be high treason to say that Elizabeth was not the lawful Queen of England, or to publish, write or say that she was a heretic, infidel, schismatic, tyrant or usurper. It would also be treason for anyone to bring a papal Bull into the realm. Crucifixes, rosaries and religious pictures were banned, and Catholics who had fled abroad were ordered to return within six months or forfeit all their possessions.
Life was becoming exceedingly difficult for English Catholics. Forbidden to practise their religion, they were fined if they did not attend Anglican services. They had to be careful how they spoke of the Queen, and, in the political climate following the papal interdict, many people regarded Catholics as little better than traitors because of their faith. Some did look to Mary Stuart for deliverance, although their numbers were not so great as King Philip, the Pope and Mary herself fondly supposed. In fact, the majority of English Catholics were loyal to Elizabeth.
At the end of June, Ridolfi was warmly received by Philip II in Madrid. By now, the details of the plot had been finalised: the Duke of Alva would invade England with 6000 Spanish troops from the Netherlands, and would then march on London and occupy it. Simultaneously, Norfolk would incite loyal English Catholics to rise up against Elizabeth, who would be seized by the Duke and either assassinated or held as a hostage for Mary's safety. Mary would be liberated and proclaimed Queen of England, then she and Norfolk would marry and in time reign as joint sovereigns over England and Scotland, to which kingdoms they would restore the Catholic faith.
There were fatal weaknesses in the scheme, the chief one being that Ridolfi, like most Catholics, vastly overestimated the number of English Catholics who would be willing to rise on Mary's behalf- he believed there would be 39,000. The Florentine banker had no real understanding of English politics or the English people, and Norfolk, who should have had both, was either too gullible or too blinded by ambition to point out the flaws.
It was left to the Duke of Alva to veto the plan. Alva, who had scathingly dismissed Ridolfi as 'that great chatterbox', was convinced that the invasion would fail, and that, if it did, it would do irrevocable harm to Catholicism in general as well as to Mary's cause, and might well cost her her life. He refused point blank to use his troops in the enterprise, knowing that without them, Philip was powerless to help the Queen of Scots. Throughout the summer, the other conspirators tried to persuade Alva to change his mind, but with no success.
Leicester was still riding high. In July, a court had finally overturned his 1554 conviction for treason and cleared his name. In future, his enemies would be unwise to call him
a traitor. But although he remained closer to the Queen than anyone else, he now had rivals for her affections. His friend, Sir Thomas Heneage, still enjoyed Elizabeth's favour, and there was a newcomer on the court scene, Christopher Hatton.
Born around 1540, Hatton was the son of a Northamptonshire squire, and had been educated at Oxford and the Inner Temple, where Elizabeth is said to have watched him dancing in the masque Gorboduc in 1562. It was his elegant dancing and his dashing skill in the tiltyard that captivated her interest after Hatton had been appointed one of her Gentlemen Pensioners in 1564. Thereafter, he rose rapidly to favour, receiving grants of land and court offices, and becoming a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber in 1569 and MP for Northampton in 1571. In 1572 the Queen would appoint him Captain of the Gentlemen Pensioners, her personal bodyguard, which meant that his duties would keep him in constant attendance upon her.
By 1571, he had become one of Elizabeth's intimates and been given a nickname. Where Leicester was her 'Eyes', Hatton was her 'Lids'. Later she would call him her 'Mutton' or her 'Bellwether'.
Hatton was the ideal courtier. According to Naunton, he was 'tall and portionable', while Nicholas Hilliard called him 'one of the goodliest personages of England'. He was strikingly handsome with dark hair and eyes, but it was his robust masculine charms and his passionate address that endeared him to Elizabeth. When he wrote to her, it was as a lover, sometimes ending his letters with a pun: 'Adieu, most sweet Lady. All and EveR yours, your most happy bondman, Lids.'
Once, after being parted from her for only two days, he wrote:
No death, no, not hell, shall ever win of me my consent so far to wrong myself again as to be absent from you one day. I lack that I live by. The more I find this lack, the further I go from you. To serve you is heaven, but to lack you is more than hell's torment. Would God I were with you but for one hour. My wits are overwrought with thoughts. I find myself amazed. Bear with me, my most dear, sweet Lady. Passion overcometh me. I can write no more. Love me, for I love you. Live for ever.
Hatton flattered his Queen with compliments and unusual gifts, and made love to her with his eyes. His whole life was dedicated to paying court to her, and unlike her other suitors, he remained unmarried for her sake, to her great gratification, although whether she knew that he found his sexual pleasures elsewhere and was the father of a bastard daughter is another matter.
Leicester was naturally jealous of Hatton, and tried to belittle him in the Queen's eyes. When she praised Hatton's dancing, Leicester told her he could send her a dancing master who could do far better.
'Pish!' she snorted, unimpressed. 'I will not see your man. It is his trade."
Leicester was further discountenanced by her fondness for the dashing young Edward de Were, Earl of Oxford, who had, like Hatton, commended himself to her by his skill at jousting. Something of a free spirit, Oxford was well-educated in the classics, skilled in dancing and playing the virginals, and a superb horseman - qualities guaranteed to endear him to the Queen, who also appreciated the young man's slender figure and hazel eyes.
Everyone expected the Earl to become one of the court's brightest stars, and Leicester's enemies fervently hoped that Oxford would displace the favourite. When Oxford married Anne Cecil, Burghley's daughter, at Westminster Abbey, the Queen attended and bestowed on him a nickname - her 'Boar'. However, he soon lost interest in his fifteen-year-old bride, and grew weary of life at court, indulging his passion for adventure overseas. Although the Queen 'delighteth more in his personage and his dancing and valiantness than any other', there was no likelihood of his ever achieving entry to her inner circle, since he could 'by no means be drawn to follow the court'. 'If it were not for his fickle head, he would pass any of them shortly,' observed a contemporary.
