Life of Elizabeth I (6 page)

What Philip failed to take into account was the attitude of the English people towards another Spanish marriage. Many of them had risen in rebellion in 1554 when his betrothal to Mary was announced, and most blamed his influence for the burnings of her reign, notwithstanding the 
fact that he had done his best to curb Mary's fanatical enthusiasm for saving souls, knowing what it was doing to her reputation - and his. For Elizabeth to marry the King of Spain now might well cost her the loyalty of her people and even her throne.

There was also the little matter of near affinity: the Church forbade a man to marry his dead wife's sister, yet Philip did not doubt that the Pope would feel the circumstances justified the issuing of a Bull of Dispensation permitting the marriage.

De Feria was relieved and pleased that his master had finally proposed, and felt certain that Elizabeth would be sensible of the great honour being done to her, the ruler of a small island, by the greatest prince in Europe. He had forgotten that prior to her accession she had told him that Queen Mary had lost the love of her people by marrying a foreign prince. He hoped she would now appreciate that there were very many good reasons for the marriage to take place.

His first step was to see her alone, for such a matter must be broached with the utmost delicacy. This proved impossible for the time being, as Elizabeth was much preoccupied just then with plans for her imminent coronation.

She had wanted the ceremony to take place on a propitious date, and - at Robert Dudley's suggestion - had consulted Dr John Dee, who studied his astrological charts and told her that, if she were crowned on 15 January, her reign would be glorious and prosperous. The date being set, Dudley was put in charge of the arrangements and began discussions with the Lord Mayor of London about the lavish pageants and welcoming ceremonies that would be staged by the City in the Queen's honour. Elizabeth had insisted that her coronation and its attendant celebrations be as magnificent as possible, so as to make an indelible impression upon those who had cast doubts on her legitimacy and her title to the throne. The appearance of splendour and majesty meant a great deal in an age that equated greatness with lavish outward show, and so the Queen meant to use her coronation to make a political statement.

By the end of December, preparations were well advanced, with people working 'both day and night, on holidays and weekdays'. Cloth of gold and silver, silks, velvets and satins were imported from Antwerp at a cost to the Exchequer of . 4000 and made into liveries, hangings, banners, and clothing for those who were to take part in the processions and ceremonies. Trumpeters and heralds received new tabards, and even the royal jester, Will Somers, and minor officials such as Joan Hilton the laundress and William Toothe, the royal fishmonger, were given new outfits. The royal tailors altered Queen Mary's coronation robes to fit her taller and slimmer sister, and orders were given that the Queen should have first choice of all crimson silk arriving at the Port of 
London. Extra seating was erected in Westminster Abbey, and triumphal arches set up in the City streets. Householders hung tapestries and painted cloths from their windows, and the streets through which the Queen would pass were strewn with fresh gravel. Seven hundred yards of blue cloth were purchased to make a carpet that would stretch from the Abbey to Westminster Hall. No detail was omitted, even the purchase of cotton wool 'to dry up the oil after the Queen's anointing'. The total expenditure would add up to 16,741.

However, after Elizabeth's contretemps with Bishop Oglethorpe at Christmas, no bishop showed himself willing to perform the ceremony. Archbishop Heath of York had candidly told the Queen that, since she had refused to witness the elevation of the Host, she could be no other than a heretic, and he would not crown her. Other bishops, most of them Catholics, followed his lead, and only Oglethorpe - after much persuasion had been applied - could be prevailed upon to officiate.

At last, everything was ready, and on Thursday, 12 January 1559, the Queen boarded her barge at Whitehall and travelled along the Thames to the Tower, where English monarchs traditionally spent a night before their coronations. She was escorted by 'the Mayor and aldermen in their barge, and all the crafts [guilds] in their barges, decked and trimmed with the banners of their mysteries'. A Venetian envoy stated that the sight reminded him of Ascension Day in Venice, when the Doge and Signory were symbolically wedded to the sea.

At the Tower, the Queen was formally welcomed by her chief officers of state, and entered the royal apartments to a 'great and pleasant melody of instruments, which played in most sweet and heavenly manner'. The next day, she created several Knights of the Bath, and on the Saturday morning she left the Tower to make her ceremonial progress through London.

