by Alison Weir
This gave rise to heated discussions. With Walsingham absent, Leicester and Hatton mustered five other councillors who were against the marriage, while Burghley led four others in favour. Bearing in mind that the Queen 'seemeth not pleased with any person or with any argument appearing to mislike of the marriage', they agreed at length to ask her to 'open her mind' to them as to her own inclinations.
Elizabeth must already have realised that it would be folly to go ahead with this marriage in the face of such focused opposition from her councillors and subjects, but when, on 7 October, a deputation of four councillors waited on her to know 'the inclination of her mind', she burst into tears at the realisation that she would have to turn down her last chance of marriage and motherhood. She marvelled that 'her councillors should think it doubtful whether there could be any more surety for her and her realm than to have her marry and have a child to inherit and continue the line of Henry VIII'. It had been foolish of her to ask for their advice, she sobbed, but she had anticipated 'a universal request made to her to proceed in this marriage'; she had not wanted to hear of their doubts. At this point, she was too distressed to go on.
*A heavy hand tool used for pounding or beating. With their tails between their legs, the deputation slunk off to report to their colleagues. The next day, they were back, to tell the Queen that the Council was ready to offer its wholehearted support 'in furtherance of the marriage, if so it shall please her', and to explain that they had been moved to a change of heart by her obvious desire to have issue and because she had made it plain that she wanted the Duke for a husband, and no one else. Elizabeth, who had recovered her composure, spoke sharply against those who had opposed the marriage, saying that, had it not been for their eloquence, the majority would have been content for it to proceed. She was finally prevailed upon to promise the Council an answer, but gave no hint of what this would be. All she would say was 'she thought it not meet to declare to us whether she would marry with Monsieur or no'.
Mendoza reported: 'She remained extremely sad after the conversation, and was so cross and melancholy that it was noted by everyone who approached her. She has been greatly alarmed by all this.'
When she next met her councillors, she was in a difficult mood, telling Walsingham that he had better be gone, since he was good for nothing but protecting Puritan interests. She was not on speaking terms with Leicester, and Knollys and Hatton also felt the sharp end of her tongue, the latter being banished from court for a week for having opposed the marriage.
Elizabeth knew now that, if she wished to retain the love of her subjects, she could never accept Anjou as a husband, although it was important that the marriage negotiations be prolonged in order to keep the French friendly and the Duke under control. So, on to November, attired in a veil adorned with fleurs-de-lys, the emblem of France, she summoned her Council and 'told them she had determined to marry and that they need say nothing more to her about it, but should at once discuss what was necessary for carrying it out'.
On 24 November, she agreed that she and Simier should sign the marriage articles, with the proviso that she be allowed two months in which to dispose her subjects, as represented by Parliament, to agree to the marriage, before concluding the treaty. If she was unable to do so, the agreement would be rendered null and void. The Queen knew that there was little likelihood of Parliament's approval and that this would give her an excuse to break off negotiations.
'You realise, my dearest,' Elizabeth wrote to Anjou, 'that the greatest difficulties lie in making our people rejoice and approve.
The'public practice of the Roman religion so sticks in their hearts. I beg you to consider this deeply, as a matter which is so hard for Englishmen to bear that it passes all imagination. For my part, I confess there is no prince in the world to whom I think myself more bound, nor with whom I would rather pass the years of my life, both for your rare virtues and sweet nature. With my commendations to my dearest Frog.
In the words of the Archbishop of York, 'The French matter was dashed.'
At the end of November, Simier and his retinue returned to France, with an impressive escort and many fine gifts, but Elizabeth had not heard the last of him, for he sent her a stream of passionate letters tied with pink silk ribbon.
During that same month, Douglas Sheffield married Sir Edward Stafford, now England's ambassador in Paris. The Queen, who had heard about Douglas's involvement with Leicester, seized upon this as an opportunity to be revenged upon Lettice Knollys, and voiced fears that there might be an impediment to this new marriage because of the earlier ceremony in which Douglas had been allegedly married to Leicester. If that ceremony could be proved legal and binding, then the Queen had resolved to give Leicester an ultimatum: either have his union with Lettice annulled and honour Douglas with marriage, 'or rot in the Tower'.
