A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY ELOPEMENT
In the latter days of Queen Elizabeth there was no merchant in England
better known or held in higher repute than Sir John Spencer, the
Rothschild or Rockefeller of his day, whose shrewdness and industry had
raised him to the Chief Magistrateship of the City of London.
From the day on which John Spencer fared from his country home to London
in quest of gold, Fortune seems to have smiled sweetly and consistently
on him. All his capital was robust health and a determination to
succeed; and so profitably did he turn it to account that within a few
years of emerging from his 'prentice days he was a master of men, with a
business of his own, and striding manfully towards his goal of wealth.
Everything he touched seemed to "turn to gold"; before he had reached
middle-age he was known far beyond the city-walls as "Rich Spencer"; and
by the time his Lord Mayoralty drew near he was able to instal himself
in a splendour more befitting a Prince than a citizen, in Crosby Hall,
which a century earlier Stow had described as "very large and
beautiful, and the highest at that time in London."
Indeed, Crosby Hall, ever since the worthy alderman, whose name it bore,
had raised its walls late in the fifteenth century, had been the most
stately mansion in the city, and had had a succession of famous tenants.
When Sir John Crosby left it for his splendid tomb in the Church of St
Helen's, it was for a time the palace of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in
which, to quote Sir Thomas More, "he lodged himself, and little by
little all folks drew unto him, so that the Protector's Court was
crowded and King Henry's left desolate"; and it was in one of its
magnificent rooms that Richard was offered, and was pleased to accept,
the Crown of England.
Shakespeare, who lived in St Helen's in 1598, knew Crosby Hall well, and
has immortalised it in "Richard III."; Queen Elizabeth was feasted more
than once within its hospitable walls, and trod more than one measure
there with Raleigh. For seven years it was the home of Sir Thomas More
when he was Treasurer of the Exchequer; and, to his friend and successor
as tenant, More sent that affecting farewell letter, written in the
Tower with a piece of charcoal, the night before his execution. Such was
the historic and splendid home in which "Rich Spencer" dispensed
hospitality as Lord Mayor of London in the year 1594.
Not content with the lordliest mansion in London Sir John must also have
his house in the country, to which he could repair for periods of
leisure and rest from his money-making; and this he found in Canonbury
Tower, which he purchased, together with the manor, from Lord Wentworth.
It is said that Sir John had a bargain in his purchase; but, in the
event, he narrowly escaped paying for it with his life. It seems that
the news of "Rich Spencer's" wealth had travelled as far as the
Continent, and there tempted the cupidity of a notorious Dunkirk pirate,
who conceived the bold idea of kidnapping the merchant and holding him
to a heavy ransom. How the attempt was made, and how providentially it
failed is told by Papillon.
"Rich men," says this chronicler, "are commonly the prey
of thieves; for where store of gold and silver is, there
spirits never leave haunting, for wheresoever the carcass
is, there will eagles be gathered together. In Queen
Elizabeth's days, a pirate of Dunkirk laid a plot with
twelve of his mates to carry away Sir John Spencer,
which, if he had done, £50,000 ransom had not redeemed
him. He came over the sea in a shallop with twelve
musketeers, and in the night came into Barking Creek, and
left the shallop in the custody of six of his men; and
with the other six came as far as Islington, and there
hid themselves in ditches near the path in which Sir John
came always to his house. But by the providence of God--I
have this from a private record--Sir John, upon some
extraordinary occasion, was forced to stay in London that
night; otherwise they had taken him away; and they,
fearing they should be discovered, in the night-time came
to their shallop, and so came safe to Dunkirk again.
This," adds Papillon, "was a desperate attempt."
But proud as Sir John Spencer was of his money-bags, he was prouder
still of his only child, Elizabeth, heiress to his vast wealth, who, as
she grew to womanhood, developed a beauty of face and figure and graces
of mind which pleased the merchant more than all his gold. So fair was
she that Queen Elizabeth, on one of her many progressions through the
city, attracted by her sparkling eyes and beautiful face at a Cheapside
window, stopped her carriage, summoned her to her presence, and, patting
her blushing cheeks, vowed that she had "the sweetest face I have seen
in my City of London."
That a maiden so dowered with charms and riches should have an army of
suitors in her train was inevitable. A lovely wife who would one day
inherit nearly a million of money was surely the most covetable prize in
England; and, it is said, the bewitching heiress had more than one
coronet laid at her feet before she had well left her school-books. But
to all these offers, dazzling enough to a merchant's daughter, Elizabeth
turned a deaf, if dainty ear. "It is not me they want," she would
laughingly say, "but my father's money. I shall live and die, like the
good Queen, my namesake, a maid."
And so has many another much-sought maiden said in the pride of an
untouched heart; but to them as to her the "Prince Charming," before
whom all her defences crumble, comes at last. In Elizabeth Spencer's
case, the conquering prince was William, second Lord Compton, one of the
handsomest, most accomplished and fascinating young men in London. In
person, as in position, he was alike unimpeachable--an ideal suitor to
win even the richest heiress in England; and it is little wonder that
the heart of the tradesman's daughter began to flutter, and her pretty
cheeks to flame when this gallant, whose conquests at the Royal Court
itself were notorious, began to pay marked homage to her charms.
