1570-1572
At no time since her accession had Elizabeth and her government been in
so much danger as immediately after the suppression of the rebellion of
the north. Cecil had known that the Catholic English and Scottish nobles
and Mary were in constant communication with Spain and the Pope, but
even he was not aware how widespread was the conspiracy.[313] Orange in
the Netherlands, and Coligny in France, had for a time been crushed;
Condé had been killed in battle; and everywhere the Catholic cause was
triumphant. This was the eventuality which alone England had to fear;
and although Spanish aid to the English Catholics was neither so active
nor so abundant as has usually been assumed, unquestionably the hopes
and promises held out both by Philip and the Pope had raised the spirits
of the Catholics in England and Scotland higher than they had been for
many years. Spanish money and support under papal auspices kept Ireland
in a state of discord, as we have seen; Mary appealed to King Philip
as a vassal to her suzerain; the Guisan agents were busy plotting with
the Hamiltons and Murray’s enemies on the Border, and the whole north
of England was riddled with religious discontent. Cecil wrote at the
beginning of 1570 to Norris: “We have discovered some tokens, and we hear
of some words uttered by the Earl of Northumberland, that maketh us think
this rebellion had more branches, both of our own and strangers, than did
appear, and I trust the same will be found out, though perchance when all
are known in secret manner, all may not be notified.”
The truth of Cecil’s forebodings came soon afterwards. On the 22nd
February 1570, Murray was shot by a Hamilton in the streets of
Linlithgow, and in the anarchy which followed, the friends of Mary
Stuart on the Scottish Border invaded England. Maitland of Lethington
and others who had hitherto stood firmly by Murray, now turned to the
side of the Hamiltons and the French party; whilst a special French
Guisan envoy boldly demanded of Elizabeth, in the name of the King of
France, Mary Stuart’s release, permission for himself to pass into
Scotland, and a pledge from the English Queen that in future she would
refrain from supporting the Huguenots. Papal emissaries whispered at
first that the Pope had excommunicated “the flagitious pretended Queen
of England”; and then one Catholic, bolder than the rest (Felton), dared
publicly to post the bull on the Bishop of London’s door. The Bishop
of Ross was tireless in spreading the view of Mary’s innocence and
unmerited sufferings,[314] and many Englishmen who were opposed to her
in everything were scandalised at her continued captivity. So strong a
Protestant as Sir Henry Norris, the English Ambassador in Paris—for ever
the butt of French remonstrance against Mary’s imprisonment—advised Cecil
to have her released. But Sir William knew better the risk of such a step
now, and replied, “Surely few here amongst us conceive it feasible with
surety,” and he was right. Stories, too, came from Flanders of plans to
assassinate Elizabeth; but she was never so strong or wise as when the
circumstances were difficult and dangerous. “I know not,” writes Cecil,
“by what means, but her Majesty is not much troubled with the opinion
of danger; nevertheless I and others cannot be but greatly fearful for
her, and do, and will do, all that in us may lie to understand by God’s
assistance the attempts.”
It was not long before Cecil had once more triumphed over his enemies
on the Council and in England: the danger that then threatened was from
without. Again, the policy of disabling the foreign Catholics by aiding
the Protestants was resorted to. Killigrew was kept busy in Germany
arranging with Hans Casimir and other mercenary leaders, to raise large
forces for the purpose of entering France and enabling the Huguenots to
avenge their disasters.[315] Cardinal Chatillon was still a welcome
guest at the English court. The privateers in the Channel were stronger
and bolder than ever, and had practically swept Spanish shipping from
the narrow seas. The Flemings were encouraged with promises of help and
support when Orange had once more organised a force to cope with Alba.
Sussex and Hunsdon in the meanwhile did not let the grass grow under
their feet, but harried both sides of the Border, stamping out the last
embers of rebellion, and striking terror into the Catholic fugitives,
whilst Morton and the Protestant party were consolidating their position,
momentarily shaken by the murder of Murray.[316] De Spes was ceaselessly
clamouring to the King and Alba for armed intervention in England before
it was too late. Mary might be captured by a _coup de main_, as she
herself suggested, and carried to Spain; a few troops sent to Scotland
now, said the Bishop of Ross, might overturn the new Regency; a small
force in Ireland would easily expel the heretics; “and the whole nation
will rise as soon as they see your Majesty’s standard floating over ships
on their coast.”
But Alba distrusted both French and English, Protestants and Catholics
alike. He knew that the conflagration in the Netherlands was still all
aglow beneath the surface, and he dared not plunge into war with England.
His slow master pondered and plotted, beset with cares and poverty, and
unable to wreak his vengeance upon England until he had the certainty of
Mary Stuart’s exclusive devotion to his interests. But the extent and
complexity of Philip’s difficulties were only known to himself, and the
danger appeared to Cecil even greater than it was.
The plague had raged in London for the whole of the summer of 1569, and a
recrudescence of it in the following June gave Cecil a good opportunity
for advocating Norfolk’s partial enlargement. The Duke made a most
solemn renunciation of his proposed marriage with Mary, and craved
Elizabeth’s forgiveness; and at length in August was allowed to retire
to his own house. That he owed his liberation to Cecil is clear from
his letters. At the beginning of July, apparently, some person—probably
Leicester—had told the Duke that Cecil was against him, and the Secretary
showed him how false this was, and proposed to take action against his
slanderers. The Duke in reply thanked him for his friendly dealing and
his frank explanation, “which have sufficiently purged him (Cecil) and
laid the fault on those who deserved it.” But he begged him to refrain
from further action, as it might cause mischief.[317] When Norfolk at
length was “rid of yonder pestylent infectyous hows” (the Tower), he
unhesitatingly attributed his release to Cecil. How busy the slanderers
of the Secretary were, and how deeply he felt the wounds they dealt him,
may be seen in another statement in his own hand of the same period[318]
(July 1570), which contains an indignant denial of the reports that
had been spread with regard to his alleged dishonest dealing with the
property of his ward the Earl of Oxford.
During the whole of Norfolk’s stay in the Tower and afterwards, the
love-letters between him and Mary continued, the Queen signing her
letters “your own faithful to death,” and using many similar terms of
endearment;[319] and Cecil could hardly have been entirely ignorant
of the Duke’s bad faith. But for political reasons it was considered
necessary, not only to conciliate him, but Mary and the Spaniards as
well. Concurrently, therefore, with the negotiations for Norfolk’s
release, a show of willingness was made to come to terms with Mary.