Sussex, who was cousin to Douglas, was appointed to question her on the matter, but she was unable to produce witnesses to the 1573 ceremony or documentary evidence. Understandably, she now hated Leicester, and wanted nothing more to do with him.
The Queen, put out at being cheated of her revenge, was further incensed when, in December, Lettice Knollys presented Leicester with an heir - their first child had been stillborn late in 1578. The baby was christened Robert and given his father's title Baron Denbigh, but his parents invariably referred to him as their 'noble imp'. Given this, and his undisguised distaste for the Anjou marriage, it would be some time before Leicester was received back into favour.
At the close of the year, Simier wrote to Elizabeth, 'Be assured, on the faith of a Monkey, that your Frog lives in hope.' Around the same time, Elizabeth discussed the subject of her marriage with Mendoza and 'referred to it so tenderly as to make it clear how ardently she desired it'. But already, the magic of the spell Simier had woven was wearing off, and Elizabeth was once again mistress of her destiny.
Chapter 19
'Between Scylla and Charyhdis'
Elizabeth entered the New Year of 1580 in a gloomy frame of mind, at odds with those councillors who had opposed her marriage, and 'not showing so much favour as formerly to the Earl of Leicester'. Yet before long she began to appreciate the reasoning behind his and others' objections, and when the French ambassador criticised him for placing obstacles such as religion in the way of the marriage, she snapped that he had only been doing his duty as a councillor. This did not, however, herald a return to their previous intimacy, for it was not until April that her manner towards Leicester began to thaw.
At the end of January, the deadline for Elizabeth's decision about her marriage passed without her making any move to conclude negotiations. According to Mendoza, Anjou, who knew better than to press for an answer, was doing his best to court favour with the English, having written to ask the Queen to release Stubbs and Page from prison, so that he might be seen as a merciful prince.
Late in February, Mendoza heard that Elizabeth had complained to Burghley that she was 'between Scylla and Charybdis'.
'I believe that Your Majesty is disinclined to marry, either of your own disposition, or by persuasion of others whom you trust,' Burghley had observed sagely. The Queen would neither confirm nor deny it, even when he pointed out that, if she did not intend to marry, she must 'undeceive Anjou at once'. Her actual intention was to 'keep him in correspondence' indefinitely, and she was not interested in her councillors' warnings that the French would not take kindly to being treated so shabbily. 'Those that trick princes trick themselves,' muttered Burghley.
Elizabeth defiantly followed her chosen course, sending the Duke a stream of undated letters in her untidy 'running hand'. In them, she skilfully implied that, although they should perhaps renounce each other, since her people would object to his celebrating mass, given more time, she might be able to convince her subjects of the benefits of the marriage. Again and again, she praised the 'firm rock' of his constancy, and repeatedly managed to blame the delays in negotiations on the French. 'Our souls are meant to be unite
d,' she insisted - but the burning question was when?
She let it be known, particularly in the hearing of the French ambassador, that she was still in love with Anjou, and wore his frog jewel to prove it. She often tucked a pair of gloves he had given her into her belt, and ostentatiously took them out and kissed them a hundred times a day. Once, during a court ball, she made the ambassador listen while she read aloud every single letter the Duke had ever sent her, with such warmth and feeling that he gained the impression she was trying to score a point over those who had opposed the marriage.
It was all pretence, of course, intended to keep the French happy. Yet although Elizabeth had almost come to terms with the fact that she could never marry Anjou, her councillors were nevertheless kept guessing, and Walsingham sighed, 'I would to God Her Highness would resolve one way or the other touching the matter of her marriage.' To Sussex, he wrote: 'If Her Majesty be not already resolved, it will behove her to grow to some speedy resolution, for the entertaining of it doth breed her greater dishonour than I dare commit to paper, besides the danger she daily incurreth for not settling of her estate, which dependeth altogether on the marriage.'
