FADING GLORIES
His own household and many of his tenants were faithful to the Earl
Marshal. Fortunately he had not at the moment much leisure for private
broodings. The Babington conspiracy had churned up the old alarms about
Mary, the Royal Commission for her trial was being appointed, and,
though he was fortunately able to plead illness as an excuse for once
more repairing to London to take his seat in this important meeting of
the Council, he was obliged by letter to Burghley to assert his
willingness to add his name to the decree of the Privy Council in regard
to Mary’s sentence, at the same time enclosing his seal and giving the
Lord Treasurer full authority to sign for him. Did he at the moment of
writing recall that broidered motto which must have flashed at him many
times from the dais which his prisoner contrived for herself in her
imprisonment: “En ma fin est mon commencement”? If so, the pride and
pathos of it must have struck home terribly. For he too was nearing his
end. He too had naught but sorrow in his heir, and though Gilbert,
Edward, and Henry Talbot still lived to carry on his name, it could not
be in a very hopeful spirit that he thought upon the continuance of his
line so long as he apprehended the renewal of family strife and could
not forgive or love again his high-handed lady.
Many things had happened to Mary since they parted, notably the failure
of the last great conspiracy for her freedom. Of all these he was fully
informed, and sums up her affairs in a single phrase in the ensuing
letter:—
“_To the Right Honourable my verie good Lord the Lord Burghley, Lord
Thresorer of England._
“My noble good Lord,
“I have received your Lordship’s letters both of the 12th November and
the 14th of the same, whereby I find myself greatly beholden unto your
Lordship for your good remembrance of me, with the proceeding of the
foul matters of the Scots Queen; sentence whereof, I understand by your
Lordship, is given and confirmed, and for execution to be had
accordingly. I perceive it now resteth in her Majesty’s hands; for my
own part I pray that God may so inspire her heart to take that course as
may be for her Majesty’s own safety; the which I trust her Majesty’s
grave wisdom will wisely foresee; which in my consent cannot be without
speedy execution.
“And thus wishing to your good Lordship as to myself, do bid you right
heartily farewell. Your Lordship’s assuredly,
“SHREWSBURY.
“Orton Longville, this 17th November, 1586.”
In spite of illness, Shrewsbury could not escape the wretched
responsibility of assisting at the tragedy of Fotheringay. There he was
forced, on February 8th, 1587, to stand upon the high stage, seven feet
square and five feet high, to receive Mary as she mounted it to her
death. “At the two upper corners were two stools set,” runs the
record,[82] “one for the Earl of Shrewsbury, another for the Earl of
Kent; directly between the said stools was placed a block one foot high,
covered with black, and before that stood a little cushioned stool for
the Queen to sit on while her apparel was taken off.... Being come into
the hall, she stayed and with a smiling countenance asked Shrewsbury why
none of her own servants were suffered to be present. He answered that
the Queen, his mistress, had so commanded. ‘Alas,’ quoth she, ‘far
meaner persons than myself have not been denied so small a favour, and I
hope the Queen’s Majesty will not deal so hardly with me.’ ‘Madam,’
quoth Shrewsbury, ‘it is so appointed to avoid two inconveniences: the
one that it is likely your people will shriek and make some fearful
noise in the time of your execution, and so both trouble you and us, or
else press with some disorder to get of your blood and keep it for a
relic, and minister offence that way.’ ‘My Lord,’ she answered, ‘I pray
you for my better quietness of mind let me have some of my servants
about me, and I will give you my word that they shall not offend in any
sort.’ Upon which promise two of her women and five of her men were sent
for, who coming into the hall and seeing the place of execution prepared
and their sovereign mistress expecting death, they began to cry out in
most woeful and pitiful sort; wherewith she held up her hand, willing
them for her sake to forbear and be silent, ‘for,’ quoth she, ‘I have
passed my word to these lords that you shall be quiet and not offend
them.’ And presently there appeared in them a wonderful show of
subjection and loyal obedience as to their natural prince, whom even at
the instant of death they honoured with all reverence and duty. For
though their breasts were seen to rise and swell as if their wounded
hearts would have burst in sunder, yet did they, to their double grief,
forbear their outward plaints to accomplish her pleasure.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
STATUE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AT HARDWICK HALL
Page 310
]
“As soon as she was upon the stage there came to her a heretic called
Doctor Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and told her how the Queen his
sovereign, moved with an unspeakable care of her soul, had sent him to
instruct and comfort her in the true words of God. At which she somewhat
turned her face towards him, saying, ‘Mr. Doctor, I will have nothing to
do with you nor your doctrine’; and forthwith kneeled down before the
block and began her meditations in most godly manner. Then the doctor
entered also into a form of new-fashioned prayers; but the better to
prevent the hearing of him, she raised her voice, and prayed so loud, as
he could not be understood. The Earl of Shrewsbury then spoke to her and
told her that he would pray with her and for her. ‘My Lord,’ quoth she,
‘if you will pray for me I thank you; but, in so doing, pray secretly by
yourself, for we will not pray together.’ Her meditations ended, she
arose up and kissed her two gentlewomen, and bowed her body towards her
men, and charged them to remember her to her sweet son, to whom she sent
her blessing, with promise to pray for him in heaven; and lastly to
salute her friends, and so took her last farewell of her poor servants.