Her presence in England was an embarrassment and a danger, and now
that Murray was dead, the principal personal obstacle to her return
had disappeared. If she could be so tied down as to be used as a means
for pacifying Scotland, whilst depending for the future entirely
upon England, her return to her country would relieve Elizabeth of a
difficulty. The first basis of negotiation was the surrender of the
English rebel Lords in exchange for her, and the delivery to England of
four or six of the principal Scottish nobles and the young Prince as
hostages. But these terms were by no means acceptable to Mary’s agents or
to herself. She feared that the Scots would kill her, and the English her
son, and so secure the joint kingdoms to a nominee of Elizabeth or Cecil.
The main reason for Elizabeth’s change of attitude must be sought in the
panic which seized upon England in the early summer of 1570. A powerful
Spanish fleet was in the Channel, ostensibly to convey Philip’s fourth
wife, Anne of Austria, from Flanders to Spain; but rumours came that
the dreaded Duke of Alba was ready now for the invasion of England. The
Guises in Normandy, too, were said to have an army of harquebussiers
waiting to embark for Scotland; the Irish rebels were being helped both
by Philip and the Guises. The Pope’s bull absolving Englishmen from their
oaths of allegiance was the talk everywhere, and English merchants in
despair cried that at last they and their country were to pay for the
depredations of the pirates. The French were demanding haughtily that the
English troops should evacuate the Border Scottish fortresses held by
them, and the Protestants in France and Flanders were not yet prepared to
furnish the diversion upon which the English usually depended for their
own safety.
The position was very grave in appearance, though not so great in
reality, and it alarmed Elizabeth out of her equanimity. De Guaras says
that she shut herself up for three days, and railed against Cecil for
bringing her to such a pass; and the same observer reports that when
Cecil one day in the middle of July left the Queen and retired to his
own apartment, he cried to his wife in deep distress, “O wife! if God do
not help us we shall be lost and undone. Get together all the jewels and
money you can, that you may follow me when the time comes; for surely
trouble is in store for us.”[320] This may or may not be true in detail,
and also Guaras’ assertion that Cecil had sent large private funds to
Germany, whither he would retire in case of trouble; but it is certain
that panic reigned supreme for a few weeks in the summer, accentuated,
doubtless, by the plague which was devastating the country. But fright
did not paralyse the minister for long, if at all. Twenty-five ships
were hastily armed, two fresh armies were raised of five thousand men
each, ostensibly for Scotland. Mary was prompted to send Livingston to
Scotland to negotiate an arrangement with the Regent Lennox, and Cecil
himself, with Sir Walter Mildmay, was induced to go and confer with
Mary at Chatsworth; but, says De Spes, “all these things are simply
tricks of Cecil’s, who thinks thereby to cheat every one, in which to a
certain extent he succeeds.” The Secretary had by this time discovered
that in any case neither Philip nor Alba would raise a finger to avenge
a slight upon De Spes, for he had imprisoned him and distressed him in
a thousand ways already without retaliation. At the same time, a blow
at such a notorious conspirator as he was could not fail to produce
a great effect upon the English Catholics who plotted with him and
looked to Spain alone for support. Cecil therefore sent Fitzwilliams
to Flanders about the seizures, and instructed him to complain to
Alba of De Spes’ communications with the rebels. “His object,” wrote
the Ambassador, “is to expel me, now that they think I understand the
affairs of this country; and Cecil thinks that I, with others, might
make such representations to the Queen as would diminish his great
authority.… Cecil is a crafty fox, a mortal enemy of the Catholics and
to our King, and it is necessary to watch his designs very closely,
because he proceeds with the greatest caution and dissimulation. There
is nothing in his power he does not attempt to injure us. The Queen’s
own opinion is of little importance, and that of Leicester less; so that
Cecil unrestrainedly and arrogantly governs all.… Your worship may be
certain that if Cecil is allowed to have his way he will disturb the
Netherlands.”[321] De Spes’ information was correct on the latter point,
as well it might be, for in addition to Cecil’s own secretary, Allington,
he had in his pay Sir James Crofts, a member of the Council, and the
Secretary of the Council, Bernard Hampton, who between them brought him
news of everything that passed in the Council or in Cecil House.
The Secretary’s efforts to get rid of so troublesome a guest as De Spes,
and to offer an object-lesson to the English Catholics at the same time,
were persistent, and in the end successful. De Spes was refused the
treatment of an ambassador, threatened with the Tower, flouted, slighted,
and insulted at every turn; but he could only futilely storm and fret,
for neither his King nor Alba was pleased with the difficult position
which his violence had created for them in England. It was all the fault
of Cecil personally, insisted De Spes. He wished to afflict the Catholic
cause without witnesses, and would stick at nothing, even poison, to get
rid of the Spaniard.
Cecil would have liked to avoid his mission to Mary Stuart, for he
was almost crippled with constant gout, and he was fully aware of
the hollowness of the negotiations in hand. The interviews with Mary
could hardly have been agreeable, although they were carried out with
great formality and politeness on both sides. Cecil charged her with
a knowledge of the northern rebellion, which she only partly denied,
saying, however, that she did not encourage it. Mary seems to have been
alternately passionate and tearful; but her bad adviser, the Bishop of
Ross, was by her side, and though she argued her case shrewdly, she
could not refrain from unwisely and unnecessarily wounding Elizabeth at
the outset.[322] In the second article of the proposed treaty, where
Elizabeth’s issue were to be preferred in the succession, Mary altered
the words to “lawful issue,” to which Elizabeth, although acceding to it,
replied that Mary “measured other folk’s disposition by her own actions.”
After some acrimony on the subject of other alterations on behalf of
Mary, an arrangement was arrived at, which, however, was afterwards
vetoed by the Scottish Government,[323] at the instance of Morton, who
was the Commissioner in London.
