ARABELLA DANCES INTO COURT
The death of Mary Queen of Scots was the signal for the Countess to
insure that Arabella should be as near the Court as possible. She was
kept hard at her lessons, but, though the various members of the family
were at variance over property, the Dowager was far too wise to spoil
the girl’s prospects by forbidding her intercourse with her “Court-like”
aunt, Gilbert’s Mary. As regards the young Shrewsbury pair she was, of
course, at once a possible stumbling-block and a possible stepping-stone
to their advantage. Her parentage gave her social precedence, and though
her present worldly status was not very great, she might at any time, by
an important marriage, assume a position far above them and be regarded
as a source of Court favours. In fact, both sides of the complicated
family co-operated to help her on in the world.
Already at the age of thirteen she was introduced to the Court. Her
young uncle, Sir Charles Cavendish, writes of it with great
appreciation: “My Lady Arbell, has been once to Court. Her Majesty spoke
twice to her ... she dined in the presence, but my Lord Treasurer had
her to supper; and at dinner, I dining with her, and sitting over
against him, he asked me whether I came with my niece. I said I came
with her: then he spake openly, and directed his speech to Sir Walter
Rawley, greatly in her recommendation, as that she had the French, the
Italian, played of instruments, dances, and writ very fair; wished she
were fifteen years old, and with that rounded Mr. Rawley in the ear, who
answered it would be a happy thing.... My Lady Arbelle and the rest are
very well, and it is wonderful how she profiteth in her book, and
believe she will dance with exceeding good grace, and can behave herself
with great proportion to everyone in their degree.”[87]
Old Lady Shrewsbury worked hard for Arabella and played for Elizabeth’s
favour now more than ever, with a keen hope of seeing the girl named as
her Majesty’s successor. James of Scotland was, of course, playing a
similar game, and while he pressed the Queen in regard to the
succession, up to the point of making her angry, he kept on good terms
with Arabella, to whom he wrote now and then an affectionate, cousinly
letter. His tactics were practical, for he now proposed as her
bridegroom Esmé Stuart, a piece of diplomacy on which, under the
magnificent guise of her restoration to her own title of Lennox, he must
have prided himself enormously. This offer was declined; a shortsighted
refusal, as it proved both in the future and in the present, for matters
in regard to Elizabeth’s favour did not prosper. Old age and bitterness
made her resentful and increased her hydra-headed suspicion. It was
always so easy for any ill-minded person to raise a papistical scare and
accuse Arabella—whose aunt, the young Countess, was notoriously in
favour of the proscribed priesthood—as being the heart and soul of every
such plot.
Yet the Dowager Countess still laboured on. We find Arabella sending the
Queen a “rare New Year gift,” to which her Majesty’s return was
acknowledged by a confidential correspondent as a very poor one. The
Queen, however, in discussion with the writer announced her intention to
be kind and promised to be “very careful of Arabella.” Again this was a
case of “Words, words!”
It was in 1592 that Arabella refused Esmé Stuart. In 1596 no less a
person than the French King discussed her as a possible bride for the
Dauphin. Meanwhile she, who was in no sense an _intrigante_, and seems
to have inherited all the simplicity of her mother, with the energy and
the _joie de vivre_ of her grandmother, was in no way concerned in the
wretched schemes attributed to her by wild gossip. She was more desirous
of love and companionship than of place and glory, and of a decent
competence than the splendour of courts. In her twenty-eighth year
(1603) she attempted to make her own choice. It was a curious one as
regards discrepancy in age. She sought to betroth herself to a boy
fifteen years old, young William Seymour. This was no less than the
grandson of that same unhappy Earl Hertford who had wedded poor Lady
Catherine Grey. The whole affair would be puzzling if it were not for
the fact that Arabella’s thoughts were turned in this direction by the
fact that he, like herself, was partly of royal blood. At the same time,
he was not hampered by the possession of a crown, and with all the
attendant difficulties and dangers of a royal marriage. The matter did
not go very far, for the bare suggestion of such a thing aroused the
most absurd excitement in the Queen’s mind. Arabella was at once
arrested.
Elizabeth, it will be remembered, was already dying by inches in the
cold spring of 1603. The accusation that Arabella’s action killed her
has no ground whatsoever; but it was an unfortunate moment to incur
royal displeasure. Naturally when the question of succession came up
finally and Elizabeth was asked if she could contemplate young William
Seymour’s father, Lord Beauchamp, as her heir, the old irritation
against the Hertford marriage flared up in that memorable dying retort
of hers: “I will have no rascal’s son in my place.”