That his reputation in the field of love was none of the best, that he
was as prodigal as he was poor, mattered little to her--probably such
defects made him all the more romantic in her eyes, and his attentions
all the more welcome. To Sir John, however, who was even more jealous of
his treasure than of all his gold, the young lord's reputation and,
above all, his poverty were fatal flaws in any would-be son-in-law of
his. As soon as he realised the danger he put every obstacle in the way
of his daughter's silly romance, even to the extent, it is said, of
locking her in her room, and closing his door in the face of her lover.
"If your reputation, my lord, were equal to your rank," he told him in
no ambiguous terms; "and if your fortune matched your family, I should
have naught to say against your suit. But as it is, I tell you frankly,
I would rather see my girl dead than wedded to such as you."
To his daughter's tears and pleading he was equally obdurate. She might
ask anything else of him and he would grant it gladly, though it were
half his wealth; but he would be unworthy to be her father if he
encouraged such folly as this. But Spencer's daughter, when she found
conciliatory measures of no avail, proved that she had a will as strong
as her father's; she told him to his face that with or without his
sanction she meant to be my Lady Compton. "I will marry him," she
declared with flushed face and panting breast, "even if you make me a
beggar." "And that, madam," the defied and furious father retorted, "I
can promise you I will do; for not a shilling of mine shall Lord
Compton's wife ever have."
For a time the artful Elizabeth feigned submission to Sir John's anger;
and he began to congratulate himself that this trouble at least,
whatever others might follow, was at an end. But how little he knew his
daughter, or her lover, the sequel proved.
One day, a few weeks after Sir John's fierce ultimatum, a young baker,
carrying a large flat-topped basket, called at his house, from which he
soon emerged, touching his cap to the merchant as he passed him in the
garden, and giving him a respectful "good day." "A civil young man," Sir
John said to himself, as he continued his promenade; "his face seems
somehow familiar to me." And well might it be familiar; for the baker
who gave him such a civil greeting was none other than the scapegrace,
Compton; and inside the basket, which he carried so lightly, was the
merchant's only daughter and heiress, whom her lover had taken this
daring and unconventional way of abducting under the very nose of her
parent.
It was not long before Sir John's disillusionment came. His daughter
was nowhere to be seen; and none of his domestics knew of her
whereabouts. Alarm gave place to suspicion, and suspicion to fury
against his child and against the young reprobate who, he felt sure, had
outwitted him. Messengers were despatched in all directions in chase of
the runaways; but the escapade had been much too cunningly planned to
fail in execution. Before Sir John set eyes on his daughter again--now
becomingly penitent--she had blossomed into the Baroness Compton, wife
of the last man her father would have desired to call his son-in-law.
To "Rich Spencer" the blow was crushing, humiliating. It was bad enough
to be defied and outwitted, to be made a fool of by his own daughter;
but to know that the treasure he had lost had fallen into such
undesirable hands was bitter beyond words. His home and his heart were
alike desolate; and, in his despair and wrath, he vowed that he would
never own his daughter as his child, and that not one penny of his
should ever go into the Compton coffers.
In this mood of sullen, unforgiving anger Sir John remained for a full
year; when to his surprise and delight he received a summons to attend,
at Whitehall, on the Queen, whose graciousness during his mayoralty he
remembered with pleasure and gratitude; and no man in England was
prouder or more pleased than he when, at the time appointed, he made his
bow to his Sovereign-Lady and kissed her hand.
"I have summoned you, Sir John," Her Majesty said, "to ask a great
favour of you. I do not often stoop, as you know, to beg a favour of
any man; nor should I now, did I not know that I have no more dutiful
subject than yourself, and that to ask of you is to receive. I am
interested in two young people who have had the misfortune to marry
against the wishes of the lady's father, and who have thus forfeited his
favour. And I wish you to give me and the youthful couple pleasure by
taking his place and standing sponsor to their first child."
To such a request made by his Sovereign Sir John could but give a
delighted consent. He would do much more than this, he vowed, to give
her a moment's gratification; and he not only attended the baptismal
ceremony, but on the suggestion of the Queen, who was also present,
allowed the child to bear his own Christian name. "More than this, your
Majesty," he declared, "as I have now no child of my own, I will gladly
adopt this infant as my heir."
"Your goodness of heart, Sir John," Her Majesty answered, beaming with
pleasure, "shall not go unrewarded; for the child you have now taken to
your heart and made inheritor of your wealth is indeed of your own flesh
and blood--the first-born son of your daughter, and my friend, Elizabeth
Compton."
