by Tracy Borman
Upriver, west of the capital, lay Richmond Palace, built by the Queen’s grandfather, Henry VII. Viewed from the river, it was a fairytale palace with clusters of domed towers and turrets behind a high curtain wall, set within some of the most beautiful gardens in England, with sweet-smelling flowers and herbs, and orchards that yielded apples, pears, peaches, and damsons. Richmond had the luxury of a sophisticated plumbing system that supplied the residents with fresh spring water, and was also less drafty than the other palaces. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was slow to appreciate its virtues, and it was only later in her reign that she became a frequent visitor.
Further upriver was Hampton Court, “the most splendid and magnificent royal Palace of any that may be found in England—or, indeed, in any other kingdom,” according to one foreign visitor.22 With its eight hundred rooms, all lavishly decorated with rich hangings and furniture, Hampton Court was designed to inspire awe. The apartment in which Elizabeth sat in state was hung with tapestries garnished with gold, pearls, and precious stones, while her throne was studded with “very large diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and the like, that glitter among other precious stones and pearls as the sun among the stars.”23 Although the splendor of the palace undoubtedly impressed visitors, the Queen found it uncomfortable and unhealthy, and after falling dangerously ill there in 1562, she rarely visited.
By contrast, Elizabeth was extremely fond of Windsor Castle, where she tended to spend the summer months. Although the castle dated back to the time of William the Conqueror, it boasted a host of modern luxuries. Principal bathrooms all had running water, and the walls and ceilings were covered with mirrors, a priceless commodity. The Duke of Wurttemburg, who visited in 1592, marvelled at the many “costly things” on display, including “a genuine unicorn horn.”24 The castle’s best attraction was the expansive Great Park, in which the Queen could indulge her passion for hunting. Later on in the reign, she also acquired Nonsuch in Surrey, a fantasy palace built by her father in the style of the great chateaux of the Loire.25 Although the staterooms were magnificent, the palace was so much smaller than the others that tents had to be set up on the grounds to accommodate Elizabeth’s vast entourage.
If the Elizabethan court was a carefully stage-managed production, then the Queen herself was the director. She was also the center of all the entertainments, intrigues, and flirtations. In the culture of chivalric love that permeated the court, she was—at least to the untrained eye—the object of all men’s devotions. She was the unattainable mistress, at once both aloof and alluring. Although the vast majority of Elizabeth’s flirtations were nothing more than playacting on both sides, she nevertheless demanded absolute fidelity, both emotional and political, from her male courtiers and would brook no rival for their affections. As one recent commentator has observed: “There could only be one queen-bee in the hive.”26
In fusing her courtiers’ personal desires with their political ambitions, the new queen created a highly volatile atmosphere in which men vied with each other for favor and advancement. “The principal note of her reign will be that she ruled much by faction and parties, which she herself both made, upheld, and weakened as her own great judgement advised,” observed Sir Robert Naunton, who had firsthand experience of life at Elizabeth’s court. “She was absolute and sovereign mistress of her grace and … those to whom she distributed her favours were never more than tenants at will and stood on no better ground than her princely pleasure and their own good behaviour.”27
Although the new queen revelled in the entertainments on offer at her magnificent court, this did not distract her from the business of government. It was widely expected that one of her first priorities would be publicly to rehabilitate her mother. She immediately passed a statute in Parliament that provided legal certainty to her right to the throne, but this gave only a brief mention of Anne Boleyn and did not attempt to legitimize her marriage to Henry VIII. This was in stark contrast to the act passed by Mary, which had sought a complete rehabilitation of Catherine of Aragon. As such, it has been interpreted as a sign of antipathy or indifference by Elizabeth toward her late mother, but it could more accurately be seen as one of politics. Elizabeth knew that in promoting Anne’s innocence, she would be casting blame upon her father, to whom she owed her position as queen.
