Elizabeth's Women

by Tracy Borman

  Meanwhile, events at court were moving apace. Philip II had returned from the Netherlands the previous year, and Mary was naturally overjoyed to have him back. He was a good deal less so, and was growing increasingly impatient with his cloyingly affectionate wife and her hostile, xenophobic subjects. No sooner had he returned than he was already looking for an excuse to leave again. The following summer, he set sail once more. Utterly wretched at being abandoned for a second time, Mary retreated to her privy chamber, taking all her meals there alone and refusing to appear in public. Desperate for consolation, she found it in the belief—real or imagined—that she was pregnant once more. Again she displayed certain symptoms to suggest that she was in this happy condition, including “the swelling of the paps and their emission of milk,” as well as a growing stomach.92 She wrote at once to her husband, telling him the joyous news that their child would be born the following March. So confident was she, despite her earlier experience, that she also made a will, “thinking myself to be with child in lawful marriage.”93

  This time, though, few people believed that the Queen was truly pregnant. No preparations were made for the birth, and her ministers and ladies merely humored her. Deluded though she was, Mary nevertheless realized what people were saying. “She the more distresses herself, perceiving daily that no one believes in the possibility of her having progeny, so that day by day she sees her authority and the respect induced by it diminish,” remarked one observer at court.94 “They [her subjects] had small hope of issue by the Queene, being now 40 yeeres old, dry, and sickly,” wrote the seventeenth-century chronicler William Camden, with the same lack of sympathy that Mary’s courtiers had displayed.95

  Defying all of them, the Queen doggedly went ahead with her plans for the birth. In February 1558, Elizabeth visited her at Richmond, ostensibly to offer her good wishes for a safe delivery, but in reality to judge for herself whether this time Mary really was pregnant. Although she can have little believed it after witnessing the farce of the first occasion, she went through the charade of presenting her elder sister with some baby clothes that she herself had made. She stayed just a week, which was no doubt long enough to satisfy herself that this pregnancy, like the first, was a figment of the Queen’s imagination, and that her own position as heir was therefore secure.

  The Queen entered her confinement shortly after her younger sister’s departure. This time there was little sense of anticipation. There were considerably fewer lords and ladies gathered to await the birth, and those who attended Mary resigned themselves to the tedium of sitting it out until she herself came to the realization that there would be no child. As the weeks dragged on, she became increasingly despondent, weighed down not just by grief but by what would turn out to be a fatal illness. It is possible that the swelling in her stomach was due not to pregnancy but to cancer. Even during her first confinement, it had been rumored that “she was deceived by a Tympanie [tumor] or some other like disease, to think herself with child.”96 Now, as the Queen grew weaker, it became certain that this tumor, if such it was, was slowly killing her.

  In April 1558, Mary rallied sufficiently to pay a visit to her younger sister at Hatfield. Elizabeth showed her all due honor, arranging lavish entertainments such as feasting, singing, and bearbaiting. The visit was such a success that in the summer, Mary invited Elizabeth to Richmond so that she could repay the compliment. She ordered a sumptuous pavilion to be constructed, from which she could receive her half sister. Bedecked with gold and crimson cloth, this was made to represent a mythical castle and would have presented an impressive sight to Elizabeth as her barge approached the palace. A host of festivities followed, including a splendid banquet and dancing accompanied by minstrels. It seemed that the Lady Elizabeth was higher in favor than she had been since the Queen’s accession. Did Mary know she was dying and therefore wish to reconcile with her half sister, putting their difficult past behind them? If she did, then it was more likely to be for reasons of politics than sentiment. Besieged by urgent requests from her councillors formally to name her heir—something she had hitherto refrained from doing—it seemed that in her generous hospitality toward Elizabeth, Mary was making a public statement.

  As it became clear to everyone at court that the Queen was dying, still abandoned by her husband, ambitious politicians and noblemen hastened to Hatfield, eager to ingratiate themselves with her successor. “Many persons of the kingdom flocked to the house of Miladi Elizabeth, the crowd constantly increasing with great frequency,” reported Michiel, the Venetian ambassador.97 Even while she still lived, Mary was becoming obsolete. Elizabeth would remember this when, years later, her own council urged her to name her successor, and it gave her the strength to resist them until almost her last breath. “I know the inconstancy of the people of England,” she would tell the Scottish ambassador when under pressure to name his queen as her heir, “how they ever mislike the present government and has [sic] their eyes fixed upon that person that is next to succeed … I have good experience of myself in my sister’s [time] how desirous men were that I should be in place, and earnest to set me up.”98

  Among Elizabeth’s entourage was a woman with whom she had become acquainted as a child. Elizabeth Fitzgerald, now Lady Fiennes de Clinton, had recently arrived at Hatfield, and the two women had rapidly reestablished their former intimacy. In early November, Philip II’s envoy, the Count de Feria, visited Elizabeth at Brocket Hall, the home of one of her tenants at nearby Hatfield. He was invited to dine with her and Lady Clinton. He was no doubt already acquainted with the latter because she was a friend of his fiancée, Jane Dormer, the favorite attendant of Queen Mary.

