Life of Elizabeth I (47 page)

A contemporary recorded:

In her progress she was most easy to be approached; private persons and magistrates, country people and children came joyfully and without any fear to wait upon her. Her ears were then open to the complaints of the afflicted, and of those that had been in any way injured. She took with her own hand and read with the greatest goodness the petitions of the meanest rustics, and she would frequently assure them that she would take a particular care of their affairs; and she would ever be as good as her word. She was never angry with the uncourtly approach, never offended with the most impudent or importunate petitioner. Nor was there anything in the whole course of her reign that more won the hearts of the people than this, her wonderful condescension and strange sweetness.

On one occasion, an eager Serjeant Bendlowes of Huntingdon bellowed at Elizabeth's coachman, '"Stay thy cart, good fellow! Stay thy cart, that I may speak with the Queen!" Whereat Her Majesty laughed as [if] she had been tickled, although very graciously, as her manner is, she gave him great thanks and her hand to kiss.' It was not unknown for her to accept an impromptu invitation to go into a nearby house for some refreshments.

'She was received everywhere with great acclamations and signs of joy', wrote the Spanish ambassador in 1568, 'whereat she was extremely pleased, and told me so, giving me to understand how beloved she was 
by her subjects and how highly she esteemed this. She ordered her carriage sometimes to be taken where the crowd seemed thickest, and stood up and thanked the people.'

Royal visits to towns and cities invariably boosted trade and industry. When news came that Elizabeth was to visit a town, the inhabitants threw themselves into enthusiastic preparations:

No sooner was pronounced the name,

But babes in street 'gan leap;

The youth, the aged, the rich, the poor,

Came running all on heap,

And clapping hands, and calling out,

'O blessed be the hour!

Our Queen is coming to the town

With princely train and power.'

Tapestries and painted cloths or green boughs would be hung at the windows, speeches prepared, streets cleaned of rubbish and sometimes newly gravelled, and a cup of silver gilt purchased as a gift for the Queen.

At Coventry in 1565, the Queen declared herself touched by a gift of - 100 in gold coins in a cup.

'I have but few such gifts,' she said.

'If it pleases Your Grace', declared the mayor, 'there is a great deal more in it.' Elizabeth asked what he meant.

'It is the hearts of all your loving subjects,' was the reply.

'We thank you, Mr Mayor, it is a great deal more indeed,' agreed the Queen.

At Sandwich, in 1579, she paid the magistrates' wives a great compliment when, without employing a food taster, she sampled some of the 160 dishes they had prepared for her and even ordered some to be taken to her lodgings so that she could eat them later.

During these progresses the Queen made at least 240 overnight stops, some at her own manors, although it was more usual for her to seek the hospitality of her wealthier subjects or civic dignitaries. 'When it pleaseth her in the summer season to recreate herself abroad, or view the estates of the country, every nobleman's house is her palace,' observed the writer William Harrison. In total, she was the guest of over 150 different people.

The Queen herself was lodged 'for her best ease and liking, far from heat or noise', whilst lesser folk had to take pot luck with what was available, since very few houses had room for the entire court. Sometimes, she arrived late, causing her hosts to spend a small fortune 
in candle wax. The court could also consume alarming quantities of food. Such visits could last for days and financially cripple the host: in 1577, it cost Sir Nicholas Bacon 577 to entertain the Queen for four days at Gorhambury, near St Albans, while in 1591 Cecil was poorer by over 1000 after Elizabeth had stayed for ten days at Burghley House near Stamford.

In 1600, Sir Henry Lee, who had twice entertained the Queen, wrote to Cecil to say he had heard that 'Her Majesty threatens a progress,' and that she would be 'coming to my house, of which I would be most proud'; however, 'My estate without my undoing cannot bear it.' In that same year, the Earl of Lincoln, on receiving warning that the Queen was advancing on his Chelsea home, fled to the country, and when she arrived the house was locked. Naturally Elizabeth was much offended by this, and declared her firm intention of returning the following week to dine with the Earl. Cecil and Nottingham informed Lincoln that they would make all the arrangements, and then presented him with the bill, which shook him badly. Nevertheless most courtiers deemed a royal visit a signal honour and welcomed the chance to have the Queen stay as their guest, while towns competed to be placed on her itinerary. There were bitter complaints from would-be hosts who were passed by.