Until March 1571, only the Queen's inner circle had known about the proposed French marriage, and when, that month, she had informed the Council of her intention to marry the Duke of Anjou, her councillors had been pleasantly surprised. As Burghley put it, such a marriage would make 'the Pope's malice vanish away in smoke'. Remembering the fate of earlier marriage projects, however, the councillors were only cautiously optimistic, and one had caused great offence to the Queen when he tactlessly asked if the Duke were not too young to be her husband.
Soon afterwards, Catherine de' Medici sent a special envoy, Guido Cavalcanti, to England with a formal proposal of marriage from Anjou, a flattering portrait of him, and a list of demands: the Duke must be permitted to practise the Catholic faith, he was to be crowned King of England on the day after the wedding, and the English Exchequer was to pay him an annual income of - 60,000 for life. Elizabeth made difficulties about all these conditions: she would not agree to the Duke being crowned, nor to granting him a life income, and while she conceded that he would not be compelled to attend Anglican services, she refused to allow him to attend mass, even in private.
Unsurprisingly, little progress was made during the spring and summer, and, worst still, reports reached the Queen that the Duke, encouraged by his friends, was reluctant to proceed and, having heard of her varicose ulcer, had even publicly referred to her as 'an old creature with a sore leg'. Queen Catherine officially apologised for her son's rudeness, but for some times afterwards Elizabeth, sensitive about growing old, took pains to dance in public before Fenelon. She hoped, she said pointedly, that Monsieur would have no cause to complain that he had been tricked into marrying a lame bride.
Yet the age gap did concern her, and she confided as much in private to her ladies, but when Lady Cobham advised her against pressing ahead with her marriage plans because of the 'great inequality' in age, the Queen was much affronted and retorted, 'There are but ten years between us!' Lady Cobham dared not contradict her.
Angered that Anjou was proving so reluctant a suitor, Elizabeth created more difficulties over the marriage contract, at one point even demanding the return of Calais as one of its conditions. Burghley warned Walsingham that she seemed to be deliberately insisting on terms to which the French would never agree. In Europe, diplomats were equally confused, and in Spain it was believed that Elizabeth would not go through with the marriage, since she was only pretending an interest in it to raise French support. 'She will no more marry Anjou than she will marry me!' commented the Duke de Feria.
On 7 June, the Venetian ambassador in Paris reported, 'It is the opinion of many that the negotiations will be successful.' Yet Anjou was still insisting he would change his religion for no one, and by July, Walsingham was very pessimistic. Burghley, knowing that public feeling was in favour of the marriage, tried to persuade Elizabeth to permit the Duke to at least attend mass in private, but she declared that her conscience would not permit her to sanction any Catholic service to be held in England. She failed to see, she continued disingenuously, why the Duke could not worship as an Anglican without hurt to his conscience.
Burghley despaired at Elizabeth's attitude. Marriage to a French prince seemed the only sure means of protecting herself and England from the malice of the Papacy and Spain, yet she seemed to be doing her best to wreck negotiations. Walsingham and Leicester, however, believing that Anjou was pretending to be a more zealous Catholic than he actually was, felt that the French would at length make concessions and that the Queen was justified in taking a stand. Burghley, bitterly disappointed at Leicester's defection, believed that the Earl's sole objective was to marry the Queen himself. Certainly he had secretly advised the French to stand firm on the matter of the mass.
In August, the Queen Mother of France sent another special envoy, Paul de Foix, to London, to add his pleas to Burghley's, but still Elizabeth was adamant that she would make no concessions. It now seemed that she was up to her usual game of playing for time, and stringing out negotiations without having any intention of reaching a happy conclusion. Realising this, Burghley wearily advised her on 31 August that he would instruct her Council to devise other means for her preservation, although 'How Your Majesty shall obtain remedies for you
r perils, I think is only in the knowledge of Almighty God.'
By September, when de Foix returned dejectedly to France, Leicester, who knew Elizabeth better than anyone, was forced to conclude, as he told Walsingham, that 'Her Majesty's heart is nothing inclined to marry at all, for the matter was ever brought to as many points as we could devise, and always she was bent to hold with the difficultest.' That month, it was reported by the Venetian ambassador in Paris that the Anjou marriage negotiations had foundered, although the 'good understanding' between England and France might yet lead to an alliance.
In view of the intelligence he had received about the Ridolfi conspiracy, Burghley advised the Queen that it would be unwise to go on progress as usual, but she would not listen. She even stayed at Norfolk's house at Walden in Essex on 24 August.
Two days later, at a time when it was obvious to most of the conspirators that Ridolfi's invasion plan was unworkable, the game was up for Norfolk when a suspicious courier reported him to the authorities for sending money and letters in cipher to Mary's friends in Scotland. The Queen's reaction was angry, and the Duke was arrested on a charge of high treason on 3 September, being 'quietly brought into the Tower without any trouble' at midnight on the 7th. On the following day, government agents found a bundle of incriminating letters in cipher hidden below the roof tiles of the Charterhouse, Norfolk's London residence.
In the meantime, news had arrived of the murder of the Regent Lennox on 4 September at Stirling Castle, in revenge for his hanging of Archbishop Hamilton. To Elizabeth's relief, he was replaced by her own candidate, the Earl of Mar.