Life of Elizabeth I (58 page)

When Anjou left Greenwich on 29 August, 'the parting was very tender on both sides'. After he reached Dover, he wrote Elizabeth four letters; then he crossed the Channel and wrote three more from Boulogne to tell her that he was desolate without her, and could do nothing but wipe away his tears. He signed himself the most faithful and affectionate slave in the world, declaring that he kissed her feet from the coast of that comfortless sea. He enclosed with his letters 'a little flower of gold, with a frog thereon, and therein [a miniature of] Monsieur, and a little pearl pendant'.

Although Elizabeth behaved as if nothing had happened, privately she seems to have been in turmoil, which is apparent from some pensive lines composed by her at this time, entitled 'On Monsieur's Departure':

I grieve, yet dare not show my discontent; I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate, I dote, but dare not what I meant; I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate. I am, and am not, freeze, and yet I burn, Since from myself my other self I turn. My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when 1 pursue it, Stands and lives by me, does what I have done. Oh, let me live with some more sweet content, Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.

Anjou left Simier behind to finalise negotiations for the marriage treaty and keep Elizabeth happy. Yet opposition to the match was now stiffer than ever in England, especially in the capital, and even some courtiers were violently opposed to it. Philip Sidney, remembering the horrors of St Bartholemew's Eve, wrote Elizabeth an open but courteous letter of protest, reminding her how perfidious were the French Catholics and insisting that Anjou, whose mother was 'a Jezebel of our age', would be wholly unacceptable to her Protestant subjects, 'your chief, if not your sole, strength'. The Queen wept as she read it and castigated him soundly. He therefore felt it politic to stay away from court for a year, during which he wrote his celebrated work
Arcadia
whilst staying with his sister at Wilton House. Mendoza gleefully reported that he feared there would be a revolution in England if the 
Queen married Anjou.

The French ambassador would have disagreed, for he witnessed the Queen's return to London that autumn, and was overwhelmed to see her looking 'more beautiful than ever, bedizened like the sun, and mounted on a fine Spanish horse, and with so many people before her that it was a marvellous thing. They did not merely honour her, but they worshipped her, kneeling on the ground, with a thousand blessings and joyful remarks.'

Yet the Queen's apparently unshakeable popularity was soon to be under threat. In September, a Norfolk gentleman and Puritan, John Stubbs, wrote a pamphlet with the wordy title,
The Discovery of a Gaping Gulf whereby England is like to be swallowed by another French marriage, if the Lord forbid not the banns by letting Her Majesty see the sin and punishment thereof.
The pamphlet was printed and published in London, and thereafter widely distributed throughout England, becoming very popular and helping to influence public opinion.

It is not hard to see why the government was angered by its contents, for it was written in such strong language as to give great offence to the Queen, and to the Duke of Anjou in particular, since it described the House of Valois as being rotten with disease and sealed with the marks of divine vengeance for its cruelties, and the Duke as being 'eaten by debauchery'. He was 'the old serpent himself in the form of a man, come a second time to seduce the English Eve and ruin the English paradise', and was 'not fit to look in at her great chamber door'. Stubbs also called into question the wisdom of the Queen bearing children at her age.

Elizabeth was incandescent with anger when she read the pamphlet, not only because it had incited her people to oppose her, but also because of the way in which it slandered and insulted her allies, the French. On 27 September, she issued a proclamation condemning it as lewd and seditious, confiscated all copies and had them burned, then sent a preacher to Paul's Cross to assure her subjects that she had no intention of changing her religion on her marriage: 'She had been brought up in Christ, so she would live and die in Christ.' Although 'the people seemed, with a shout, to give God thanks' for this, they showed resentment 'at the sharp and bitter speeches' against Stubbs, who was a popular man and respected for his integrity.

Informed of this, Elizabeth consulted her judges and ordered that he be arrested and hanged for sedition, along with his printer, one Singleton, and his publisher, William Page. However, as this was not a capital crime, the men were condemned instead to have their right hands cut'off and be sent to prison. A judge and lawyer who questioned the legality of the sentence were summarily thrown into gaol.

The Queen showed her customary clemency by pardoning the 
printer, on account of his great age, but told the French ambassador that she would rather lose one of her own hands than mitigate the sentence passed on Stubbs and Page. Both were taken from the Tower to a public scaffold I front of Whitehall Palace, where Stubbs made a speech protesting his loyalty to the Queen.

'Pray for me, now my calamity is at hand,' he punned bravely. The executioner then chopped off his right hand 'with a cleaver driven through the wrist with a beetle'.* After the stump had been cauterised with a hot iron, Stubbs took off his hat with his left hand and cried, 'God save Queen Elizabeth!' before he fainted. Page, in turn, raised his bleeding stump and said, 'I have left there a true Englishman's hand.' Then he bravely walked away with his guards without assistance. The huge crowd of spectators watched the proceedings in sympathetic and disapproving silence.

When the furore had died down, Elizabeth realised that, by acting impulsively and with uncharacteristic cruelty, she had outraged public opinion. After eighteen months, she released Stubbs and later received him at court; he became an MP in 1581.

Parliament was due to meet on 20 October to conclude the marriage treaty, but the Queen, concerned about public opinion and remembering that she had never yet forfeited the good will of her subjects, prorogued it for a month and asked her Council for advice.

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.