Whilst the negotiations with Mary had been progressing, peace had been
signed between the Huguenots and Charles IX. at St. Germains (August
1570), and the fears of Elizabeth and Cecil were consequently aggravated
at the plans which were known to be promoted by Cardinal Lorraine for
the marriage of the Duke of Anjou, next brother to the French King, with
the Queen of Scots. Now that the Montmorencis and the “politicians” had
reconciled parties in France, the danger of such a match became serious
both to England and the sincere Huguenots. Anjou posed as the figurehead
of the extreme Catholic party, but was known to be vaguely ambitious and
unstable. Cardinal Chatillon therefore thought it would be a good move
to disarm him by yoking him under Huguenot auspices to Elizabeth. The
first approach was made by the Vidame de Chartres to Cecil, who privately
discussed it with the Queen. They must have regarded it with favour, for
it was exactly the instrument they needed for splitting the league, and
arousing jealousy between France and Spain. The Emperor had just given a
severe rebuff to attempts to revive the Archduke’s match with Elizabeth,
but the negotiation for making a French Catholic prince King-consort of
England under Huguenot control was a master-stroke which sufficed to
overturn all international combinations, set France and Spain by the
ears, turned the Guises, as relatives of Mary Stuart, against their
principal supporter in France, and reduced the Queen of Scots herself to
quite a secondary element in the problem. The idea was just as welcome
to Catharine de Medici, who hated Mary Stuart as much as she dreaded the
Guises. Both she and the young King would have been glad to be quit of
the ambitious Anjou, who always threw in his weight on the Catholic side,
and made it more difficult for the Queen-mother to hold the balance. So,
very soon Guido Cavalcanti was speeding backwards and forwards between
England and France, secretly preparing the way for the more formal
negotiations between the official Ambassadors.
So far as the Queen of England was concerned, the negotiation was purely
political and insincere, for the reasons just stated, but the comedy
was well played by all parties. Leicester of course was favourable, for
it meant bribes to him, and there was no danger. La Mothe Fénélon, the
Ambassador, gently broached the matter to the Queen at Hampton Court
in January 1571. As usual she was coy and coquettish. She was too old
for Anjou, she objected, but still she said the princes of the House
of France had the reputation of being good husbands.[324] Cardinal
Chatillon shortly afterwards was blunter than the Ambassador. Would the
Queen marry Anjou if he proposed? he asked, to which Elizabeth replied,
that on certain conditions she would; and the next day she submitted the
subject to her Council, who, as in duty bound, threw the whole of the
responsibility on to the Queen.
Walsingham had just replaced Norris as Ambassador to France. He was a
friend of Leicester, a strict Protestant, who had been indoctrinated in
the political methods of Cecil, with whom and with Leicester he kept up
a close confidential correspondence.[325] One of his first letters to
Leicester gives a personal description of the young Prince, in which a
desire to tell the truth struggles with his duty not to say anything
which may hamper the negotiation. The Guises and the Spanish party in
Paris exhorted Anjou to avoid being drawn into the net, and the Duke
himself at one time openly used insulting expressions towards Elizabeth;
but such was the position in England that it was absolutely necessary
that an appearance of reality should be given to the affair. Prudent
Cecil, as usual, avoided pledging himself personally more than necessary,
and wrote from Greenwich to Walsingham on the 3rd March, that he had
wished the Queen herself to write her instructions, but as she had
declined to do so, he merely repeated her words in a postscript—namely,
that if he (Walsingham) were approached on the matter of the marriage, he
might say that before he left England he had heard “that the Queen, upon
consideration of the benefit of her realm, and to content her subjects,
had resolved to marry if she should find a fit husband, who must be
of princely rank.” To this Cecil himself adds as his private opinion,
to be told to no one, “I am not able to discern what is best, but
surely I see no continuance of her quietness without a marriage.”[326]
Matters were indeed critical at this juncture, and Cecil, Leicester,
and even Walsingham, repeatedly, and apparently with sincerity, stated
their opinion that Elizabeth would be forced to wed Anjou, or he would
marry Mary Stuart, as it was necessary for Catharine de Medici and the
Huguenots to get rid of this fanatical figurehead of the extreme Catholic
party.[327]
In his letter to Walsingham of 1st March, Cecil signs his name thus, “By
your assured (as I was wont) William Cecil;” and then underneath, “And as
I am now ordered to write, William Burleigh.”[328] That the title was not
of his own seeking is almost certain. The Spanish Ambassador, De Spes,
says that the Queen ennobled him in order that he might be more useful
in Parliament and in the matter of the Queen of Scots; and the new Lord
himself, in a letter to Nicholas White, speaks thus slightingly of his
new honour: “My style is Lord of Burghley if you mean to know it for your
writing, and if you list to write truly, the poorest Lord in England.
Yours, not changed in friendship, though in name, William Burghley.” To
Walsingham again he wrote on the 25th March, “My style of my poor degree
is Lord of Burghley;” and on the 14th April in a letter to the same
correspondent he signs, “William Cecill—I forgot my new word, William
Burleigh.”
At the time of his elevation the new Lord was suffering from one of his
constantly recurring fits of gout, and his letters are mostly written,
with pain and difficulty, which he frequently mentions, “from my bed
in my house at Westminster.” And yet, withal, the amount of work he
got through at the time was nothing short of marvellous. Every matter,
great and small, seemed to be dealt with by him. He was a Member of
Parliament for the two counties of Lincoln and Northampton;[329] as
Chancellor of the University of Cambridge he was deeply interested in
the interminable disputes there with regard to ritual, vestments, and
scholastic questions; as President of the Court of Wards he attended
personally to an immense number of estates and private interests;[330]
and acquaintances, high and low, from Greys, Howards, Clintons, and
Dudleys, down to poor students or alien refugees, still by common accord
addressed their petitions for aid and advice to him. To judge by their
grateful acknowledgments, they seem rarely to have appealed to him in
vain, and it is evident by the hundreds of such letters at Hatfield, that
even when petitions could not be granted, they were assured of impartial
and just consideration from Lord Burghley. His own great establishments,
too, at Burghley, Theobalds, and London, must have claimed much of his
attention, for all accounts passed under his own eyes, and in such small
matters as the rotation of crops, the sale of produce, the breeding
of stock, and the replenishment of gardens, nothing was done without
consultation with the master. His hospitality was very great; for we are
told by his domestic biographer that “he kept open house everywhere,
and his steward kept a standing table for gentlemen, besides two other
long tables, often twice set out, one for the clerk of the kitchen, and
the other for yeomen.” He personally can have had but little enjoyment
from his splendid houses and stately living. He must have been almost
constantly at court, or hard at work at his house in Cannon Row,
Westminster, handy for Whitehall, rather than at his new palace in the
Strand, where his wife and family lodged. He seems to have had no hobby
but books and gardens, and to have taken no exercise except on his rare
visits to Theobalds or Burghley, when he would jog round his garden paths
on an ambling mule.