Chapter 2

'God Send Our Mistress a Husband'

On the morning of her coronation eve, Queen Elizabeth was attired in a robe made from twenty-three yards of cloth of gold and silver, trimmed with ermine and overlaid with gold lace - one of four she had ordered for her coronation, and on her head was set a golden cap ringed with a princess's crown. Outside, light flakes of snow were drifting down and the sky was leaden, but the courtiers in the Queen's vast retinue glowed in their rich satins and velvets and glittered with jewels. The magnificent procession formed, with over a thousand mounted dignitaries, and Elizabeth walked to her waiting litter, which was lined with white satin, trimmed with gold damask and drawn by two 'very handsome mules'.

Before climbing in, she prayed aloud, 'O Almighty and Everlasting God, I give Thee most hearty thanks that Thou hast been so merciful unto me to spare me to behold this joyful day. Thou hast dealt as wonderfully and as mercifully with me as Thou didst with Daniel, whom Thou delivered out of the den from the cruelty of the raging lions.' Even so was I overwhelmed, and only by Thee delivered.' This was an apt prayer, as the lions in the Tower menagerie were just then making their presence known by roars and growls and the bystanders applauded warmly.

Having reiterated her conviction that God Himself had brought her to her throne, the Queen entered her litter, made herself comfortable on eight enormous satin cushions, and with a canopy of estate borne above her head, was carried in state, 'with great majesty', through four miles of London's streets to a tumultuous welcome. The whole event had been planned as a propaganda exercise, intended to cement the harmonious relationship between Elizabeth and her people and herald the new age that was beginning.

Alongside the Queen's litter walked her personal guard, the 
Gentlemen Pensioners, wearing their livery of crimson damask and carrying ceremonial gilt battleaxes. She was attended also by many footmen in jerkins of crimson velvet studded with gilt and silver buttons and embroidered with the red and white rose of the Tudors and the initials E R. Before the Queen marched her trumpeters in scarlet, while behind her rode Robert Dudley as Master of the Horse, leading the Queen's palfrey, followed by thirty-nine ladies, all in crimson velvet gowns with cloth of gold sleeves. The Privy Councillors also rode in the procession, bravely decked out in splendid robes of satin.

The City had made great efforts, the Mayor and aldermen having commissioned and spent large sums on a series of five 'stately pageants [and] sumptuous shows and devices' at strategic points along the route, which was packed with sightseers, many of whom had camped out overnight to get a good view of the Queen. Behind wooden rails draped with painted cloths and tapestries stood the members of the City guilds, important in their fur-lined gowns and company liveries. The City was a bastion of Protestantism, and its pageants and tableaux all incorporated meaningful references to the bad days of Queen Mary that were now past and the good things that were hoped for from her successor. Chief among them was the establishment of true religion, and when the Queen heard references to this, she raised her eyes and hands heavenwards and called upon her subjects to repeat 'Amen'.

The City's celebrations began at Fenchurch Street, where a little child attempted to recite welcoming verses against the roar of the crowd. The Queen begged for quiet, and listened 'with a perpetual attentiveness in her face and a marvellous change of look, as if the child's words touched her person'.

The first pageant, 'The Pageant of the Roses', was in Gracechurch Street, and it displayed, on a three-tiered platform, persons representing the Tudor dynasty, supported by Unity and Concord. On the lowest tier were shown - together for the first time in twenty-five years -Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, and on the highest tier Elizabeth herself appeared.

Next to the conduit in Cornhill, a child representing the Queen sat enthroned on the Seat of Worthy Governance, supported by four allegorical figures of the Virtues, including one called Good Religion, who trod the Vices, among them Superstition and Ignorance, underfoot.

Cheapside was noisy with fanfares of trumpets and the singing of the City waits, who stood beside the Eleanor Cross, which had been decorated for the occasion. Here, as custom decreed, the City Recorder presented the Queen with 1000 gold marks ( 666) in a purse of crimson satin. She accepted it graciously, saying, 
I thank my Lord Mayor, his brethren and you all. And whereas your request is that I should continue your good lady and queen, be ye assured that I will be as good unto you as ever queen was to her people. And persuade yourselves that for the safety and quietness of you all, I will not spare, if need be, to spend my blood. God thank you all.