Bitterly indeed must Bess Shrewsbury have raved at Hardwick against the
unjust fate which caused the fortunes of her “juwell” to decline so
miserably at this critical moment. The succession of James was thereby
assured, and when it became fact was a bitter pill for Talbot and
Cavendish to swallow. By this time the good Burghley was dead, and his
son, Sir Robert Cecil, undertook to mediate for Arabella with James. She
was for the moment removed to polite imprisonment in the country, whence
she wrote breezy and innocent letters to her family, notably to her
step-uncle, Edward Talbot, in which she disclaims her guilt in a
somewhat veiled and fantastic manner. “Noble gentleman,” runs one
sentence, “I am as unjustly accused of contriving a comedy as you in my
conscience a tragedy.”
While she awaited the King’s pleasure James was making his first royal
progress, and Gilbert Shrewsbury had the honour of entertaining him
magnificently at Worksop Manor, which must have made the Dowager
fearfully jealous. Cecil set to work as soon as possible on his
protégée’s behalf, and, seeing that she presented no problem of
political danger, eventually procured her liberty—that is, with certain
reservations. He undertook that she should reside with the Marchioness
of Northampton at Sheen.
[Illustration:
_From an engraving by Walker, after a drawing by Malton_
WELBECK ABBEY
Page 340
]
All this while the Countess Dowager kept well in the background.
Arabella, she knew, was of an age to manage her own affairs, and could
deal shrewdly and promptly with Cecil in regard to her maintenance by
the King in her right as one of royal blood. She managed this difficult
situation so well that she was presently taken into the bosom of the
Court. This happy event was gracefully achieved thus. The arrival in
England of the Queen-Consort some months after her husband was the cause
for further display on the part of both Cavendishes and Talbots. Bess
Shrewsbury planned a great reception for Anne of Denmark at Chatsworth,
and tendered the invitation through Arabella. It was declined, and it
has been suggested that the royal motive for this was the unhappy
association of the great hostess with the mother of James. Though the
mere fact of the Countess’s former position of assistant-gaoler may not
have sufficed, memories of strife and “scandilation” would certainly
stick in the memory of those who surrounded James, and their advice
could scarcely favour the invitation. Arabella was, however, authorised
to go to Welbeck to assist her uncle, Sir Charles Cavendish, to receive
Anne. At the same time she was to be introduced to the young Princess,
to whom she was appointed State governess. Earl Gilbert’s house was once
more honoured, and his wife and he incited to impoverish themselves anew
for their second magnificent royal entertainment in the year of the
accession.
At Welbeck Sir Charles Cavendish vied with his half-brother and
contrived an elaborate sylvan pageant in which Arabella figured as
Diana. Poor Diana! At twenty-seven she could personate with zest the
chaste, invincible, tireless goddess. Could she have foreseen that rôle
assigned to her for life by the criminal selfishness of James, she would
have forsworn all courts in that hour, and preferred the groves in which
she and William Seymour would willingly have walked in years to come,
hand in hand, poor and happy.
So—as in Elizabeth’s day—the girl, spirited, cultured, good, and
warm-hearted, danced herself into the heart of Queen Anne, and above all
into that of the young Elizabeth, whom she charmed instantly. Away went
Arabella now to Court in the new Queen’s train, and thenceforward
appeared constantly in the company of her clever, tart, intriguing
Shrewsbury aunt. Her uncle Gilbert kept a steady eye on her. For she was
lively, brilliant; not beautiful, but of great magnetic attraction.
Withal, she was quick of tongue, and he feared lest she should slip into
indiscretion of speech and give advantage to back-biters at Court.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
THE DINING-ROOM, HARDWICK HALL
Page 342
]
She escaped at least one danger this autumn—infection from the plague.