But neither did she show any inclination to have her mother’s remains reburied in a manner befitting her status. Even the future James I, who showed a callous lack of feeling toward his own mother, Mary, Queen of Scots, during her lifetime, ordered a lavish new tomb for her in Westminster Abbey. Elizabeth, meanwhile, seemed content to let her mother’s bones remain in an old arrow chest, buried beneath the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula at the Tower, that traditional resting place of traitors. This may seem to show a cold indifference toward her late mother, but even though she was now queen, Elizabeth was still obliged to tread carefully where Anne was concerned. It would have taken little to inflame the already discontented Catholics, both at home and abroad, who resented this heretical queen and looked to Mary, Queen of Scots, as the rightful heir. If Elizabeth had made such a public show of loyalty to a queen whom most Catholics still viewed as a usurper by having her remains reinterred, she would have been—literally—digging up the past.
By contrast, it was with Henry VIII that Elizabeth publicly identified herself. “She prides herself on her father and glories in him,” observed the Venetian ambassador, Michiel.28 Her speeches would be littered with references to him as she endeavored to overcome the perceived weakness of her sex by reminding her people that she was a chip off the old block. She variously referred to herself as “my father’s daughter” or “the lion’s cub.” By reminding her subjects that she was Henry VIII’s daughter, she was also reiterating the legitimacy of her claim to the throne.
For the most part, Elizabeth avoided making direct references to her mother. The bitter experiences of her childhood had taught her this pragmatism. She had seen how much trouble her half sister had brought upon herself by her blindly principled defense of her own mother. She had also seen Mary spend her reign trying to bring back the past: restoring her mother’s legitimacy, reinstating Roman Catholicism—and all for nothing. By the time of her death, she had been reviled by large swathes of the population. Elizabeth had already suffered enough as a result of her mother’s disgrace, and no matter how fervently she might believe in Anne’s innocence, she was astute enough to realize that little good could come of dedicating her life to proving it. The best compliment that she could pay to Anne’s memory would be to establish herself as the greatest queen that England had ever known.
This is not to say that when the opportunity presented itself, Elizabeth refrained from trying to restore her mother’s reputation. A prime example of this came in the summer of 1561, when news reached her ears of a defamatory tract that had been published on the Continent, condemning Anne as a heretical whore. Elizabeth’s ambassador in France, Nicholas Throckmorton, reported to William Cecil that one Gabriel de Sacconay had “devised” and printed the work, “wherein he has spoken most irreverently of the Queen’s mother.” Anne Boleyn was denounced as a “Jezebel” and compared to the “heathen wives of Solomon” for persuading Henry VIII to turn his back on the “true” Church of Rome. Their “foul matrimony” was a result of lust, and Anne had met with just punishment for her wickedness. Cecil was aghast. If he told the Queen of it, a political storm would follow that would not only stir up trouble in England but also jeopardize her already fragile alliance with France. His procrastination had damaging consequences. Hundreds of copies of the book were printed, and it spread like wildfire across Paris and beyond. This forced Cecil’s hand. In mid-September, more than a month after he had heard of it, he reluctantly told his royal mistress the truth.
Elizabeth’s reaction was one of furious indignation. She wrote at once to Throckmorton, ordering him to go with all haste to the Queen Mother, Catherine de Medici (who as regent for her young son, Charles IX, was the real sourc
e of power at the French court), and demand that the “lewd” book be suppressed immediately. He duly did so, but although Catherine expressed her shock and disgust at the perpetrator of such a scandalous publication, she did not comply with Elizabeth’s demand. Rather, she asked to see a copy of the book so that she “might cause it to be considered, and thereupon give order for the matter.” She then consulted her son, Charles, who also demurred, while making a show of intending swift remedial action. He and his mother had every reason not to hurry with suppressing the book: Their support for Mary, Queen of Scots’ claim to the English crown was well known, and it would do no harm to that cause if doubt were cast upon the parentage of her rival, Elizabeth.