The entertainments laid on for the Queen at the great houses were lavish and varied. Hosts vied to outdo each other in offering novel and extravagant attractions. At Beddington Park in Surrey, Sir Francis Carew delayed the flowering of a cherry tree by covering it with a tent, so that out-of-season cherries - a fruit which symbolised virginity -might be served to the Queen. Another host concealed an orchestra in an artificial cave. There were pageants, fetes, banquets, masques, plays, dances, acrobatics, firework displays, tableaux, songs, rustic pastimes and wonderful opportunities for hunting. Many entertainments had allegorical themes, often celebrating the Virgin Queen. Also popular were Greek and Roman myths peopled by gods and goddesses, nymphs and satyrs, as well as characters from the Arthurian legends, mermaids and fairies. Some of the plays and verses were commissioned from the best writers of the age, including George Gascoigne and John Lyly. The legendary entertainments at Kenilworth in 1575, of which more will be heard later, were the most magnificent and memorable - and expensive- of the reign.

The great men of the realm built spacious houses especially designed for entertaining the Queen whilst on progress. Such a one was Cecil's Theobalds in Essex, where he entertained his mistress thirteen times. Elizabeth advised on the design and asked that the state bedchamber be adorned with artificial trees and an astronomical clock on the ceiling. There were five galleries in which she could walk if the weather were 
inclement, or four gardens when it was fine. Sir Christopher Hatton modelled his great mansion at Holdenby on Theobalds, and it became the largest house in the kingdom after Hampton Court. There is little doubt that the Queen inspired him to build it, as it was dedicated to her. These houses cost so much that Cecil wrote to Hatton, 'God send us long to enjoy her, for whom we both meant to exceed our purse in these.' In fact, the Treasury defrayed some of the cost of building. Sadly, both houses were demolished after falling into decay during the Civil War.

It was virtually obligatory for hosts to provide the Queen with a series of costly gifts, which added considerably to the expense. At Kew in 1598, Lord Keeper Egerton gave her a jewelled fan and a diamond pendant on her arrival at his house, followed by a pair of virginals at dinner, and there was 'a fine gown and skirt' waiting for her in her bedchamber. Not content with this, she intimated she would also like a salt, spoon and fork of agate, which he readily gave her on parting. Hosts were also expected to give presents to the Queen's entourage, whilst pilfering by courtiers and servants was common, despite Elizabeth's insistence that their conduct be impeccable. Nevertheless, most of those who had entertained the Queen treasured the memories of her visit.

Elizabeth was usually in a carefree, holiday mood during her progresses: she was 'well pleased with all things' and 'made very merry', expressing 'an extreme delight' at what was done for her pleasure, however humble. She sat patiently through interminable speeches of welcome, never betraying any impatience, and expressed fulsome thanks for the smallest of gifts. She always found something to praise, as when she called St Mary Redcliffe in Bristol 'the finest and goodliest parish church in England'. Assisted by Cecil, she always did her homework before making such visits. She was, however, inclined to alter her travel plans at a moment's notice, thereby putting some of her hosts to considerable inconvenience and prompting many complaints. In 1582, Lord and Lady Norris were deeply upset when the Queen was obliged to cancel a visit to Rycote. For more fortunate gentlefolk, she was usually a congenial guest, although being served sour beer could provoke a black mood, and she was not above making adverse comments about defects in the accommodation.

Some hosts were completely overawed by the Queen's presence. Cecil's secretary, Michael Hicks, had prepared a well-rehearsed welcoming speech, but when Elizabeth arrived at his house, 'Her Majesty's royal presence and princely aspect did on a sudden so daunt all my senses and dazzle mine eyes, as I had use neither of speech nor memory.' The Queen could not understand why her host had been struck dumb, but 'in her princely favour, said it pleased her to like of my 
house. I know I shall like the worse of myself as long as I live,' Hicks added ruefully.

