1576-1580
We have seen that from the accession of Henry III. of France in the
autumn of 1574 it suited English policy to draw closer to Spain. An
event happened, however, late in 1576 which once more changed the entire
position. Requesens, the Spanish Viceroy of Flanders, had died in March
1576, before his mission of pacification was complete. It is true that
Catholic Flanders and Brabant had been won back again, but Holland
and Zeeland still stood out. The fierce Spanish infantry cared for no
distinction between Fleming and Hollander, Catholic or Protestant, and
were openly discontented at the conciliatory policy which Philip’s
penury rendered needful. They were unpaid, for there was no money in the
treasury to pay them, and soon mutiny, pillage, and murder became the
order of the day. Philip was in despair, and ordered his brother Don Juan
to hurry to Flanders from Italy to pacify and withdraw the troops, and to
conciliate the indignant Catholic Flemings at any cost. Don Juan scorned
and hated the task—which he said a woman could do better than a soldier.
He was full of a secret plan to dash over to England with the Spanish
infantry from Flanders; and instead of obeying orders and going direct to
his new government, he hurried to Spain for the purpose of persuading his
brother to allow him to have his way.
The time thus wasted was fatal. Peace with England was absolutely
necessary for Philip, and he refused to countenance Don Juan’s plans.
But Orange had spies everywhere; Burghley’s secretary, Herll, was in
Flanders, and long before Don Juan arrived on the Flemish frontier the
hopes of the murderous rabble of soldiery that the young Prince would
lead them to England were well known to the Lord Treasurer and his
mistress. Early in November 1576 the Spanish fury burst upon Antwerp.
The Council of Regency consisted mostly of Flemish Catholic nobles, and
they fought as well as they might against the blood lust of the King’s
soldiers. When all hope was gone, and the fairest cities of Flanders had
been devastated and ruined, and their populations massacred, without
distinction of age, sex, or creed, then Catholic Flanders turned against
the wreckers of their homes, and shoulder to shoulder with Orange and
his Protestants, stood at bay. When Don Juan arrived at Luxemburg he was
informed that the States would only allow him to take up his governorship
on terms to be dictated by them in union with Orange; the first condition
of which was that the Spanish troops must leave the Netherlands
forthwith, _and by land_, in order that they might not invade England.
Don Juan was mad with fury and disappointment; but chafe as he might,
he had to give way, and in the end was forced to enter Brussels only as
Governor on sufferance of the States in the spring of 1577.
To England there came now to beg for aid and support, not rough
Zeelanders alone, not beggars of the sea, not boorish burghers, but the
very nobles who had often come before as Philip’s representatives—De
Croys, Montmorencis, De Granvelles, Zweveghems, and the like; Catholics
of bluest blood, but ready to claim any help against the Spanish
oppressor. Dr. Wilson was sent as English envoy to the States, and
Sir John Smith went to Madrid with a formal offer from Elizabeth to
mediate.[403] Philip’s only course was to accept any terms which left
him even a nominal sovereignty of his Netherlands dominions, and this he
did, rather than allow Elizabeth to pose as mediatrix between him and
his subjects. But the altered position in Flanders completely changed
the attitude of England towards Spain, especially when in the summer of
1577 Don Juan lost patience, broke faith with the Flemings, threw himself
into the fortress of Namur, and defied the States. England’s traditional
alliance had not been with the crown of Spain, but with the House of
Burgundy as possessor of the Netherlands; and now that Flanders and
Brabant were at one with Holland and Zeeland in upholding their rights
against Spain, England was naturally on their side against the foreigner,
quite independently of the question of creed. There was no longer any
concealment about it.[404] The Duke of Arschot’s brother was at the
English court in September with the acquiescence of Orange, planning an
arrangement which seemed to offer a means by which all parties might be
satisfied. The young Austrian Archduke Mathias, Philip’s nephew, was
suddenly spirited away from Vienna and installed by the Flemings as
sovereign of Flanders, with Orange as his guide and mentor. An English
army under Leicester or his brother was to be raised to support him
against Don Juan, who was rallying a Catholic force, crying to the Duke
of Guise for help, and making a last appeal to his brother to save his
honour, if not his sovereignty. The outbreak of the Protestants in Ghent,
encouraged by the proximity of Orange, the capture and imprisonment of
Arschot and the Catholic nobles, and the desecration of Catholic shrines
(end of October), forced Philip’s hands. The Archduke Mathias as a
tributary sovereign, with the Catholic Flemings paramount over Orange,
might have been tolerated; but if the Protestants and Orange were going
to predominate, Spain must fight to the end. So with a heavy heart Philip
bent to the inevitable, and sent Alexander Farnese and a Spanish army
from Italy once more to reconquer the Netherlands.
