Life of Elizabeth I

by Alison Weir

  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 Leic
ester 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.