This was the man, vigilant, prudent, moderate, cautious and untiring in
his industry, who in the spring and summer of 1571 by his consummate
statecraft once more brought England out of the coil of perils which
surrounded her on all sides. His counter-move to Spanish support to the
rebels in England and Ireland, and to Guisan plots in Scotland, was to
supply arms, munitions, and money to the Protestants of Rochelle and the
Dutch privateers, and to fit out a strong English fleet. The pacification
of France and the crushing of reform in Flanders were answered by
remittances of money to Germany to raise mercenaries for Orange, and the
welcoming of Louis of Nassau and Cardinal Chatillon in England; whilst
the marriage of Charles IX. to an Austrian Princess, and the closer
relations between France and the Catholic league, were counteracted by
the marriage negotiations between Elizabeth and Anjou, and the treaty
with Mary Stuart for her restoration.
But as the effect of Cecil’s diplomacy gradually became apparent, the
more reckless of his opponents resorted to desperate devices to frustrate
him. Already, by February 1571, Mary Stuart had convinced herself that
the treaty for her liberation was fallacious, and she wrote an important
letter to the Bishop of Ross, from which great events sprang.[331] She
refers to plans for her escape, and announces her decision to go to
Spain, throwing herself in future entirely upon Philip as her protector;
and she urges that Ridolfi should be sent to Spain and Rome to explain
her situation and resolve, and to beg for help. Norfolk was to be asked
to pledge himself finally to become a Catholic; doubt as to his religion,
she says, having been the principal reason for Philip’s lukewarmness.
The Bishop sent a copy of the letter to Norfolk, who was still nominally
under arrest. The Duke gave his consent, and Ridolfi started from England
at the end of March. It has been frequently denied that Norfolk connived
at this proposal for the invasion of England by a foreign power; but,
in addition to the depositions of Ross and Barker,[332] the following
letter from De Spes introducing Ridolfi to Philip appears to settle the
question against the Duke:[333] “The Queen of Scots, and the Duke of
Norfolk on behalf of many other lords and gentlemen who are attached to
your Majesty’s interests, and the promotion of the Catholic religion, are
sending Rodolfo Ridolfi, a Florentine gentleman, to offer their services
to your Majesty, and to represent to you that the time is now ripe to
take a step of great benefit to Christianity, as in detail Ridolfi will
set forth to your Majesty. The letter of credence from the Duke of
Norfolk is written in the cipher that I have sent to Zayas, for fear it
should be taken. London, 25th March, 1571.” The exact proposal to be made
verbally by Ridolfi is not stated, but De Spes refers to it in his next
letter as “the real remedy” for Lord Burghley’s activity. It is probable
that not only the support of Mary and Norfolk was intended, but also the
assassination of Elizabeth and her minister.[334] Cecil had been put
upon the alert by the kidnapping in Flanders and bringing to England of
the notorious Dr. Storey, who, under torture in the Tower, had divulged
the dealings of the northern Lords with Alba through Ridolfi and the
Bishop of Ross. This caused Cecil to keep a watch upon the doings of
both the agents; and Lord Cobham, in Dover, was instructed to intercept
any cipher letters which might be brought by a Flemish secretary of the
Bishop of Ross, one Charles Bailly, who was with Ridolfi in Flanders.
The man was stopped and his papers captured, with some copies of the
Bishop of Ross’s book in favour of Mary’s claims. The Cobhams were never
to be trusted; and Thomas Cobham surreptitiously obtained the cipher
keys, and had them conveyed to De Spes, substituting for them a dummy
packet, which was sent to Cecil. But Bailly himself, who had written
the papers at Ridolfi’s dictation, was promptly put on the rack in the
Tower, and confessed that the letters were written to two persons,
designated by numbers, under cover to the Bishop, and conveyed the Duke
of Alba’s approval of the plan for invading England, and his readiness,
if authorised by his King, to co-operate with the persons indicated.
Letters sent by the Bishop to Bailly after his arrest, urging him to
firmness, threatening the traitor who had betrayed him, and in a hundred
ways proving his own complicity, were all intercepted and read. The
tortured wretch swore to the Bishop that he would tell nothing, even if
they tore him into a hundred pieces; begged that his trunk containing
drafts of letters from Mary to Cardinal Lorraine and Hamilton might be
rescued from his lodging. But Burghley forestalled them all. The whole
of the letters were taken, and every day, in the Tower, fresh rackings,
and threats to cut off his ears or his head, were used by Burghley
to the frightened lad, to force him to give a key of the cipher. One
morning at five o’clock he was carried by the Lieutenant of the Tower
to Lord Burghley, and was told that, unless he immediately confessed
all, he would be racked till the truth was torn from him. The lad, half
distraught, day by day unfolded as much as he knew, notwithstanding the
Bishop’s frantic assurances that Burghley would not dare to harm him
much, as he was a foreigner and a servant of the Queen of Scots.[335]
And so, piece by piece, the whole conspiracy was unravelled so far as
regarded the main object, and the complicity of Alba, the Spaniards and
the Bishop of Ross proved beyond doubt; but still the persons indicated
by the cipher numbers “30” and “40” could only be surmised, for Bailly
himself did not know them. Gradually the names of Mary Stuart and Norfolk
crept into the depositions of those examined, but without sufficient
definiteness yet for open proceedings against them to be commenced.
Whilst Lord Burghley, with inexhaustible patience, was tracking the
plot to its source, the most elaborate pretence of agreement with the
French on the subject of the Anjou match was kept up both in Paris and
London; though more sincere on the part of the former than the latter,
for Catharine and Charles IX. were in mortal fear of the Guises, the
League, and the heir-presumptive to the crown. Cavalcanti and officers of
the King’s household ran backwards and forwards to England with loving
messages; and the Huguenots worked their best to bring the matter to
a successful issue, or, in default of it, for a close alliance. Henry
Cobham was sent to Madrid ostensibly to treat on the matter of the
seizures, but really to learn, if possible, how far Philip was pledged to
the plans against England; but the Spaniards were forewarned and ready
for him, and he learned nothing.
Lord Burghley had, however, a better plan than this. Fitzwilliam, a
relative of the English Duchess of Feria, had been sent to Spain by him
for the purpose of negotiating for the release of the men and hostages
who had been captured from Hawkins at San Juan de Ulloa. He professed
in Spain to be strongly Catholic and in favour of Mary Stuart, and came
back to England in 1571, with presents, pledges, and promises to the
captive Queen and her friends. Hawkins lay with a strong auxiliary fleet
at the mouth of the Channel, and it was agreed with Lord Burghley that
Fitzwilliam and Hawkins should hoodwink the Spaniards, obtain a good haul
for themselves, and at the same time trace the ramifications of the great
international plot against England. De Spes jumped at the bait, with but
a mere qualm of misgiving, when Fitzwilliam went and offered, on behalf
of Hawkins, to desert with all his fleet to Spain, and take part, if
necessary, in an attack upon England. When he wrote to the King he said,
“My only fear is lest Burghley himself may have set the matter afoot to
discover your Majesty’s feelings, though I have seen nothing to make me
think this.”