Eventually an order was issued under Charles IX’s name for de Sacconay to “alter the offensive passages” and sell no further copies in the meantime. But this did little to satisfy the English queen, who demanded that the book be destroyed completely. Furthermore, she wanted its author to be severely punished for his slanders. The French king and his mother continued to delay with fine words and promises, but Elizabeth pursued them doggedly, sending dispatch after dispatch to Throckmorton. In the second week of October, he was able to report that the king had at last issued a command for all of the books to be confiscated. But Elizabeth knew that the damage had already been done, and her resentment against Charles and Catherine continued to fester. Thus, when her ambassador suggested that she thank them for their pains, she completely ignored him. He continued to urge the necessity of doing so, pointing out that the Queen Mother was highly offended by Elizabeth’s lack of courtesy. At length, in late November, she reluctantly sent a note of thanks via her ambassador in Spain—a studied discourtesy that made it clear that she had not forgiven the French for slandering her mother.29
There is also another, rather more personal piece of evidence that reveals Elizabeth’s true feelings toward her mother. Elizabeth was well known for her love of expensive and elaborate jewelry, but one of her most cherished possessions in a collection that comprised thousands of items was a comparatively simple ring, fashioned from mother-of-pearl and embossed with tiny rubies and diamonds. It opened to reveal two portraits. One was of the Queen herself, shown in profile. The other was of a lady wearing a French hood and a dress with a low, square neckline. She stares directly ahead, and her features are remarkably similar to Elizabeth’s, for she has the same high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes. The lady was Anne Boleyn.
By the time she became queen, Elizabeth was already surrounded by a tightly knit group of female attendants who were referred to as the “old flock of Hatfield.”30 Principal among them were Kat Astley and Blanche Parry, who had both served her for more than twenty years. One of Elizabeth’s first actions upon becoming queen had been to bring Kat back to court and appoint her chief gentlewoman of the privy chamber. This was the most prestigious post in the royal household and gave Kat unrivalled access to her mistress. As well as attending her during the day, she would often sleep in the Queen’s bedchamber at night. Her duties also involved overseeing all of the other ladies in the privy chamber, from the women and ladies of the privy chamber to the maids of honor.31
Meanwhile, Blanche was appointed second gentlewoman of the privy chamber. The accounts note that “Blaunche Apparey” was given seven yards of scarlet silk, fifteen yards of crimson velvet, one and a quarter yards of “gold yellow cloth,” and three-quarters of a yard of “gold black” by the Queen so that she could be suitably attired for such a role.32 As gentlewoman, Blanche received an annual stipend of £33. 6s. 8d.,33 as well as board and lodging for herself and her servants (who grew in number as the reign progressed), horses and stabling, and various perks such as a guaranteed place in the royal carriages whenever the court was on the move. Knowing Blanche’s fondness for literature, Elizabeth awarded her the additional responsibility of keeper of the Queen’s books.
Two other ladies from Elizabeth’s Hatfield household also enjoyed promotions upon her accession. Lady Elizabeth Fiennes de Clinton was appointed gentlewoman of the privy chamber. This was specified as being “withoute wages”—an indication of her highborn status, for the salaried members tended to be drawn from the lower ranks of the nobility. The same position went to Elizabeth St. Loe, better known as “Bess of Hardwick,” who had also served Elizabeth at Hatfield and now basked in her reflected glory. At the age of thirty-one, she was one of the oldest members of the household, for the new queen liked to surround herself with young ladies in order to enliven the court after the staidness of her sister’s reign. She was no less favored for that, however, and over the next two years, she won a great deal of respect, from both her royal mistress and the men and women of the court. Although by nature arrogant and self-serving, Bess had a good deal of political shrewdness, and succeeded in ingratiating herself with the new queen. Their relationship would become much stormier in the years to come.
One of the youngest women to find a place in Elizabeth’s court was Lady Anne Russell. She was just ten years old when she was appointed a maid of honor in 1559. Anne was the daughter of Francis Russell, second Earl of Bedford, and may have been raised in Elizabeth’s household before she became queen. Katherine Howard, daughter of Henry Carey, had certainly spent time with Elizabeth as a child, and she was now honored with the position of gentlewoman of the privy chamber, a privilege that was usually reserved for older married ladies.