In spite of all her duties and dangers she was in close touch with her
relatives. Naturally there were difficult moments. Now she displeases
her tremendous grandmother, and now her pugnacious aunt. Again and again
she tries to act as go-between, and at odd times secures favours for one
or the other—a barony for William Cavendish, a bride for his son. At
intervals she visited her grandmother, but generally with a view to
making peace between Gilbert and the hostess of Hardwick. To him she
wrote in a very touching manner after a visit to the old lady: “I found
so good hope of my grandmother’s good inclination to a good and
reasonable reconciliation betwixt herself and her divided family that I
could not forbear to impart to your Lordship with all speed. Therefore I
beseech you, put on such a Christian and honourable mind as becometh you
to bear to a lady so near to you and yours as my grandmother is. And
think you cannot devise to do me greater honour and contentment than to
let me be the only mediator, moderator, and peacemaker betwixt you and
her. You know I have cause only to be partial on your side, so many
kindnesses and favours I have received from you, and so many
unkindnesses and disgraces have I received from the other party. Yet
will I not be restrained from chiding you (as great a lord as you are)
if I find you either not willing to be asken to this good notion or to
proceed in it as I shall think reasonably.... If I be not sufficient for
this treaty never think me such as can add strength and honour to your
family.”
Such matters were hard for both sides, and one’s sympathy inclines to
the ageing, fighting, building Dowager. “Your unkindness sticks sore in
her teeth,” wrote one of Gilbert’s informants. To Gilbert, however, she
managed to maintain a proud front, and busied herself about a fresh
building enterprise.
This project was partly the outcome of her extraordinary pugnacity. Her
neighbour, Sir Francis Leake, had designed and was building in the
county a fine house, Sutton, which rivalled Hardwick in magnificence.
Invidious comparisons were evidently drawn, and she declared scornfully
that she would build as good a house “for owls” as he for men. The
mansion she built was therefore called Owlcotes, and was not far from
Hardwick.
The first year of Arabella’s royal post was certainly one fraught with
peril, for it closed with the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, accused, as
all will remember, of plotting to dethrone James in favour of Arabella.
Even Henry Cavendish was suspected of complicity. It is not necessary
here to go into the details which proved Arabella’s innocence. It was
quickly proved and her Court life went on as before, gaily, with
masques, drawing-rooms, ballets, and even the nursery games in which it
pleased the ladies of the Danish Anne to indulge.
At the close of her second year at Court (1605) another proposal, this
time from the King of Poland, reached Arabella and was refused. She does
not yet seem to have tired of the frivolous and exhausting life, though
her letters—whimsical, affectionate, quaintly sententious, often highly
graphic—are shortened at times, and, though loyal, she complains roundly
of “this everlasting hunting.” For in their passion for sport King and
Queen dragged their courtiers hither and thither, and the latter were
often miserably housed and served during these expeditions.
[Illustration:
_From a photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby, after the painting at
Hardwick Hall
By permission of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire_
JAMES THE FIFTH OF SCOTLAND
Page 344
]
The Dowager at Hardwick was well informed of Court affairs, for she paid
a handsome retaining fee to no less a person than the Dean of the Chapel
Royal in order that he should keep her well posted. In this year (1605)
she was taken seriously ill and summoned Arabella. The girl was
evidently afraid of her, for she took precautions to insure welcome in
the shape of a letter from the King himself, desiring the Countess to
receive her granddaughter with kindness and bounty. This incensed the
old lady a good deal. Though she was now more or less like a sleeping
dragon guarding her hoard, as in the Norse legend, she could still rouse
herself to snarl in a letter. She did not write to the King direct, but
devised an epistle to the Dean, in which she emphatically declared her
astonishment at the royal message. This he was ordered to show to the
King. “It was very strange to her,” she said, “that my Lady Arabella
should come to her with a recommendation as either doubting of her
entertainment or desiring to come to her from whom she had desired so
earnestly to come away. That for her part she thought she had
sufficiently expressed her good meaning and kindness to her that had
purchased her seven hundred pounds by year land of inheritance, and
given her as much money as would buy a hundred pound by year more. And
though for her part she had done very well for her according to her poor
ability, yet she should always be welcome to her, though she had divers
grandchildren that stood more in need than she, and much the more
welcome in respect of the King’s recommendation; she had bestowed on
Arabella a cup of gold worth a hundred pound, and three hundred pound in
money which deserved thankfulness very well, considering her poor
ability.”
James could afford to laugh at such a communication, which fortunately
did not prejudice Arabella in his eyes. Her return to Court was not long
delayed, for her grandmother recovered, and the Court lady was once more
free to stand godmother to royal babies, play, hunt, and dance, and
suffer perpetual financial embarrassment owing to the ridiculous
expenditure to which courtiers of both sexes were put in making royal
gifts and providing the costly, fantastic costumes which the successive
masques entailed.