The invariable excuse given by Elizabeth for her help to the States
was, that it was to keep the French out of Flanders; Don Juan’s appeal
to the Guises being especially distasteful to her. “The present support
desired of her,” she declared, “is only in consideration of the extreme
necessity of the States by reason of the great preparations in France and
elsewhere to overrun them, and bring utter ruin upon them; and it not
disagreeing with the ancient treaties between the crown of England and
the House of Burgundy … the purpose of the States being no other than
by these succours to keep themselves in due obedience to the King their
sovereign, her Majesty is content to grant the aid desired.”[405] The
plausible reasons advanced, however, made no difference to Philip. It was
only evident to him that the Queen of England was subsidising rebellion
against him, and that her subjects held fortresses in his dominions as a
pledge for the money she had advanced. He could not afford to declare war
with England at the time, but he did what he could. The Irish malcontents
were encouraged with the aid of Papal money; and Catholic plots, with
Spanish and Guisan aid, for the rescue of Mary Stuart, the assassination
of Elizabeth, and the like, kept the English court in alarm,[406] and
pointed the moral for ever on the lips of Philip’s many paid agents and
friends in Elizabeth’s counsels.
During most of the period when the arrangements with the States were
being concluded in 1577, Burghley was absent from court, and it may be
fairly assumed that the less cautious attitude adopted towards Spain was
owing to the unchecked influence of Leicester; but with Burghley’s return
late in the autumn the astute balancing diplomacy of the master-hand
becomes once more apparent, both in the declaration quoted above, and the
letter drafted by the Treasurer taken by Wilkes, Clerk of the Council,
to Madrid. In it Elizabeth prays Philip to have compassion upon his
Flemish subjects and to grant their just demands, and again explains her
support of them. Moderate and deferential, however, as the tone of the
letter was, it did not alter prior facts, and Philip was indignant and
wrathful at what he called an attempt of Elizabeth to lay down the law
for him. “Send this man off,” he says, “before his fortnight is up, and
before he commits some impertinence which will oblige us to burn him.”
Philip might well be angry, for he was impotent: he had to reconquer his
own Flemings, Catholics and Protestants too, thanks to the aid they had
obtained from Elizabeth. To make matters more galling, Antonio de Guaras
had suddenly been arrested at dead of night, all his papers captured, his
property sequestrated, and the poor man himself accused of consorting and
plotting with the Queen’s enemies.[407] Lord Burghley, his former friend,
was daily threatening him with the rack in the Tower; and for eighteen
months he was treated with calculating contumely and harshness, only
at last to be released, old, broken, and penniless, and sent to Spain
scornfully to die.