“The executioners then began, after their rough and rude manner, to
disrobe her, and while they were so doing, she looked upon the noblemen,
and smilingly said, ‘Now truly, my Lords, I never had two such grooms
waiting on me before!’ Then, being ready for the block, one of her women
took forth a handkerchief of cambric—all wrought over with gold
needlework—and tied it about her face; which done, Fletcher willed her
to die in the true faith of Christ. Quoth she: ‘I believe firmly to be
saved by the passion and blood of Jesus Christ, and therein also I
believe according to the faith of the Ancient Catholic Church of Rome,
and therefore I shed my blood.’”
After this the Earl went home, evidently to Sheffield, with time enough
to brood once more upon his sickness and his troubles. In 1587 he was
certainly at Wingfield with his wife—at least for a brief space—for he
wrote to inform Burghley of the fact in obedience to her Majesty’s
request. But he was still thoroughly suspicious and distrustful of her
attitude. On one occasion, as it seems by the following letter from
Nicholas Kynnersley, my Lady had just left Wingfield when my Lord sent
his man Gilbert Dickenson to enquire her movements. The letter which
puts the magnificent pair in such a pitiful light is relieved by a
gracious allusion to little Arabella, left behind at Wingfield,
apparently in Kynnersley’s charge:—
“The night after John was come with my letter Elizabeth told me that
Gilbert Dickenson came to her in the [bakehouse] and asked if your Ho.
were here; and she answered ‘No.’ And he asked when you went away, and
she said ‘Yesterday.’ He asked when you would come again; she answered
‘Shortly as she thought.’ And late at night there came a boy from
Sheffield in a green coat, and talked with them in the stable, and said
he must go very early in the morning to Sheffield again. What the
meaning of these questions and the lackey coming so late and going so
early in the morning, I know not, except it be to bring me Lo. words of
your absence here, and so that he might come upon you sudden and find
you away. So I leave it to your Ho. wisdom to consider of it as you
think best; but I think good you were there. Mr. Knifton rode by to-day
to Sheffield as I was told, and called not as I ... told which I marvel
of. My La. Arbella at eight of the clock this night was merry, and eats
her meat well; but she went not to the school these six days; therefore
I would be glad of your La. coming, if there were no other matter but
that. So I beseech the Almighty preserve your La. in health, and send
you soon a good and comfortable end of all your great troubles and
griefs.
“Wingfield, this Tuesday, the 5th of November, at 8 of the clock at
night, 1588.
“Your Ho. most dutyful bound obedient servant,
“NICHOLAS KINNSLAY.
“To the right Ho. my singular good La. and Mistress the Countess of
Salop give this with speed.”[83]
While this “singular good lady” was still busy trying to induce the Earl
to live with her “in house,” he had sundry official business to
transact. In 1588 he was hard at work “routing recusants,” egging on the
Sheffield Commissioners appointed to that duty, and certifying himself
and the Queen of the military efficiency of the counties under his
lieutenancy—for the Spanish fleet hovered ever round the English coast.
More “seminary priests” did he rout, and used his energy in inducing
folk to go to the Established Church, offering his old “lame body” for
the Queen’s service, since “her quarrel should make him young again.”
Within a few months of his death he is mentioned in State records as
having successfully pounced upon a certain papistical Lady Foljambe and
committed her to polite imprisonment in the house of her relative.