But it was exactly the case, nevertheless, and the ruse succeeded beyond
expectation. By the end of August all Hawkins’ men had been released in
Spain and sent back to England, with ten dollars each in their pockets,
and Hawkins himself was the better off by £40,000 of Spanish money. But
more than this: Burghley had obtained through Fitzwilliam full knowledge
of the aims of the Ridolfi conspiracy. It was clear now to demonstration
that the Pope,[336] Philip, and the Catholic party in France were pledged
to a vast crusade against England, for crushing Protestantism, destroying
Elizabeth,[337] and raising Mary Stuart to the thrones of Great
Britain. Burghley and the Queen had practically known it for months,
as we have seen, and already the diplomatic measures they had taken to
counteract it were producing their effects. But now that the evidence was
sufficient, the blow against the conspirators could be struck openly. All
unsuspecting still, De Spes was comforting himself with the reflection
that the capture of Bailly was an unimportant incident; he urged Alba
and the King to immediate action, fumed at the instructions he received
to hold back Philip’s letters to Mary and Norfolk until he had orders to
deliver them, and sneered at the timid delay. “As all of Lord Burghley’s
jests have turned out well for him hitherto, he is ready to undertake
anything, and has no fear of danger. They and the French together make
great fun of our meekness.” “It is a pity to lose time, for Lord Burghley
is continuing to oppress the Catholics. If the opportunity is lost this
year, I fear the false religion will prevail in this island in a way
which will make it a harsh neighbour for the Netherlands.”
The opportunity, though he did not know it, had been lost already, for
all the threads were now in Burghley’s hands, and he was master of
the situation. In August was intercepted the bag of money (£600) with
a cipher letter[338] being sent secretly to Herries and Kirkaldy of
Grange, Mary’s friends in Scotland, by the Duke of Norfolk’s secretary,
and in a day or two the net swept into the Tower the Duke and all the
underlings who had served as intermediaries. Burghley lost no time now.
Almost every day, threats or the rack wrung some fresh admission from
the instruments—secretaries, messengers, and the like. Norfolk at first,
with extreme effrontery, denied everything;[339] but he was a weak man,
and soon broke down. Even then De Spes did not see that all was lost.
“The Catholics,” he said, “are many, though their leaders be few, and
Lord Burghley, with his terrible fury, has greatly harassed and dismayed
them, for they are afraid even of speaking to each other. The whole
affair depends upon getting weapons into their hands, and giving them
some one to direct them.”[340] It was too late. Mary Stuart’s prison
was made closer; her correspondence was intercepted and read; there was
no more concealment necessary or possible. One Catholic noble after the
other was isolated and imprisoned; Dr. Storey’s dreadful fate was held
up as a warning to traitors, and London and the country was flooded with
broadsheets calculated to arouse English and Protestant sentiment to
fever heat at the dastardly conspiracy which was laid bare.
On the 14th December a message reached De Spes summoning him to the
Council at Whitehall. When he arrived there he found them awaiting
him, with Lord Burghley as spokesman. There was no mincing matters.
The Ambassador was told that he had plotted with traitors against the
Queen’s life and the peace of the country, and he would be expelled, as
Dr. Man had been from Spain with far less reason.[341] De Spes tried to
brazen it out, but ineffectually. Burghley was on firm ground: no delay,
he said, could be allowed, excepting the time absolutely necessary for
the preparations for the voyage, which time was to be passed out of
London.[342] Speechless, almost, with indignation, in pretended fear that
Burghley would have him killed, De Spes was hustled out of the country he
had sought to ruin, and a week afterwards (16th January 1572) the Duke of
Norfolk was tried by his peers and found guilty of the capital crime of
high treason.
De Spes left England with bitter resentment at the triumph of Burghley’s
diplomacy. “They will now,” he says, “make themselves masters of the
Channel, and with one blow, with their practices in Flanders, will
plunge that country into a dreadful war. It is of no use now to speak of
our lost opportunities. They have gone; but … steps may still be taken
to make these people weep in their own country.” When he arrived in
Flanders he made a long report of his embassy, containing the following
interesting appreciation of Burghley as he appeared to his greatest
enemy: “The principal person in the Council is William Cecil, now Lord
Burghley, a Knight of the Garter. He is a man of mean sort, but very
astute, false, lying, and full of artifice. He is a great heretic, and
such a clownish Englishman as to believe that all the Christian princes
joined together are not able to injure the sovereign of his country,
and he therefore treats their ministers with great arrogance. This man
manages the bulk of the business, and by means of his vigilance and
craftiness, together with his utter unscrupulousness of word and deed,
thinks to outwit the ministers of other princes, which to some extent he
has hitherto succeeded in doing.”
Before De Spes was expelled, the efforts of Burghley, Walsingham, and
De Foix had been successful in arranging the terms of a close political
alliance between France and England. Elizabeth swore to Cavalcanti that
she would never trust Spaniards again, and he might see how little she
cared for the King of Spain by the way she had treated his Ambassador.
She could, indeed, afford now to slight the most powerful monarch in the
world; for one of the counter-strokes to the Spanish-Papal plot had been
the concentration in the Channel of a great fleet of Flemish and Huguenot
privateers under the Count de la Mark, and during the winter a plan had
been perfected for the seizure by the “beggars” of Brille, the key to
Zeeland. The imposition in Flanders of the tax which ruined Spain had
been the last straw,[343] and the whole country was ripe for revolt. For
some time an arrangement had been in progress with Louis of Nassau, by
which the Huguenots should invade Flanders over the French frontier, in
the interest of the Flemish Protestants. However friendly Elizabeth might
be with France, this was a proceeding which was sure to be looked upon
by English statesmen with profound distrust; and Walsingham, writing to
Cecil on the last day of 1571,[344] says that he has been asked whether,
in the event of the French entering Flanders, the Queen of England will
take Zeeland, as the Flemings fear that the French may not be contented
with Flanders. Some time before this, in September, Walsingham had urged
Cecil to promote this invasion of Flanders by the French, as a means of
keeping the Huguenots in power, as well as embarrassing Spain. “If not,”
he says, “the Guises will bear sway, who will be so forward in preferring
the conquest of Ireland, and the advancement of their niece to the crown
of England, as the other side (_i.e._ the Huguenots) is contrariwise
bent to prefer the conquest of Flanders.” When the immediate danger from
the Guises was over, however, the idea of a French invasion of Flanders
could not be calmly endured without some corresponding move in English
interests, and joint action in the Netherlands was suggested. It is
assumed by Motley and most other historians that the capture of Brille by
the “beggars” under La Mark early in April was quite unpremeditated, but
De Spes warned Alba that the affair was being planned in England at least
six months before;[345] and the sending away from Dover of La Mark’s
fleet did not, as Motley surmises, arise alone from Elizabeth’s fear of
offending Spain—for that she had already done—but from the complaints
of the Easterling merchants that their trade with England had become
impossible whilst these freebooters of the seas lay off the coast. In any
case, the surprise and seizure of Brille by the “beggars” once more gave
Alba plenty to think about on his own side of the Straits; and England
might, for the present, breathe freely again.