In January 1578, Don Juan and Farnese defeated the States troops at
Gemblours, and it seemed as if once more Flanders and Brabant would fall
a prey to Spanish soldiery. Elizabeth’s aid had become less liberal
with the return of Burghley, who had no objection at all to Spanish
predominance in Catholic Flanders; his only interest there was to keep
the French out.[408] But the Flemings naturally regarded the position
from another point of view. What they wanted was to preserve their
autonomous rights against Spain. Mathias had turned out a broken reed: he
had no money, no followers, no friends, and no ability; and the really
dominant man in the Government was Protestant Orange. This did not
please the Catholic nobles, and they cast about for another prince with
a greater following than Mathias, who should at once be a Catholic and
yet acceptable to Orange and the Protestants. Catharine had for some time
past anticipated the position, and had been busy, but secretly, pushing
the claims of her son Alençon; but for her purpose it was necessary to
manage warily, in order to avoid giving Philip open offence. Alençon,
however, was bound by no such considerations. Nothing would have suited
him better than to draw France into war with Spain. He was under arrest
and strictly guarded, but he contrived, on the 14th February 1578, to
escape out of a second-floor window in the Louvre. All France was in a
turmoil. Huguenots and malcontents flocked to the Flemish frontier, and
Catharine raced half over France to beg her errant son to return. Henry
III. assured Mendoza, the new Spanish Ambassador on his way to England,
that his brother was obedient, and he was sure he would do nothing
against Philip in Flanders. But all the world knew that he would if he
could; and that whatever he might do with a French force there would
be against English as well as Spanish interests. Once more, therefore,
it was necessary for Elizabeth to change her policy somewhat, and Lord
Burghley resumed his favourite character of a friend to the ancient
Spanish alliance.
The new Spanish Ambassador saw Elizabeth on the 16th March 1578, and
gave her all sorts of reassuring messages from Philip. He was the most
clement of sovereigns. A successor to Don Juan should be appointed who
should please everybody, and all would soon be settled. A few days
afterwards Mendoza had a long conversation with Burghley, in the presence
of other Councillors. As Philip had, said the Treasurer, practically
accepted the various concessions to the Flemings recommended by the
Queen; “if the terms offered were not accepted by the States, she herself
would take up arms against them.” This was probably too strong for
Leicester and Walsingham, Puritans both, and Mendoza says they seemed to
be urging something upon Burghley very forcibly, which he thought was the
question of the withdrawal of the Spanish troops from Flanders; but it
ended in Burghley again pointedly offering the Queen’s mediation.
A few days later the Duke of Arschot’s brother, the Marquis d’Havrey,
Leicester’s great friend, arrived in England to counteract Mendoza’s
efforts, and to beg that the troops that had been promised should be sent
to the States. He was made much of by the English nobles and the Queen,
who was now greatly influenced by Leicester, and Burghley at the moment
seems to have stood almost alone in his resistance of open aid being sent
to the States.[409] It did not take Mendoza many days to discover how
things really lay. “I have found the Queen,” he writes, “much opposed to
your Majesty’s interests, and most of her ministers are quite alienated
from us, particularly those who are most important, as although there are
seventeen Councillors … the bulk of the business really depends upon the
Queen, Leicester, Walsingham, and Cecil, the latter of whom, although by
virtue of his office he takes part in the resolutions, absents himself
from the Council on many occasions, as he is opposed to the Queen’s
helping the rebels so effectively, and thus weakening her own position.
He does not wish, however, to break with Leicester and Walsingham on
the matter, they being very much wedded to the States and extremely
self-seeking. I am assured that they are keeping the interest of the
money lent to the States, besides the presents they have received out of
the principal. They urge the business under the cloak of religion, which
Cecil cannot well oppose.”[410]
This, indeed, was one of the periods when Burghley’s moderating influence
was overborne by Leicester, Walsingham, and the Puritans. The Lord
Treasurer still did his best—constantly ill though he was—to stem the
violence of the tide, befriending the bishops who were being bitterly
attacked,[411] and counselling caution in aiding the Flemings against
Spain; but, as we have seen, he was somewhat in the background, and
absented himself from court as much as possible. It is curious, however,
to see, even under these circumstances, how he was still appealed to
by all parties. He was very ill in April at Theobalds, and the Queen
happened to be suffering from toothache. Of course Hatton must write to
the Lord Treasurer, begging him to come to court and give his advice as
to what should be done. The reply is very characteristic. Notwithstanding
his own pain he would come up at once, he wrote, if by so doing he could