This next letter from Gilbert and Mary Talbot to their mother shows
entire devotion to her at this difficult period, and is happily free
from the old tale-bearing and espionage of previous years:—
“Our bounden duty most humbly remembered. In like humbleness we render
your La. thanks for your letter; the last though not the least of your
infinite goodnesses towards us and ours. We are safely come hither to
Dunstable (we thank God) this Shrove Monday at night; and for that the
foul way is past, we think best to return your La. letter again from
hence.
“Such news as on the Queen’s highways we have met with, your La. shall
now understand. First that her Majesty (royally in person) was at the
parliament house the first day of this parliament; where Serjeant Snagge
was admitted for the Speaker of the lower house. My Lord of Derby is
Lord Steward during this session. That yesterday one told a man of mine
that as yet nothing of any moment hath been touched in the lower house,
neither any expectation that any great matters will be handled, but it
will shortly end. That a day or two before the parliament began, the
Lord Chancellor and the Lord Treasurer, with one or two more of the
privy council, and Mr. Attorney and Mr. Solicitor were with the Earl of
Arundel in the Tower; since which time there hath been no such speech of
his arraignment, as there was before. This is all the Queen’s highways
hath afforded us of news. Yet further we hear that all your
Ladyship’s ...[84] are very well. And thus in haste, most humbly
beseeching your La. blessing to us and all ours who pray evermore to the
most highest to grant unto your La. all contentment with long life, we
humbly cease, till our next letter, which shall not be long.
“Your La. most humble and obedient loving children,
“GILB. TALBOTT. MARY TALBOTT.
“We have desired your La. letter men to bring a letter to your La. from
Beskewood, where Mrs. Markham’s earnest entreaty made us to leave her
till the return thereof. I beseech the Almighty to send your La. my La.
Arball and the rest of your La.’s a most happy long life.
“To my Lady.”
The date of this is 1589. Shrewsbury by this time has lapsed into
retirement. He falls finally into old age. Elizabeth’s boasting promise
that she would give him still greater proof of her trust he would be
justified in receiving with a sardonic grunt. Of what use were her
favours to him now? She, well into her fifties, could dance, sing, ride,
pester her ladies, and flirt with her gentlemen. “The Queen,” writes a
friend of the Talbots in 1589, “is so well as I assure you: six or seven
gallyards in a morning, besides music and singing, is her ordinary
exercise.” This is just a year after the death of her adored Leicester,
immediately upon his return from his governorship of the Netherlands,
which he had so hated. The days of his departure for that task were the
days of Elizabeth’s disfavour. “My Lord,” he wrote pathetically to
Shrewsbury in 1585, “no man feeleth comfort but they that have cause of
griefe, and no men have so much neede of reliefe and comfort as those
that go in these doubtful services. I pray you, my Lord, help us to be
kept in comfort, for that we wyll hazard our lyfe for it.” Shrewsbury
and his Countess could echo that cry from the depths of their hearts,
for they too were of the company of those “that go in ... doubtful
services.”
Thus Leicester, the splendid lover, was dead—of a fever caught on his
way home to Kenilworth. Elizabeth still danced, still had zest and
appetite for masque and ceremonial. But Shrewsbury and Burghley, after
they had written their stately condolences to the Queen, corresponded
with one another about health matters. In 1589 the former sends a
pathetic old man’s gift to his friend of ointment for his joints and “a
small rug” to wrap about his legs “at times convenient,” while a flask
of fine “oyle of roses” was in these days more necessary than ale to the
once stalwart Earl Marshal of England.
From time to time Burghley sends to his friend the State news, with
suppressed allusions here and there to his illnesses and sorrows. Lady
Burghley was dead, and though her husband was able to write in his old
dignified fashion of affairs at Court, he avoids all its recreations.
“The Queen is at Barn Elms, but this night I will attend her at
Westminster, for I am no man meet for feastings,” runs a pathetic
postscript from him.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby, from the painting by Zucchero at
Hardwick Hall_
_By permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire_
QUEEN ELIZABETH
Page 316
]
To Elizabeth, Shrewsbury had played the part which she assigned to one
of her lovers, the Duke of Anjou, to whom she wrote apropos of his
persistency that she should never cease to love and esteem him as the
dog which, being often chastised, returns to its master: “comme le chien
qui estant souvent batu retourne a son maitre.” To her lovers she could
say such things with impunity, to her servants she only implied them.