Her speech prompted a 'marvellous shout and rejoicing' from the bystanders, who were 'wonderfully ravished' by it.

The pageant at Little Conduit had as its centrepiece Time. The Queen gazed at it and mused, 'Time! And Time hath brought me hither.' The pageant depicted two pastoral scenes representing a flourishing commonwealth and a decayed one. A figure representing Truth emerged from between the two, led by Time, and received from Heaven an English Bible. A child explained in pretty verses that the Bible taught how to change a decayed state into a flourishing empire. Truth presented the Bible to the Queen, who kissed it and held it to her heart, thanking the City most warmly for it and 'promising to be a diligent reader thereof.

Outside St Paul's Cathedral, a scholar of St Paul's School made a speech in Latin extolling Elizabeth's wisdom, learning and other virtues. Music played as she passed through Ludgate into Fleet Street, where she watched the final pageant, which portrayed Deborah, 'the judge and restorer of the House of Israel', who had been sent by God to rule His people wisely for forty years. Deborah was depicted wearing Parliament robes and sitting on a throne, consulting with the three estates of the realm as to how best to provide good government. A poem was presented to the Queen reminding her how Deborah had restored Truth in place of Error.

Elizabeth exhibited great interest and delight in the pageants, and constantly expressed her gratitude to her subjects, being genuinely touched by the welcome afforded her. When the crowds cheered, she waved at them with 'a merry countenance', repeating again and again, 'God save them all!' Several times along the way she demonstrated her humanity by stopping her litter to speak in the most 'tender and gentle language' to humble folk, or accept small gifts, such as posies of flowers offered by poor women. She kept a spray of rosemary, given by a woman supplicant at Fleet Bridge, beside her in the litter all the way to Westminster. Some foreign observers felt that she was over-familiar with her subjects and exceeded the bounds of decorum that preserved a monarch's dignity, but Elizabeth knew her people better. They were responding to her common touch, and if this was the way to win and retain their favour, then she would follow her instincts. Her father had 
had such a way with him, and one person, seeing the resemblance, cried out, 'Remember old King Harry the Eighth?' Elizabeth was seen to smile at this.

'Be ye well assured, I will stand your good Queen. I wish neither prosperity nor safety to myself which might not be for our common good,' she declared to her people, and they knew she meant it. An old man turned away, but not before she had espied him weeping. 'I warrant you it is for gladness,' she told those close by.

At Temple Bar, which was surmounted for the occasion by two huge statues of figures from London mythology - Gogmagog the Albion and Corineus the Briton - the City authorities formally took their leave of Elizabeth, and a little child recited a poem, 'Farewell, O worthy Queen!' A pamphlet describing the events of the day came off the publisher Richard Tothill's press ten days later, and was much sought after as a souvenir of the occasion, running into three editions.

At the end of this long and triumphant day, Elizabeth came to the Palace of Westminster, where she lay that night.

Sunday, 15 January - Elizabeth's coronation day - was frosty and crisp, with a light covering of snow on the ground. The Queen emerged from Westminster Hall, wearing her coronation robes beneath a swirling mantle of embroidered silk lined with ermine, with fine silk and gold stockings and a crimson velvet cap adorned with Venice gold and pearls. To the joyous sound of fifes, drums, portable organs and all the bells of London's churches, she went in procession from Westminster Hall to the Abbey along a blue carpet beneath a canopy borne by the Barons of the Cinque Ports; she was followed by the Duchess of Norfolk, who bore her train. No sooner had Elizabeth passed than the crowds fell upon the carpet, tearing off pieces as souvenirs, and almost knocking over the hapless Duchess in the process.