relieve the Queen; but as the physicians advised that the tooth should
be extracted, though they dared not tell the Queen so, all he could do
would be to urge her Majesty to have it done.[412] Hatton did not care
to incur the responsibility of saying so himself, and simply showed
the Queen Burghley’s letter. Doubtless Elizabeth took the good advice
tendered; for it was only a day or two afterwards that young Gilbert
Talbot, Lord Shrewsbury’s son, was walking in the Tilt Yard, Whitehall,
one morning, under the Queen’s windows, when her maiden Majesty herself
came to the casement in her night-dress, in full view of Talbot, who
wrote: “My eye fell towards her, and she showed to be greatly ashamed
thereof, for that she was unready and in her night-stuff; so when she saw
me after dinner as she went to walk, she gave me a great fillip on the
forehead, and told the Lord Chamberlain how I had seen her that morning,
and how ashamed she was.” Talbot, in writing this to his father (1st May
1578) ends his letter by saying that the Queen was that week to stay
three or four days with Burghley at Theobalds. It is plain to see that
the renewed severity against the Catholics in England, and the almost
ostentatious aiding of the States against Spain, did not meet with the
approval of Burghley. He was much more concerned for the moment at the
large levies of French troops being collected on the Flemish frontier;
and his ordinary policy would have been either to side with the Spaniards
against them, or to have disarmed their figurehead Alençon (or Anjou as
he was now called) by holding out hopes of his marriage with the Queen,
if the earnest attempts of the English to mediate between the States
and Don Juan were fruitless. But he had to reckon with Leicester and
Walsingham, and the Queen’s policy wavered almost daily between her two
sets of counsellors.[413]
To the Queen’s visit to Theobalds is doubtless due the entry in
Burghley’s diary of 15th May, recording the despatch of Edward Stafford
to inspect and report upon the French forces on the Flemish frontier.
Alençon himself used every effort to convince the Queen of his desire to
look to her, rather than to his brother, as his guide and support. On
the 19th May he sent her a letter by one of his friends, informing her
of his intention of relieving the Netherlands; “of which intention,” he
says, “she already knows so much that he will not tire her by explaining
it further.” On the 7th July he crossed the frontier, and threw himself
into Mons for the purpose, as he declared, “of helping this oppressed
people, and humiliating the pride of Spain;” and at the same time he sent
his chamberlain to offer marriage to Elizabeth, and assure her of his
complete dependence upon her. It was unwelcome news for Elizabeth, for
she could never trust the French. Alençon, after all, was a Catholic, and
she was uncertain whether Henry III. was not really behind his brother.
Gondi, one of the leaders of Catharine’s counsels, had recently come to
England with a request to be allowed to see Mary Stuart;[414] Catholic
intrigues in Scotland had succeeded in putting an end to Morton’s regency
(March 1578); and on all sides there were indications that, if Elizabeth
could only be dragged into open hostility to Spain, and so rendered
powerless, an attempt would be made on the part of France to recover
its lost influence over Scotland. Mendoza carefully fanned the flame of
Elizabeth’s distrust against the French; and the effect of Walsingham’s
absence in Flanders, whilst Leicester was away at Buxton, is noticeable
at once. “The Queen,” writes Mendoza (19th July), “is now turning her
eyes more to your Majesty; and her ministers have begun to get friendly
with me. If your Majesty wishes to retain them, I see a way of doing
it.”[415]
Alençon’s agents in the meanwhile were not idle. One after the other came
to assure her of their master’s desire to marry her, and look to her
alone for guidance. He had quarrelled with his brother, he said, and had
no other mistress than the Queen of England. They quite convinced Sussex,
apparently, for he entered warmly into their marriage plans, which gave
him another chance of revenge upon Leicester. Elizabeth’s desire to be
amiable to Alençon’s envoys at Long Melford during her progress (August)
led her to insult Sussex, as Lord Steward, about the amount of plate
on the sideboard. This gave an opportunity for Lord North, a creature
of Leicester, to give Sussex the lie, and led to a further feud which
continued for months.[416]
But though Elizabeth was somewhat tranquillised with regard to the French
King’s connivance in Alençon’s proceedings, she was cool about the
marriage business. “If the Prince liked to come, she told De Bacqueville,
he might do so; but he must not take offence if she did not like him
when she saw him;” whereupon Burghley told the envoy that if he were
in his place he would not bring his master over on such a message. All
the charming of Alençon’s attractive agents was unsuccessful in opening
the Queen’s money bags, and the loan of 300,000 crowns they prayed for
was refused. If he wanted her aid or affection, she said, he must first
obey her and retire from Flanders, and she would then consider what she
should do. Pressure was put upon Alençon by his brother, by the Pope
and the Catholics, on the other hand, to desist from his enterprise.