Her beaten yet steadfast hound, Shrewsbury, true to his family’s emblem
of the faithful “Talbot dog,” lay chiefly in these days at his small
manor of Handsworth pouring out his soul in letters. There seem to be
none available from his wife during his last years, though she was to
the end truly anxious to be on happier terms with him, and made every
possible effort to achieve this. Once more Elizabeth used her good
offices with the honest intent to restore him to happiness. In what was
practically the last private letter she ever wrote him, despatched in
December, 1589, she addressed him as “her very good old man,” was
anxious for news of his health, particularly at this inclement season,
sympathised with his gout, and begged him to permit his wife sometimes
to have access to him according to her long-cherished wish. He seems to
have brooded heavily, as of yore—to a conscience so tender the brooding
nature is often a sorry twin brother—and to have discussed the matter
without any happy result. About this time he wrote to his intimate
friend the Bishop of Lichfield on the subject. The Bishop’s views are
set forth in his reply. His view of the married estate is a highly
morose one. Yet he begs the Earl, for decency’s sake, to patch up the
quarrel finally.
_The Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry to the Earl of Shrewsbury._
“Right honourable, my singular good Lord,
“I am bold according to my promise, to put you in remembrance of some
matters already passed between us in talk. It is an old saying, and as
true as old, a thing well begun is half ended. It pleased your good
Lordship, at my late being with you, to confer with me about divers
points touching the good estate of this our shire, whereof yourself,
next under her Majesty, is the chief governor; and I hope, as you then
begun them in good time, so very shortly they will be brought to very
good perfection.... Thus much for those common affairs we had in
conference; now the chief and last matter that we talked of, and a
matter indeed both in conscience chiefly to be regarded of you, and in
duty still to be urged and called upon by me, was the good and godly
reconciliation of you together, I mean my Lordship and my Lady your
wife. I humbly thank your good Lordship you were content then to take my
motion in good part, and to account it for a good piece of mine office
and charge to travel in such cases, as indeed it is, and therefore, I
trust you will be as willing now to see me write as you were then to
hear me speak in that matter; and the more, because I speak and write as
well of mere love and goodwill to yourself, as for any respect also of
discharging my duty unto God; and yet, also, you must think chiefly and
principally that I speak and write to discharge my duty to God, and must
take all that I do to proceed, not as from a common friend and
hanger-on, but as from a special ghostly father, stirred up of God
purposely, as I hope, to do good unto you both by my ghostly advice. My
honourable good Lord, I cannot see but that it must needs rest as a
great clog to your conscience, if you consider the matter as it is, and
will weigh the case according to the rule of God’s word: I say I cannot
see but that it must needs rest and remain a great clog and burthen to
your conscience to live asunder from the Countess your wife, without her
own good liking and consent thereto; for, as I have told you heretofore,
it is the plain doctrine of Saint Paul that the one should not defraud
the other of due benevolence nor of mutual comfort and company, but with
the agreement of both parties, and that also but for a time, and only to
give yourselves to fasting and prayer. This is the doctrine of Saint
Paul, and this doctrine Christ Himself confirmed in the Gospel when He
forbiddeth all men to put away their wives unless for adultery, a thing
never suspected in my Lady your wife. I could bring forth many
authorities and examples both of the Holy Scriptures and other, profane
writers, to prove that such kind of separations have always been holden
unlawful and ungodly, not only among the people of God, but also among
the heathen themselves that never knew God; and I could likewise show
what fearful judgments of God have followed such unlawful separations,
and what great plagues have fallen upon not only the offenders
themselves, but also upon their houses and children, and all their
posterity after them; but I shall not need to use any such discourse to
your Lordship, because so wise, so grave, so well disposed as indeed you
are of yourself if other evil counsellors did not draw you to the
contrary; who also shall not want their part in the play, for, as the
proverb saith, so experience proveth the same to be true, _consilium
malum consultori pessimum_, evil counsel falleth out worst to the
counsel giver.