It had been as necessary for Catharine de Medici as for Elizabeth to
provide against the complete domination of England and Scotland by a
Spanish-Papal conspiracy in favour of Mary Stuart, and she had seconded
Walsingham strenuously in endeavouring to overcome Anjou’s religious
scruples against marrying Elizabeth. Anjou shifted like the wind, as
he fell under the influence of the Guises and his mother alternately.
Sometimes the match looked certain, and Catharine was effusive in
her thanks to Burghley; the next week it appeared hopeless. But the
intrigue served its purpose, and kept the French Government friendly
with Elizabeth during the critical time of the Spanish-Guisan conspiracy
against her—a conspiracy which also threatened Catharine’s influence
in France. Burghley himself seems to have been at a loss to understand
Elizabeth’s real intentions at the time; but it would appear that both he
and Walsingham were in earnest in wishing for the Anjou match, of course
with the safeguards laid down in Cecil’s several minutes on the matter;
but “the conferences,” wrote the Secretary, “have as many variations as
there are days.”
When at length it was seen that Anjou would no longer act as a party to
the game, but was looking to the possibility of a marriage with Mary
Stuart or with a Polish princess, the idea of the marriage of Elizabeth
with his youngest brother, the Duke of Alençon, was again very cautiously
brought up by Sir Thomas Smith and Killigrew, who were acting as English
Ambassadors in France during Walsingham’s illness. Alençon was only a lad
as yet, and could be used without loss of dignity as a stalking-horse
until the treaty of close alliance was finally agreed upon between the
two countries. The inevitable Guido Cavalcanti broached the matter
to Burghley in January, as he was coming away from an interview with
Elizabeth, and after some conference Burghley himself discussed the
matter with the Queen. She was thirty-nine, and the suggested bridegroom
was barely seventeen; but she was full of curiosity as to the looks
of the suitor, and distrustful about their respective ages. She asked
Burghley how tall Alençon was. “About as tall as I am,” replied the
Secretary. “About as tall as your grandson, you mean,” snapped her
Majesty,[346] and so the colloquy ended for a time. On the 19th April
1572 the draft treaty between England and France was signed at Blois.
It provided that aid was to be given unofficially by both nations to
the revolted Hollanders; the fleet of Protestant privateers was to be
sheltered and encouraged, and Huguenot Henry of Navarre was to marry the
King’s sister Margaret. The Protestants and politicians of France had
thus for the moment triumphed all along the line; the connection between
England and France was closer than it had been for many years, and
Elizabeth and Burghley could look back upon a great peril to their nation
and their faith manfully met and astutely overcome.
The Catholic party in England was now utterly prostrate. The Duke of
Norfolk, condemned to death for treason, was respited again and again
by the Queen, whilst he abjectly prevaricated, and threw the blame upon
others. The Bishop of Ross and Barker, he said, had forsworn him: he
never meant to bring a foreign force to England to depose the Queen,
and so forth. From the first, Burghley, who had always been Norfolk’s
friend, urged the Queen to let the law take its course.[347] He has been
bitterly blamed for doing so; but seeing the danger to which Norfolk’s
treason had reduced the realm, he would have failed in his duty as a
First Minister if he had allowed any weakness or personal consideration
to stand in the way of the just punishment for a great crime. Norfolk,
though he was the most popular man and greatest noble in the realm, and
still has many apologists, had plotted with the enemies of England to
bring the country again under foreign tutelage for his own ambition, and
it was right that he should suffer.
That Burghley did not flinch in the case of a man with so many friends,
is a proof of his rectitude and his courage. Though Norfolk himself
must have known what his attitude was, his esteem for him was evidently
not lessened. In the first letter he wrote to the Queen after his
condemnation, 21st January 1572, he prays for “her Majesty’s forgiveness
for his manifold offences, that he may leave this vale of misery with
a lighter heart and quieter conscience. He desires that Lord Burghley
should act as guardian to his poor orphans,” and he signs his letter,
“Written by the woeful hand of a dead man, your Majesty’s unworthy
subject, Thomas Howard”;[348] and when this prayer was granted, he again
wrote to the Queen expressing “his comfort at hearing of her Majesty’s
intended goodness to his unfortunate brats, and that she had christened
them with such an adopted father as Lord Burghley.”[349] At length, when
Parliament had added its pressure to that of her minister’s, the Queen’s
real or pretended reluctance to execute her near kinsman was overcome,
and the Duke’s head fell on Tower Hill, 2nd June, before the lamentations
of a great populace, who loved him above any subject of the Queen.
Less than a week afterwards Marshal Montmorenci, Paul de Foix, and
a splendid embassy arrived in England for the purpose of formally
ratifying the treaty of alliance between England and France, a
corresponding embassy from England under Lord Lincoln being in France
for a similar purpose. The courts vied with each other in their splendid
entertainments. The Frenchmen with forty followers were lodged in
Somerset House. At Whitehall, at Windsor (where Montmorenci received the
Garter), at Leicester House, and at Cecil House, sumptuous banquets were
given, followed by masques, balls, and tourneys. There was much talk
about the Duke of Alençon, but no decided answer given by Elizabeth to
the hints of marriage, which, indeed, was not now so pressing a matter
for her as it had been. When the Frenchmen had taken leave, Burghley sent
to Walsingham an interesting letter giving some account of the embassy,
by which it is clear that the Queen still desired to keep up the talk
of the marriage, in view of a possible need to draw still closer to the
French. “I am willed,” he writes, “to require you to use all good means
to understand what you can of the Duke of Alençon, his age in certainty,
of his stature, his conditions, his inclination in religion, his devotion
this way, his followers and servitors: hereof her Majesty seeketh
speedily to be advertised, that she may resolve before the month.” He
says, that for his part, he can see no great dislike of the idea, except
in the matter of age, and hints at getting Calais as the young Prince’s
dower. “If somewhat be not advised to recompense the opinion that her
Majesty conceiveth, as that she should be misliked to make choice of
so young a prince, I doubt the end.”[350] When, however, Lincoln came
back from France loaded with plate and jewels, and full of praise of the
gallantry of Alençon, the Queen became somewhat warmer, and Walsingham
for weeks to come was bombarded with minute questions as to the personal
qualities, and particularly as to the pock-marked visage, of the suitor.