  The three enjoyed a pleasant repast, as Feria reported to his master: “During the meal we laughed and enjoyed ourselves a great deal.” But tensions were simmering beneath the surface, for the count’s real purpose was to find out Elizabeth’s intentions toward Spain and the Catholic religion when she finally inherited the throne, which looked set to be any day now, as Queen Mary’s life was fast slipping away. Elizabeth and Lady Clinton knew this only too well, and the latter was every bit as skilled in the art of dissimulation as her royal mistress. Lady Clinton assumed a placid and indifferent air as Elizabeth rose from the dinner table and told Feria that he might speak to her in Spanish on business matters. She assured him that although Lady Clinton and their two female attendants would remain in the room, they “could speak no other language than English.”99 Given that Lady Clinton had shared Elizabeth’s education, which had included tuition in several languages, and had a number of acquaintances in Mary’s Spanish-dominated court, it is likely that she understood a good deal more of the ensuing conversation than Elizabeth led Feria to believe. In any case, she had certainly conferred with her friend about the items that would be discussed, for in the course of her conversation with Feria, Elizabeth praised Lord Clinton and declared that he should never have lost his office of Lord High Admiral under Mary (albeit temporarily), “for the deprivation was unlawful as it was contrary to the patent he held, which he had deposited with [William] Paget and which Paget had kept for him ever since.”100

  Although their exchange had been civil enough, Feria left Hatfield with a less than favorable impression of the heir apparent. He reported to Philip II that Elizabeth was becoming increasingly arrogant, as she now firmly believed that nothing could come between her and the throne of England. She had told him “that the queen had lost the affection of the people of this realm because she had married a foreigner.” Elizabeth, by contrast, had gone out of her way to court the goodwill of the English people and confidently told Feria “that they are all on her side”—which, he admitted, “is certainly true.”101 One of Elizabeth’s greatest strengths as queen would be the ability to judge the mood of her subjects and never to lose sight of the need to cultivate their favor. This talent for public relations may have been inherited from her parents, but its necessity was learned during her half sister’s reign.

  “Madam Eli
zabeth already sees herself as the next Queen,” Feria wrote to his master, “and having come to the conclusion, that she would have succeeded, even if your Majesty and the Queen had opposed it, she does not feel indebted to your Majesty in this matter.”102 It seems that the Spanish king had indeed urged his dying wife to name Elizabeth as her successor. The Venetian ambassador reported that Philip had dispatched his confessor to Mary in order to persuade her to leave the crown to her half sister. But he found Mary “utterly averse to give Lady Elizabeth any hope of the succession.” Instead she railed against her, full of “inveterate hatred” for all the wrongs she had committed. She did eventually relent, however, and sent a message to her husband expressing herself “muy contenta [much pleased]” with his suggestion.103 But even though she had indicated her intention to make Elizabeth her heir by the time of their Hatfield and Richmond meetings that summer, she still refused formally to declare it. According to one report: “What disquiets her most is to see the eyes and hearts of the nation already fixed on this lady as successor to the Crown, from despair of descent from the Queen.”104

  As the Queen’s condition worsened, Philip’s ambassador at court urged him to return to England and be by his wife’s side. But he clearly had no intention of doing so. In stark contrast to Mary, who had so mourned his absence that she had sent frequent letters and gifts to him, including some “game pasties” that she knew were his favorites,105 and had lovingly pored over all his letters in her loneliness, Philip could not bring himself to pay his wife one final visit, even though he knew she was dying. Instead he sent a message to the Privy Council that “We are moved to send a person to England to attend certain business, visit her [the Queen], and excuse our absence.”106 His neglect was said to have hastened Mary’s decline, and some even blamed her illness entirely upon it.107 Mary’s sole comfort now was her faith, which convinced her that she would soon enjoy the eternal peace of heaven. In her increasing delirium, she told the ladies who were gathered around her bedside that her dreams were filled with little children “like angels playing before her, singing pleasing notes.”108

  On October 28, she was conscious enough to add a codicil to her will, finally acknowledging that there would be no “fruit of her body,” and confirming that the crown would go to the next heir by law. Even now, she could not bring herself to name Elizabeth in person: that last show of affection at Hatfield and Richmond had clearly been a sham. The old resentments against her sly younger sister, daughter of that “Great Whore” who had destroyed her mother, had risen to the fore again. She cried that Elizabeth “was neither her sister nor the daughter of the Queen’s father, King Henry, nor would she hear of favoring her, as she was born of an infamous woman, who had so greatly outraged the Queen her mother, and herself.”109

  Only when faced with the most extreme pressure from her council did Mary finally relent. On November 8, Sir Thomas Cornwallis, controller of the Queen’s household and secretary to the Privy Council, arrived at Hatfield to tell Elizabeth that her half sister had finally named her as heir. Shortly afterward, Mary dispatched her most trusted servant, Jane Dormer, to relay her final wishes to Elizabeth. These were to uphold the Roman Catholic faith “as the Queen has restored it,” to be good to her servants, and to pay her debts.110 Elizabeth’s response was noncommittal. With the crown now within her grasp, where her elder sister was concerned, she no longer had any need to pretend.