The new queen also showed favor to ladies who were associated with her late stepmother. A former gentlewoman extraordinary of Katherine Parr’s household, Mrs. Eglionby, was appointed mother of the maids, and Elizabeth Carew, who had been a member of Katherine’s privy chamber, was given a prestigious position. Neither did Elizabeth overlook those who were associated with her closest male favorite, Robert Dudley. It was largely due to his influence that his sister, Mary, was appointed a gentlewoman “without wages” of the privy chamber in January 1559. This placed her at the heart of the royal court, and with her brothers Robert and Ambrose both in positions of considerable influence, she looked set to enjoy a glittering political career.
Above all, though, in selecting the women who would serve her as queen, Elizabeth was motivated by the desire to honor her late mother. She appointed a significant number of women from Anne Boleyn’s side of the family, including her cousins, Philadelphia and Katherine Carey, daughter and sister respectively of Henry Carey. Katherine’s daughter Mary later became another member of the household. The privy chamber lists at Elizabeth’s accession and the years that follow contain regular mentions of the Careys, as well as the Knollyses, Howards, and various other Boleyn relatives.
Although Elizabeth’s ladies formed a necessary element of her life at court, she was determined to restrict both their activities and their numbers. In contrast to the hundreds of male councillors, ambassadors, noblemen, and place-seekers who flocked to her court, there were only thirty or so women there at any one time. This was a marked decrease from both her half sister’s and her father’s reigns, when there had been upward of a hundred women at court, including wives, sisters, and daughters of courtiers, as well as the queens’ attendants. Elizabeth, on the other hand, made it clear that the women who frequented her court were there either by necessity or sufferance. In short, if they were not members of her personal household, they were not welcome. Male courtiers were positively discouraged from bringing their wives to court, for this would destroy the myth of romantic enslavement to the Queen. Indeed, any woman who did accompany her husband would go hungry or sleepless, for the privilege of free board and lodging, which was afforded to most male courtiers, did not extend to them. Elizabeth’s household itself was significantly reduced. The number of ladies and gentlewomen of the privy chamber and bedchamber was decreased from twenty to eleven, and there were now just six maids of honor. This was the lowest number of female attendants any queen had had for almost forty years.
This made the competition for places in the royal household fierce, for it was practically th
e only way that women could guarantee a presence at court. Indeed, if they were unmarried, there were hardly any other options available to them. At a time when virtually every other profession was an exclusively male preserve, the queen’s household was one of the very few institutions in which women had a role to play. The fact that the new queen gave precedence to her mother’s relatives and those who had served her before meant that most of the highborn ladies from across the kingdom who clamored for places went away disappointed.
The situation did not improve as the reign progressed. Elizabeth was keen to insure continuity in her household and encouraged long service. It was common for her ladies to stay in post for decades, and it was often death rather than dismissal or resignation that terminated their employment. Throughout the entire forty-five years of the reign, only twenty-eight women were appointed to salaried posts in the privy chamber, with the majority of these going to ladies of the same families. This made the privy chamber practically a closed shop.
Although small in number, Elizabeth’s ladies were an indispensable part of her court, not just for practical reasons but also because they created a backdrop against which their sovereign mistress could be displayed to maximum effect. Everywhere the Queen went, she was flanked by an entourage of ladies who served to enhance her magnificence. One observer noted that in her coronation procession, she was accompanied by “a notable trayne of goodly and beawtifull Ladies, richly appointed.”34 On another court occasion early in the reign, one of those present enthused: “The rich attire, the ornaments, the beauty of the Ladyes, did add particular graces to the solemnity, and held the eyes and hearts of men dazeled between contentment and admiratione.”35 Immaculately dressed in the fashions dictated by Elizabeth, these ladies formed a decorative presence, pleasing to the eye—but not too pleasing. It was imperative that no woman should outshine the Queen; rather, they should emphasize her peerless beauty and magnificence. Thus, while Elizabeth appeared at court bedecked in lavish gowns of rich materials and vivid colors, her ladies were obliged to wear only black or white. No matter how attractive they might be in their own right, the plain uniformity of their dress would draw all eyes to the star of the show. To test the effect this created, the Queen once asked a visiting French nobleman what he thought of her ladies. He immediately protested that he was unable to “judge stars in the presence of the sun.”36 This was exactly the response that Elizabeth required, and it neatly defined the role she had created for the women at her court.