“But some will say in your Lordship’s behalf that the Countess is a
sharp and bitter shrew, and therefore like enough to shorten your life
if she should keep you company. Indeed, my good Lord, I have heard some
say so, but if shrewdness or sharpness may be a just cause of separation
between a man and wife, I think few men in England would keep their
wives long; for it is a common jest, yet true in some sense, that there
is but one shrew in all the world and every man hath her; and so every
man might be rid of his wife that would be rid of a shrew. My honourable
good Lord, I doubt not but your great wisdom and experience hath taught
you to bear some time with the woman as with the weaker vessel; and yet,
for the speeches I have had with her Ladyship in that behalf, I durst
pawn all my credit unto your Lordship (and, if need be, also bind myself
in any great bond), she will so bridle herself that way, beyond the
course of other women, that she will rather bear with your Lordship,
than look to be borne withal; and yet to be borne withal sometimes is
not amiss for the best and wisest and patientest of us all. But
peradventure some of your friends will object greater matter against
her; as that she hath sought to overthrow your whole house; but those
that say so I think are not your Lordship’s friends, but rather her
Ladyship’s enemies, and their speech carrieth no resemblance of truth;
for how can it be likely that she should seek or wish the overthrow of
you or your house, when not only, being your wife, your prosperity must
needs profit her very much, but also, having joined her house with your
house in marriage, your long life and honourable state must needs glad
her heart to the uttermost; if not for your own sake, yet for the issue
of both your bodies, whom she loveth, I dare say, as her own life, and
would not see by her goodwill to fall into any decay, either of honour
or any other good state of life or livings; although, also, I dare say
she wisheth all good unto you for your own sake, as well as theirs, or
else she would not be so desirous of your life and company as she is.
And therefore, I beseech your Lordship remove all such conceits far from
you as are beaten into your head by evil counsellors, and rather think
this unlawful separation to be a stain to your house, and a danger to
your life; for that God, indeed, is not well pleased with it, Who will
visit with death or sickness all that live not after His laws, as of
late yourself had some little touch or taste given you of it by those or
the nearest friends of those whom you most trusted about you. For my own
part, I wish your Lordship all good, even from my heart; both long life
and honourable state, with all increase of honour, and joy and comfort
in the Lord to your own heart’s desire; but yet both I and you, and all
of us that are God’s children, must think that such visitations are sent
us of God to call us home, and if we despise them when they are sent, He
will lay greater upon us. Thus I am bold, my good Lord, both in the fear
of God and in goodwill towards yourself, to discharge the duty of your
well-willing ghostly father, and if your Lordship accept it well, as I
hope you will, I beseech you let me understand it by a line or two, that
I may give God thanks for it; if not, I have done my part; the success I
leave to God; and rest yours, notwithstanding, in what I may, and so I
humbly take my leave of your good Lordship.
“From Eccleshall, the 12th of October, 1590.
“Your Lordship’s in all duty to command,
“W. COVEN. AND LICH.”
It is not necessary to lay stress on the sheer fatuity and unwisdom of
three-fourths of such a letter. But the gross injustice of it has never
been fully appreciated by historians. In the first place, Bess of
Hardwick was not a mere shrew—as has been amply set forth. She was a
woman of great capabilities, and superabundant driving power which,
insufficiently controlled, ended in a blindness to any point of view but
her own, and so caused her to utter under provocation, stress, and
disappointment hard and foolish things which the Earl could not forget.
The estrangement had certainly gone too far for peace. The time for such
things as a renewal of trust and love between the two was past. Within a
month or two—in the January of 1591—the Earl died. Gossip—wise after the
event—declared that with his last breath he groaned over the
possibilities of disaster which would descend upon his family through
his wife’s schemes for Arabella.
In the previous year the great Walsingham, worn out by stress of affairs
and labour, succumbed also—to his “tympany and carnosity.”
And, since the world and his wife must be amused, and the Queen needed
distraction from heavy cares of State, she went forth to be entertained
at a public fête a day after the death of her much-enduring “good old
man.”
To the last he could not forget the great slander. Even his tomb
witnesses, in his own words, to his virtue. He must have brooded
carefully over this epitaph and the memorial which bears it in Sheffield
Church. All allusion to his second wife is omitted, and in regard to the
scandal he urges the fact of his official presence at the execution of
Mary as the surest proof of the innocence of his relations with her. All
he asked of his posterity was that upon his death the date should be
added to the tomb. This they omitted to do.