  On November 14, Feria reported that there was now “no hope of her [Majesty’s] life; but on the contrary, each hour I think that they will come to inform me of her death, so rapidly does her condition deteriorate from one day to the next.”111 Three days later, between four and five o’clock in the morning, Queen Mary finally slipped from a life that had been marked by tragedy and heartache. A messenger was immediately dispatched to Hatfield with the news. Upon hearing that her half sister was dead and that she was now herself queen, Elizabeth proclaimed: “My Lordes, the law of nature moveth me to sorrowe for my sister: The burdaine that is fallen uppon me maketh me amazed.”112 Although some twenty-eight years later she claimed to have shed great tears for Mary, she is the only witness to record them.113 Philip, meanwhile, remarked that he felt “reasonable regret” when he was told of his wife’s death. If this was a poor reward for Mary’s passionate adoration of him, it was at least a true reflection of his feelings toward her while she had lived.

  Her late sister’s reign had taught Elizabeth a number of lessons. One of the most important was the danger of placing one’s trust—and love—in a man. She had seen Mary’s suffering firsthand; had experienced Philip’s open flirtation while her half sister pined for him, humiliated by his increasingly obvious distaste and his prolonged absences. This confirmed the view Elizabeth had developed in childhood that if a sovereign was to marry, then politics, not love, should govern their actions. The catastrophic nature of Mary’s experience might well have put Elizabeth off marriage altogether; certainly it had intensified her fear of childbearing.

  Although she had shown flashes of the strength and majesty of her father, Mary had on the whole been subservient to her husband. Even when Philip was abroad, she had written to him almost daily, entreating him for guidance. In short, she had played the role more of a queen consort than a queen regnant, losing the respect of her councillors and her people, whose fears about the weakness of a female ruler had apparently been realized.

  Mary had been naturally trusting, straightforward, and stubbornly principled, while Elizabeth was cautious, reserved, and pragmatic. The latter had seen how damaging Mary’s inflexibility had proved to her authority. As a result, she came to appreciate the need for compromise and consultation, as well as for not openly committing to any single policy. One of Elizabeth’s most famous traits as a ruler would be her ability to play her cards close to her chest at all times. She would drive her ministers and ambassadors to distraction with her “answers answerless” and procrastinations, at one instant leading them to believe she intended one thing, and the next another.

  “Not being Mary or behaving like her proved a golden rule for Elizabeth.”114 Yet Mary had done much of the groundwork in reconciling England to the concept of female monarchy. Admittedly, she had made serious mistakes as she struggled to define her role, but it was she, not Elizabeth, who had had to bear the brunt of all the prejudices against a queen regnant, among both her councillors and her subjects. By the time Elizabeth came to the throne, certain important precedents had been set, including the 1554 act confirming that a “sole” queen should rule as absolutely as a king. In his address given at Mary’s funeral service, the Bishop of Winchester declared that she had been “a queen and by the same title a king also. She was a syster to her that by the like title and wryght is both king and quene at this present of the realm.”115

  The brevity of Mary’s reign and her struggle to come to terms with her role meant that there was still uncertainty about what exactly a queen regnant should be. For Mary, the primary difficulty had been in trying to reconcile her role as queen with that as wife. The marriage settlement had confirmed her superiority over her consort, but the laws and social conventions governing marriage gave men the upper hand. Ever the traditionalist, Mary had struggled to accept that she should rule over her husband, and her personal adoration of him had complicated matters further. It had been much easier at her accession, when she had been able to set herself up as a virgin who was “married” to England. Although she had continued to use this imagery after her marriage to Philip, it had lacked impact. Upon her death, those searching for praise of the late queen had to hark back to the days of her virginity. George Cavendish remarked that the “virgin’s life” had “liked thee best,” even though she had subsequently “knit with a king.”116

  This would prove one of the most powerful lessons for Mary’s successor. If Elizabeth was to triumph as a queen regnant, then she must truly be married to her country. In short, she must remain a virgin. She had long harbored this intention, but for diffe
rent reasons. Now, having learned from her late sister’s example, it became a linchpin of both her political strategy and her public image as England’s new queen.

  Elizabeth as a princess (ca. 1546–47). (photo credit i1.1)

  Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth’s mother, at the height of her powers, (late sixteenth-century copy of a lost original). (photo credit i1.2)

  Locket ring owned by Elizabeth I (ca. 1575), showing portraits of herself and Anne Boleyn. (photo credit i1.3)

  A recently discovered portrait of Henry VIII and his children, with his jester, Will Somers, in the background (seventeenth-century copy of a lost original from ca. 1545–50). Elizabeth is on the extreme right of the portrait. (photo credit i1.4)

  The family of Henry VIII (ca. 1543–47). Elizabeth (shown on the right) is wearing Anne Boleyn’s famous “A” pendant as a sign of loyalty toward her disgraced mother. (photo credit i1.5)