It was during the production of the famous “Masque of Beauty,” written
for _Twelfth Night_, and produced in honour of the visit of the King of
Denmark, that Bess Shrewsbury sank into her last illness. For this
masque Arabella, it is recorded, appeared in jewels and robes worth more
than £100,000. From such scenes of colour and luxuriance she was called
to that stately, lonely deathbed at Hardwick.
Of the Countess’s danger her relatives were fully aware, and the various
family partisans took good care to be on the look-out for any hostile
movements with regard to property from their opponents. The following
extract from one of Gilbert’s letters to Henry Cavendish gives an ugly
little picture of the situation. The date is January 4th, 1607:—
“When I was at Hardwick she did eat very little, and not able to walk
the length of the chamber betwixt two, but grew so ill at it as you
might plainly discern it. On New Year’s Eve, when my wife sent her New
Year’s gift, the messenger told us she looked pretty well and spoke
heartily; but my Lady wrote that she was worse than when we last saw
her, and Mrs. Digby sent a secret message that her Ladyship was so ill
that she could not be from her day nor night. I heard that direction is
given to some at Wortley to be in readiness to drive away all the sheep
and cattle at Ewden instantly upon her Ladyship’s death.
“These being the reasons that move me thus to advise you, consider how
like it is that when she is thought to be in danger your good brother
will think it time to work with you to that effect, and—God forgive me
if I judge amiss—I verily think that, till of late, he hath been in some
hope to have seen your end before hers, by reason of your sickliness and
discontentment of mind. To conclude, I wish and advise you to take no
hold of any offer that shall be made unto you, etc.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
TOMB OF ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF SHREWSBURY
Page 346
]
“You have not been forgot to my Lady, neither for yourself nor for
Chatsworth, but we have forborne to write you thereof, knowing that one
of your brother’s principallest means to keep us all so divided one from
another, etc.”
“Your good brother” is certainly William Cavendish, of whom the whole
family were wildly jealous, and who planned to seize certain cattle
belonging to the Countess, in advance of his brothers, so soon as she
had drawn her last breath.
Very few details are extant of the death of the great Bess. Grateful
pensioners she had, and certainly some devoted servants. Her intimate
friends were few, and nearly all her contemporaries predeceased her. We
come across nothing more interesting as a bare record of her death than
the following entry in Simpson’s _National Records of Derby_ for 1607:—
“The old Countess of Shrewsbury died about Candlemas this year, whose
funeral was about Holy Thursday. A great frost this year. The witches of
Bakewell hanged.”
So into limbo this contemptuous entry dismisses a great lady. Pouf! Out
with the candles! The frost is over; some women have been hung at
Bakewell; an old lady is dead.
To the end she never ceased her doughty and defiant game with stone,
wood, and mortar. While her “home for owls” was in erection there came
that same “great frost” named in the old Derby chronicle. Naturally the
mortar at “Owlcotes” froze. The masons could do nothing. Instantly she
issued orders that it was to be thawed with boiling water. This was
unavailing, and the order came to use ale also, in the hope that the
thicker fluid might prevent crystallisation. About this there is the
true Elizabethan touch. But even ale, poured out like water, failed, and
my Lady went out—with the holy candles.
How Arabella—faithful, loyal, vital, intense—danced, toiled, and
loved—to her doom; how energetic, ambitious Mary Shrewsbury, like her
mother before her, enjoyed imprisonment in the Tower because of her
match-making intrigues; how William Cavendish became not only an earl,
but one of the first colonists in Virginia and Bermuda; how Henry
Cavendish died of his “sickliness and discontentment of mind”; how Henry
Talbot, also, passed away before he could share the splendour or the
thriftlessness of his race; how Charles Cavendish made Bolsover Castle a
fit guesthouse for the King, for whom his son prepared a famous masque
and banquet; how Gilbert Shrewsbury, his presence-chamber crowded with
spongers and creditors, pawned his plate and jewels, and how his younger
brother and chief enemy, Edward Talbot, became eighth Earl in his stead,
belong to an epoch which escapes the limit of this survey.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Richard Keene, Ltd., Derby_
ENTRANCE HALL, HARDWICK HALL
Page 348
]