There was but one more of the great conspirators against England to
deal with. Norfolk had deservedly died the death of a traitor, and
those who had supported him were either dead or lingering sufferers in
prison, the disloyal Catholics were despairing, Spain had received its
answer by the expulsion of De Spes and the renewal of the war in the
Netherlands, whilst Coligny and the Huguenots rode rough-shod over the
Guises and their friends. But the very spring-head of the conspiracy
remained untouched. A commission was appointed in June to formulate
charges against Mary Stuart herself,[351] and in Parliament it was
resolved that she was unworthy to succeed to the English crown. But
Elizabeth again allowed her personal feeling to stand in the way of her
patriotic duty, or, as some would prefer to say, desired to fix upon
others the responsibility of a grave act against her own order and kin.
Burghley, in his letter already quoted, written at the end of June to
Walsingham, says: “Now for Parliament: I cannot write patiently: all
that we laboured for, and with full consent brought to fashion, I mean
a law to make the Scottish Queen unable and unworthy of succession of
the crown, was by her Majesty neither assented to nor rejected, but
deferred until the feast of All Saints; but what all other good and wise
men think thereof, you may guess. Some here have, as it seemeth, abused
their favour about her Majesty, to make herself her most enemy. God amend
them.”[352]
A fortnight after this letter was written Burghley was made Lord
Treasurer of England in place of the Marquis of Winchester, who had
recently died. The work and strain of the Secretaryship had gravely
affected Burghley’s health, and early in the previous April he had been
so ill that his life was despaired of. De Guaras, the merchant who
acted informally as Spanish agent, says that the Queen and most of the
Councillors visited him, in the belief that his state was desperate.[353]
For some time he had been begging for permission to rest, but until the
great matters in hand were settled, this was impossible. The sky over
England had once more become cleared, and the great minister could hand
over to his old friend Sir Thomas Smith the Secretaryship, in which he
had done such signal service to the State.
The day after the elevation of Burghley to the Treasurership, the Queen
started on one of the stately progresses which caused so much delight and
enthusiasm to all her subjects but those who had to entertain her, except
perhaps Burghley and his rival Leicester, who were both honoured during
this summer with a visit from the sovereign. Burghley’s entry of the
great event comes curtly enough in his diary after the memorandum of his
new appointment, thus:—
“1572. July 15. Lord Burghley made Lord Treasurer of England.”
“July 22. The Queen’s Majesty at Theobalds.”[354]
Elizabeth had visited Theobalds in 1564 and 1571. On this occasion her
stay extended over three days, and the domestic biographer of Burghley
thus refers to this amongst other visits: “His Lordship’s extraordinary
chardg in enterteynment of the Quene was greater to him than to anie of
her subjects, for he enterteyned her at his house twelve several tymes,
which cost him two or three thousand pounds each tyme.… But his love for
his Sovereign, and joy to enterteyn her and her traine, was so greate, as
he thought no troble, care, nor cost too much, and all too little.”
Whilst Elizabeth slowly made her way from one great house to another,
by Gorhambury,[355] Dunstable, Woburn,[356] and so to Kenilworth, the
correspondence on the negotiations for the Alençon match became warmer
and warmer. Agents and messengers speeded backwards and forwards with
portraits and amiable trifles, particularly from the side of England.
There was a good reason for this. Before even the treaty of alliance
was signed, Burghley had deplored that Charles IX. and his mother were
cooling in the agreement for France and England jointly to aid the
Flemish rebels. The Pope and the Emperor were trying their hardest to
withdraw Charles and his mother from the compromise into which he had
entered with Elizabeth; and already the young King and Catharine de
Medici were discovering that Coligny and the Huguenots, when they had
the upper hand, could be as domineering and tyrannical as the Guises
themselves. Paris was in seething discontent that the beloved Guises were
in disgrace, and Charles found his throne tottering. To add to his fears
from the Catholics, the Huguenot force that had entered Flanders under
Genlis had been routed and destroyed by the Spaniards (19th July), and
it was clear to Catharine and her son, that if they did not promptly cut
themselves free from Elizabeth’s attack on Spanish interests, they would
be dragged down when the Huguenots fell. The very day that the news of
Genlis’ defeat arrived in Paris, a young noble named La Mole was sent
flying to England, ostensibly to confer with the Queen on the Alençon
match. There was no particular reason for roughly breaking off that,
and so offending Elizabeth; but the sending of a mere schoolboy like La
Mole with only vague instructions about the proposed joint action in
Flanders would show that Charles IX. did not intend to take any further
responsibility in that direction.
La Mole arrived in London on 27th July, and had a long midnight
interview with Burghley at the French Embassy. He ostensibly only came
from Alençon—not from the King—and when, a few days afterwards, he saw
the Queen privately at Kenilworth, though he was full of fine lovelorn
compliments from Alençon, he could only say from the King that the latter
could not openly declare himself in the matter of Flanders. He suggested
prudence, and fears of a league of Catholic powers against him. He talked
about the strength of Portugal and Savoy, and generally cried off from
his bargain. This was ill news for Elizabeth, for there were hundreds of
Englishmen in arms in Holland, and brave Sir Humphrey Gilbert and his
band were besieging Ter Goes. But the English Queen made the best of it,
and sought to redress matters by pushing the Alençon match more warmly
than ever, and petting and caressing La Mole, who accompanied her on her
progress towards Windsor. Burghley and the experienced Smith seem to have
been as firmly convinced as young La Mole himself, that the Queen was in
earnest, and would really, at last, make up her mind to marry Alençon.