Westminster Abbey glowed with the light of hundreds of torches and candles, which illumined the rich tapestries that had been hung on its walls, tapestries that had been commissioned by Henry VIII and based on designs by Raphael. Elizabeth's magnificent coronation service was notable not only for its glorious music, but also because it was the last in England to be conducted - at Bishop Oglethorpe's insistence according to the medieval Latin rubric, although parts of it - the Epistle and Gospel - were read in English as well. Oglethorpe officiated, assisted by Dr Feckenham, the last Abbot of Westminster. During the mass, the Queen refused to be present at the elevation of the Host, and retired to a curtained pew in St Edward's Chapel until that part of the ritual was over, a gesture applauded by her hopeful Protestant subjects. Her coronation oath was administered from an English Bible held aloft by 
William Cecil, although she was nevertheless proclaimed 'Defender of the True, Ancient, Catholic Faith'.

Nearly the whole peerage was present in the Abbey, and when the Queen was presented for her subjects' acceptance, there were such shouts of acclaim, and such thundering and crashing of organs, trumpets and bells that it seemed to some as if the end of the world had arrived. Elizabeth retired to change her gown during the lengthy ceremonies that followed, emerging after her anointing in crimson velvet surmounted by a mantle of cloth of gold. In this she sat enthroned, as the ring that symbolically wedded her to her people was placed upon the fourth finger of her right hand to the sound of trumpets. Then came the climax of the ceremonies, the crowning itself, when first St Edward's crown and then the imperial crown of England, weighing seven pounds, were placed in turn on Elizabeth's red head.

After the ceremonies were ended, Elizabeth, in full regalia and wearing a smaller crown - perhaps that made for Anne Boleyn in 1533 - and carrying the orb and sceptre, walked in procession back the way she had come, smiling broadly and shouting greetings to the enthusiastic crowds lining her way. 'In my opinion', sniffed the Mantuan ambassador, 'she exceeded the bounds of gravity and decorum.'

There followed the traditional lavish coronation banquet in Westminster Hall, a custom that ended with George IV in 1821. This lasted from three in the afternoon until one o'clock the next morning, and during it, as was customary, the Queen's Champion, Sir Edward Dymoke, rode into the Hall in full armour, daring any to challenge her title. The Queen presided from the high table, beneath a canopy of estate, having changed into yet another gown, this one of purple velvet. Music played throughout, and a delicious variety of dishes were served to her on bended knee by her great-uncle, Lord William Howard, and the Earl of Sussex. The nobility were permitted to keep their coronets on during the feasting, only uncovering when the Queen rose to drink their health, thanking them for all the trouble they had taken on her behalf.

On 16 January, because 'Her Majesty was feeling rather tired' and was suffering from a heavy cold, she postponed the tournament planned for that day, remaining in her Privy Chamber to sleep and attend to state business. The celebrations continued with banquets, masques, and a series of jousts held over the next few days, Robert Dudley being prominent among the contestants. Foreign observers were unanimously impressed with the coronation and its attendant festivities, which had been lavishly staged in order to give the impression that England was a land of great wealth and power. A full-faced portrait, which is no longer extant, of Elizabeth in coronation robes was painted, which was used as 
a model for the image on her first Great Seal and early official documents; a later copy, dating from around 1600 and once at Warwick Castle, is now in the National Portrait Gallery.

Now that she was firmly established on her throne, Elizabeth turned her attention to the urgent matters of state that would be debated in her first Parliament. Two issues seemed likely to do mini ate the session: the controversial subject of religion, and the more delicate matter of the Queen's marriage. For most people, it was not a question of whether she would marry, but whom she would marry. Linked to this was the ongoing problem of the Tudor succession, which had exercised politicians' minds for four decades now; it was not clear who would succeed in the event of Elizabeth's early death.

On the political front there were hopes that a peace would be concluded with France, thereby frustrating those w ho wished to support the Dauphine Mary Stuart's dynastic claims and removing the necessity for French troops to remain in Scotland. Such a peace was rendered all the more necessary by the news that on 16 January Mary and her husband had begun styling themselves King and Queen of England. Yet it was also imperative that England maintain her friendship with Spain in grder to safeguard the lucrative trading links between the two powers arid" perhaps obtain protection against French ambitions. It was obvious to the Queen from the first that her success in tbie field of diplomacy would depend upon playing off those bitter enemies France and Spain one against the other.