In July, Elizabeth was still reproaching Leicester for having prevented her marriage, and although her outbursts were less frequent, they were nonetheless bitter. After one such tantrum, the Earl was heard to sigh, 'Better for me to sell my last lands than to fall into these harsh conditions.' The coldness between them made him irritable with his colleagues, so much so that he felt obliged to write to Burghley to apologise. It would be some time before harmony was restored between Elizabeth and her erstwhile favourite.
The eccentric Oxford was also out of favour, having announced his conversion to the Roman faith. To counterbalance the effect of this upon the Queen, he disclosed to her the names of other courtiers who were secret Catholics, which led to all of them being placed under house arrest. However, his revelations did Oxford little good, for his former friends now shunned him, as did Elizabeth, who not only disapproved of his behaviour, but had also learned of his involvement with one of her maids of honour, Anne Vavasour, a 'drab' with a tarnished reputation.
The following March, when Anne gave birth to a son, Oxford immediately admitted paternity and made provision for the baby. But Elizabeth was not so easily mollified, being 'greatly grieved by the accident', and committed both Anne and her feckless lover to the Tower for several weeks.
The relative stability of the previous five years showed signs of crumbling when, in 1580, Pope Gregory XIII reissued his predecessor's bull against Elizabeth. During the summer, much to the alarm of the government, Jesuit priests from Rome began arriving in England. Their mission, which was to preserve and augment the Catholic faith, was headed by the radical priest Robert Parsons and the devout and inspirational figure of Father Edmund Campion, who would be largely responsible for the remarkable success of the Jesuit mission and the upsurge in Catholic resistance during the coming decade, not to mention the patriotic reaction which came in its wake.
The political situation was hardly encouraging. Mary Stuart had embarked upon a fresh round of plots against Elizabeth, this time in league with the Spanish ambassador, Mendoza, a dangerous association that was to last for the next three years. Relations with Scotland had cooled since James VI's assumption of power, for the young King had become increasingly involved with his mother's Guise relations for a time, and there were fears that Philip II would appropriate the Portuguese throne. With its strong navy and wealthy foreign territories, Portugal would further strengthen his empire and make him the richest monarch in history. In France, the wars of religion had broken out once more, preventing Elizabeth from looking to her ally for support, and England, once again, was vulnerable in her isolation.
In August, news arrived that Philip had annexed Portugal and been proclaimed its monarch. 'It will be hard to withstand the King of Spain now,' Elizabeth commented grimly. To counteract this new threat, she threw the weight of her support behind Don Antonio, the illegitimate Portuguese claimant, whose claim was far less sound than Philip's own. To further discountenance him, Elizabeth offered her support to Anjou in the Netherlands, and invited the French to send marriage commissioners to England as a matter of urgency.
To her dismay, the French did not respond, and it soon became clear that Anjou himself was more interested in becoming King of the Dutch than King of England. The Venetian ambassador in Paris had heard gossip that the Duke had become less ardent, remembering 'the advanced age and repulsive physical nature of the Queen'. In September, the Dutch rebels, weakened by a series of defeats by Parma, had offered Anjou the crown if he would help rid them of the Spaniards; it was now almost certain that, as a condition of the marriage, he would insist on military support from his future bride. Elizabeth reacted to this development with alarm: 'I think not myself well-used. If this matter comes to pass, God forbid that the banns of our nuptial feast shall be savoured with the source of our subjects' wealth,' she wrote. The marriage, she feared, would involve England in a costly war, 'considering that the Queen must of necessity be engaged in her husband's quarrel'. Anjou, ignoring her protests, accepted the proffered crown, and on 19 September was proclaimed Prince and Lord of the Netherlands.