Such was the dramatic plight into which "Rich Spencer's" loyalty and
generosity had led him. He had innocently pledged himself to adopt as
his heir, the son of the daughter he had disowned for ever. "And now,
Sir John," continued the Queen, "that you have conceded so much to make
me happy, will you not go one step farther and take your wilful and
penitent daughter to your heart again?" What could the poor merchant do
in such a predicament, when his Sovereign stooped to beg as a favour
what his lonely heart yearned to grant? Before he was many minutes older
he was clasping his child to his breast; and was even shaking hands with
her graceless husband.
* * * * *
When, full of years, Sir John died in 1609, his obsequies were worthy of
his wealth and fame. He was followed to his grave in St Helen's Church
by a thousand mourners, clad in black gowns; and three hundred and
twenty poor men, we are told, "had each a basket given them, containing
a black gown, four pounds of beef, two loaves of bread, a little bottle
of wine, a candlestick, a pound of candles, two saucers, two spoons, a
black pudding, a pair of gloves, a dozen points, two red herrings, four
white herrings, six sprats and two eggs"--a quaint and lavish symbol of
his charity when alive.
So enormous was the fortune he left, that it is said Lord Compton, on
hearing its amount (£800,000) "became distracted, and so continued for a
considerable length of time, either through the vehement apprehension of
joy for such a plentiful succession, or of carefulness how to take up
and dispense of it."
That my Lady Compton, who a few years after her father's death blossomed
into a Countess, proved a devoted and dutiful wife to her lord there is
no reason to doubt; but that she had an adequate idea of her own
importance and a determination to have her share of her father's
money-bags is shown by the following letter, which is sufficiently
remarkable to bear quotation in full.
"My sweet life,--Now that I have declared to you my mind
for the settling of your estate, I suppose that it were
best for me to bethink what allowance were best for me;
for, considering what care I have ever had of your
estate, and how respectfully I dealt with those which
both by the laws of God, nature, and civil policy, wit,
religion, government, and honesty, you, my dear, are
bound to, I pray and beseech you to grant to me, your
most kind and loving wife, the sum of one thousand pounds
per an., quarterly to be paid.
"Also, I would, besides that allowance for my apparel,
have six hundred pounds added yearly for the performance
of charitable works; these I would not neither be
accountable for. Also, I will have three horses for my
own saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrow; none
lend but I, none borrow but you. Also, I would have two
gentlewomen, lest one should be sick; also, believe that
it would be an indecent thing for a gentlewoman to stand
mumping alone, when God has blest their Lord and Lady
with a great estate. Also, when I ride hunting or
hawking, or travel from one house to another, I will have
them attending, so for each of those said women I must
have a horse. Also, I will have six or eight gentlemen,
and will have two coaches; one lined with velvet to
myself, with four very fair horses; and a coach for my
women lined with sweet cloth, orelaid with gold; the
other with scarlet, and laced with watchet lace and
silver, with four good horses. Also, I will have two
coachmen, one for myself, the other for my women. Also,
whenever I travel, I will be allowed not only carroches
and spare horses for me and my women, but such carriages
as shall be fitting for all, orderly, not pestering my
things with my women's, nor theirs with chambermaids, nor
theirs with washmaids.
"Also, laundresses, when I travel; I will have them sent
away with the carriages to see all safe, and the
chambermaids shall go before with the grooms, that the
chambers may be ready, sweet, and clean.
"Also, for that it is indecent for me to croud myself
with my gentleman-usher in my coach, I will have him have
a convenient horse to attend me either in city or
country; and I must have four footmen; and my desire is
that you will defray the charges for me.
"And for myself, besides my yerely allowance, I would
have twenty gowns apparel, six of them excellent good
ones, eight of them for the country, and six others of
them excellent good ones. Also, I would have to put in my
purse two thousand and two hundred pounds, and so you to
pay my debts. Also, I would have eight thousand pounds to
buy me jewels, and six thousand pounds for a pearl chain.
"Now seeing I have been, and am, so reasonable unto you,
I pray you to find my children apparel, and their
schooling, and all my servants, men and women, their
wages.
"Also, I will have all my houses furnished, and all my
lodging-chambers to be suited with all such furniture as
is fit, as beds, stools, chairs, cushions, carpets,
silver warming-pans, cupboards of plate, fair hangings,
etc.; and so for my drawing-chambers in all houses, I
will have them delicately furnished with hangings, couch,
canopy, cushions, carpets, etc.
"Also, my desire is that you would pay your debts, build
up Ashby House and purchase lands and lend no money (as
you love God) to the Lord Chamberlain, which would have
all, perhaps your life from you; remember his son, my
Lord Wildan, what entertainments he gave me when you were
at the Tilt-yard. If you were dead, he said, he would be
a husband, a father, a brother, and said he would marry
me. I protest I grieve to see the poor man have so little
wit and honesty to use his friend so vilely; also, he fed
me with untruths concerning the Charter-House; but that
is the least; he wished me much harm; you know how. God
keep you and me from him, and such as he is.
"So now I have declared to you my mind, what I would
have, and what I would not have; I pray you, when you be
Earl, to allow a thousand pounds more than now I desire
and double allowance.--Your loving wife, ELIZABETH COMPTON."