In order for her subjects to share in the delights of her progresses, the Queen publicised them by having accounts printed after her return. Such pamphlets were hugely popular, and served - as they were intended to do - to enhance the legend of the Virgin Queen.

15

'The Axe Must Be the Next Warning'

On 25 February 1571, Elizabeth created Cecil First Baron Burghley in recognition of his services to the Crown. Her inner circle of advisers now comprised Burghley, Sussex, Leicester and Walsingham. While Cecil was shrewd and cautious, Leicester was impulsive and militant; he and Walsingham were natural allies because of their devotion to the Protestant cause, and were to become even closer after the death from pleurisy of Leicester's friend, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, that same month.

However, while Burghley and Sussex supported a marriage between the Queen and the Duke of Anjou, Leicester did not, although he pretended otherwise. His colleagues were in no doubt that, in the wake of the papal interdict, England stood in dangerous isolation in Europe, and needed the friendship
of
a strong ally like France. The French, although they deplored Elizabeth's treatment of Mary Stuart, feared the Spanish presence in the Netherlands as much as did the English, and they saw the sense of joining with Elizabeth in a defensive alliance. Charles IX wanted support against the increasing threat of the Guises, and also hoped to deter the Queen from aiding his own Huguenot subjects.

Elizabeth, who, according to Leicester, was 'more bent to marriage than heretofore she hath been', could see the wisdom in this, and that February she sent her cousin Lord Buckhurst to Paris, ostensibly to congratulate Charles on his marriage, but chiefly secretly to inform the French that she 'thankfully accepted' their proposals and was ready to treat with them over the marriage. This news delighted King Charles, who wanted his unstable, ambitious and meddling brother safely out of the country before the Guises could get him into their clutches. The thankless task of negotiating the marriage was left to Walsingham, England's resident ambassador in Paris.

'If I be not much deceived', noted Burghley, 'Her Majesty is earnest in this.' If the marriage went ahead, 'the curious and dangerous question of the succession would in the minds of quiet subjects be buried - a happy funeral for all England'.

Yet from the first it was obvious that religion was going to be a major obstacle. Elizabeth insisted that Anjou convert to the Anglican faith, while he, a fervent Catholic who was influenced by the Papal Nuncio and the Cardinal of Lorraine, refused to violate his conscience even for the hope of a kingdom.

Anjou, who was unenthusiastic about the match, complained to his mother that he feared he would be universally ridiculed if he took such a notorious bride. When an anxious Catherine de' Medici asked Fenelon to make discreet inquiries at the English court in order to discover if the rumours were true, the ambassador reported back that he had heard nothing to justify them, and Anjou reluctantly had to agree to negotiations proceeding. It was not surprising that they speedily reached an impasse.

That same February saw the arrival in London of the Earl of Morton and other commissioners from James VI, come to make it clear to the Queen that the Scots did not want her to press for Mary Stuart's restoration. In fact, Elizabeth now had no intention of doing so, for since the Pope had issued the Bull of Excommunication, she had become far less enthusiastic about having a troublesome Catholic monarch as her near neighbour, although she affected to be offended by James's impertinence.

The realisation that Elizabeth would now do nothing to help her soon filtered through to Mary, who declared to her friend, the Bishop of Ross, that 'our good sister must pardon us if, seeing no further deliverance to be had at her hand', she looked to foreign princes for help. If intrigue could secure her liberation, and hopefully the crown of England, that was the course she was now obliged to take. Indeed, she was already involved in one of the most dangerous plots of Elizabeth's reign.

Since the collapse of the Northern Rising, nothing had been heard of Roberto Ridolfi, the Florentine banker who doubled as a papal agent, until in January 1571 he had written to Mary offering to act as her representative in the courts of Europe, where he would be well placed to stir up support for her. He had conceived a plan whereby the Catholic powers would invade England, overthrow Elizabeth, and set Mary and Norfolk up in her place; already, King Philip and the Pope had agreed in principle to support it. Now he needed the consent of Mary herself.