On 26 September 1580, Francis Drake, in his ship, Pelican, now renamed the Golden Hind, dropped anchor at Southampton after a three-year voyage in which he had circumnavigated the world, the first captain to do so since Ferdinand Magellan's pioneering journey in 1522. As he disembarked, he inquired whether the Queen was still alive, and showed relief when he found that she was, for he needed her protection against the wrath of Spain, whose King would be demanding his head as punishment for wrecking Spanish trade and seizing 800,000 worth of Spanish treasure.
Far from treating him as a criminal, the Queen promptly invited Drake to Richmond Palace, where he entertained her for six happy hours with tales of his adventures. Amongst the treasures he had brought with him on packhorses was a crown set with five huge emeralds, which she was to wear in public on New Year's Day r58T. So pleased was Elizabeth with the great booty Drake had captured that she allowed him to keep a sizeable portion of it for himself. Her own share, amounting to 160,000, was placed in the Tower. None was returned to Spain, nor was Drake punished, despite Mendoza's near-hysterical protests and demands. Instead, by the Queen's command, the Golden Hind was moored on the Thames and exhibited to the public as a memorial to Drake's heroic voyage.
Thereafter, Drake was always welcome at court, and became a frequent visitor. Elizabeth received him affectionately and delighted in talking of his travels, while he brought her costly gifts, among them an exquisite diamond cross.
Elizabeth's position was becoming increasingly endangered, for from 1580 onwards Philip II was planning a military and naval offensive against England. In December of that year, asked by two anonymous English Catholic lords if it were lawful to kill the Queen, the Pope sanctioned the assassination of that guilty woman who is the cause of so much intriguing to the Catholic faith and loss of so many million souls. There is no doubt that whoever sends her out of the world with the pious intention of doing God service, not only does not sin but gains merit. And so, if these English nobles decide to undertake so glorious a work, they do not commit any sin.
The Pope's pronouncement was soon universally known, much to the dismay of the English government, which was painfully aware that it would not survive the assassination of the Queen. Only her existence, it seemed, prevented Rome from triumphing in England.
Both Parliament and the Council had repeatedly urged the Queen to take stern punitive measures against the Catholic recusants and missionary priests. Although by nature she loathed bloodshed, and had hitherto preferred to act with moderation, she now recognised that her peril was such that harsher sanctions were called for. Even so, Parliament was dissatisfied with the new Statute of Recusancy which was passed on 18 March 1581, which raised fines for non-attendance at Anglican services to a steep 20 pe
r month, imposed a penalty of a year in prison for those caught participating in the mass, and classed as traitors any who converted to the Roman faith. Furthermore, anyone uttering remarks defamatory to the Queen would, for a first offence, be put in the pillory, have both ears cut off, and be fined 200; death was the penalty for a second offence. It was also declared illegal for anyone to cast the Queen's horoscope or prophesy how long she would live or who her successor would be.
From now on, missionaries such as Campion and Parsons would be regarded as dangerous enemies of the state, but even so, there was no wide-scale persecution. During the next twenty years, no more than 250 Catholics would be executed or die in prison. There is, however, evidence that about ninety of these persons were tortured, and although the Queen did not personally sanction it in any of these cases, she must have known about it. Personally, she preferred to punish such offenders with imprisonment or fines.
It was therefore with some relief that in January 1581, the Queen learned that the French had agreed to send their commissioners to England. For the next few months, she would be absorbed in the elaborate preparations for their reception, not because she wished to marry Anjou, but because she realised the necessity for concluding a treaty of friendship with France.
Anjou, deeply in debt and running out of resources, was once again seeking to ally himself in marriage with Elizabeth. In April 1581, the long awaited, and very high-ranking, French commissioners finally arrived at Whitehall, their objective being to conclude the marriage, or, failing this, to persuade Elizabeth to support Anjou in the Netherlands.
On their arrival, the commissioners presented the Queen with a posy of fresh flowers picked for her by the Duke, and she wrote to thank him for 'the sweet flowers plucked by the hand with the little fingers, which I bless a million times, promising you that no present was ever carried so gracefully, for the leaves were still as green as when they were freshly picked, a vibrant token of your affection, and I hope there shall never be any cause for it to wither'.