In her conversations with La Mole and Fénélon she smoothed away all
difficulties. Walsingham had made a great mistake, she said, in declaring
that Alençon’s youth was an insuperable difficulty; and much more to
the same effect. But it is curious that all this artless prattle, all
this coy coquetry of the Queen, so spontaneous in appearance, had in
substance been carefully previously drafted by Burghley, and the drafts
are still at Hatfield. Whilst Charles IX. was hesitating and looking
askance at the dominant Huguenots, the latter were assuring Burghley and
Walsingham that all would be well directly. Henry of Navarre was to be
married to the Princess Margaret, and this would give them a pretext for
gathering so strong a force of their party that they could make the King
do as they pleased.[357]
But Elizabeth and the Huguenots had no monopoly of cunning, and whilst
the billing and cooing with La Mole went on, the massacre of St.
Bartholomew was being secretly planned, and every effort was being made
by the French King to draw England into a position of overt hostility
to Spain, whilst he remained unpledged. The Ambassador, Fénélon, and
young La Mole, left the Queen, and returned to London on the 27th
August. On the same day there arrived at Rye two couriers from Paris,
one from Walsingham to the Queen and Burghley, the other to the French
Ambassador. The French courier was detained, and his papers sent forward
with Walsingham’s despatches to the Queen. The news of the great crime
of St. Bartholomew fell upon Elizabeth and her court like a death-knell;
for it seemed that at last the threatened crusade against Protestantism
had begun, and that England was struck at as well as the Huguenots. All
rejoicings were stopped, mourning garb was assumed, and the gay devices
of masques and mummeries gave way to anxious conferences and plans for
defence. Affrighted Protestants by the thousand came flying across the
Channel in any craft that would sail; from mouth to mouth in England
ran the dreadful story of unprovoked and wanton slaughter, and on
every side the old English feeling of hatred and distrust of the false
Frenchmen came uppermost again. On the 7th September, La Mothe Fénélon
was received by the Queen at Woodstock in dead silence, and surrounded
by all the signs of mourning. He made the best of a bad matter: talked
of a plot of Coligny and the Huguenots to seize the Louvre, urged that
the massacre was unpremeditated, and hoped that the friendship between
France and England would continue uninterrupted. But Elizabeth knew that
such a friendship could only be a snare for her whilst the Guises were
paramount, and she dismissed the Ambassador with a plain indication of
her opinion.
Two days afterwards Burghley penned a long letter from the Council to
Walsingham, dictating the steps to be taken for the protection of English
interests; and he accompanied it by a private note, in which the Lord
Treasurer’s own view is frankly set forth. “I see,” he says, “the devil
is suffered by Almighty God for our sins to be strong in following the
persecution of Christ’s members, and therefore we are not only vigilant
of our own defence against such trayterous attempts as lately have been
put in use there in France, but also to call ourselves to repentance.…
The King assures her Majesty that the navy prepared by Strozzi shall not
in any way endamage her Majestie; but we have great cause in these times
to doubt all fair speeches, and therefore we do presently put all the
sea-coasts in defence, and mean to send her Majesty’s navy to sea with
speed, and so to continue until we see further whereunto to trust.”[358]
Not many days after the massacre, Catharine de Medici saw the mistake
she had made in allowing the Guises a free hand, and she and the King
did their best by protestations to Walsingham, and through Fénélon and
Castelnau de la Mauvissière, to draw closer to Elizabeth again. Alençon
did much more. He went to Walsingham, swore vengeance upon the murderers,
and expressed his intention of escaping from court and secretly flying
to England. By an emissary of his own he sent an extravagant love-letter
to the Queen, and ostentatiously took the Huguenot side, whilst Anjou
was on the side of the League. Elizabeth did not wish to break with
France, for her safety once more depended upon avoiding isolation; but
she was still deeply distrustful. Smith, in sending the Queen’s answer to
Walsingham, quaintly defines her attitude towards the French: “You may
perceive by her Majesty’s answer, that she will not refuse the interview
nor marriage, but yet she cometh near to them _tam timido et suspenso
pede_, that they may have good cause to doubt. The answer to De la Mothe
is _addulced_ so much as may, for she would have it so. You have a
busie piece of work to decypher that which in words is designed to the
extremitie, in deeds is more than manifest; neither you shall open the
one, nor shall they cloak the other. The best is, thank God, we stand
upon our guard, nor I trust shall be taken and killed asleep, as Coligny
was. The greatest matter for her Majestie, and our safety and defence, is
earnestly of us attempted, nor yet achieved, nor utterly in despair, but
rather in hope.”[359]
For the next few months this firm attitude of watchfulness was
maintained, whilst the outward demonstrations of friendship between
Catharine and Elizabeth became gradually more cordial, thanks largely
to the influence in the English court of the special envoy Castelnau
de la Mauvissière. Elizabeth consented to act as sponsor for the French
King’s infant daughter; Alençon’s envoy, Maisonfleur, with the knowledge
of Burghley, sent to his master a plan for his escape to England with
Navarre and Condé, and assured him that the Queen would marry him if
he came. But all this diplomatic finesse did not for a moment stay the
grim determination of the Queen and her Council to provide against
treachery, from whatever quarter it might come. All along the coast the
country stood on guard. Portsmouth, Plymouth, the Thames, and Harwich
were swarming with shipping, armed to the teeth for the succour of stern
Protestant Rochelle against the Catholics, and to aid the Netherlanders
in their struggle.[360] The Huguenots of Guienne, Languedoc, and Gascony
had recovered somewhat from the shock of St. Bartholomew, and were
arming for their defence; and to them also went English money, arms, and
encouragement. At Elizabeth’s court the Vidame de Chartres and the Count
de Montgomerie were honoured guests and busy agents, whilst in France
the young Princes of Navarre and Condé were daily being pledged deeper
to the cause of Protestantism and England. The German princes, too, as
profoundly shocked at the treacherous massacre as Elizabeth herself, drew
nearer to the Queen, who was now regarded throughout Europe as the head
of the Protestant confederacy.
It was soon seen that, though St. Bartholomew had given more power to the
Guises, it had also strengthened and consolidated the reformers rather
than destroyed them. Month after month Anjou, at the head of the Catholic
royal army, cast his men fruitlessly against the impregnable walls of
Rochelle, well supplied as the town was with stores by Montgomerie’s
fleet from England, until at last in the spring of 1573 it was seen by
Catharine and her sons that they had failed to crush the reformers of
France, and they were glad to make terms with the heroic Rochellais,
where the besiegers, plague-stricken, starving, and disheartened, were in
far worse case than the beleaguered. Anjou, to his brothers’ and mother’s
delight, was elected to the vacant throne of Poland, and a full amnesty
was signed for the Huguenots (June 1573); complete religious liberty
being accorded in the towns of Rochelle, Montauban, and Nismes, whilst
private Protestant worship was allowed throughout France.