Splendid Catholic alliances were proposed to him, and dire threats of
punishment held out if he did not retire. When the Protestant Hollanders
discovered that Alençon could count neither upon England nor France to
support him, they began to cry off. The only temptation they had in
welcoming a Catholic prince was the hope of national aid. If he did not
bring that, he was as useless to them as poor Mathias had been. And so
all through the autumn of 1578 the fate of Flanders hung on Elizabeth’s
caprice. Henry III. was anxious to get his brother married to Elizabeth,
and a fresh national alliance concluded; but he wished to avoid pledging
himself against Spain, so as to be able to hold the balance. Elizabeth’s
aim was similar, and she would promise nothing; but she swore both to
Flemings and Spaniards that for every Frenchman that set foot in Flanders
there should be an Englishman. Fresh German mercenaries were raised
at her expense to aid the States; renewed attempts, backed by threats,
were made to persuade Don Juan to ratify the pacification of Ghent; but
Alençon, in the meanwhile, with a dwindling force and no money, was
falling to the ground between the two stools of France and England,
Huguenot or Catholic. At the end of the year ominous news came that the
Huguenots had been won over by the Queen-mother;[417] that the King of
France had entered into a great Catholic league against Elizabeth, and
was raising a force of mercenaries in Germany to help Alençon to keep a
footing in Flanders, in spite of England; whilst a Scottish nobleman, a
Douglas, was at the French court carrying on some secret intrigue with
Henry III.
Elizabeth was alarmed at this, and at once became warm in the Alençon
marriage, thanks partly also to the arrival of the Prince’s agent Simier,
who very soon established a complete influence over the Queen, to the
infinite scandal of all Europe. Against this influence Mendoza, able,
bold, and crafty, battled ceaselessly: for ever pointing at the intrigues
of the French in Scotland, their old jealousy of England, the approaching
marriageable age of the King of Scots, which would give an opportunity
for recovering French influence in his country, and much more to the
same effect. After one conversation of this sort with the Queen, late in
January 1579, Mendoza drove his points home one by one to Burghley and
Sussex, showing them how much more profitable was an alliance with Spain
than with France, and the danger of England herself being attacked if she
took the Netherlands rebels under her protection. Amongst other things
Burghley replied that “he had told M. Simier that one of the principal
arguments in favour of the marriage, namely, that Alençon might become
King of France, had turned him (Cecil) against it, as he considered that
it would be a disadvantage to England, whereupon Simier had complained
of him to the Queen. For his own part his desire had always been to see
the Queen married to a prince of the House of Austria, with which it was
well to be in alliance; but since old friends cast them off, and your
Majesty refused to confirm the treaties, or receive a minister at your
court,[418] they must seek new friends.”
The current of affairs and the Queen’s fickleness evidently displeased
the Lord Treasurer. In September (1578) he had unsuccessfully begged
leave of absence to visit Burghley,[419] where the rebuilding of the
mansion was still progressing, under the care of Sir Thomas Cecil. He
was not allowed to go; but the plague raged in London all the autumn,
and Burghley retreated to Theobalds, where he was within easy reach of
the Council. He found, moreover, Leicester’s enmity towards him more
active than ever,[420] and Hatton, now his chief henchman, for Sussex was
unstable, was of inferior rank, influence, and ability. But though his
political influence for a time was under a cloud, there was no abatement
of the appeals to his judgment and for his intercession with the Queen.
Imprisoned Catholics, deprived Puritans, old friends, like the Duchess
of Suffolk, Lord Lincoln, or the Earl of Bedford, claimed his advice in
their affairs; suitors at law besought his good word; miners or explorers
prayed for his patronage; bishops bespoke his aid to govern their clergy;
the clergy appealed to him against the bishops. High and humble, friend
and stranger, rich and poor alike, looked to Burghley for guidance, and
found at least patient consideration for their causes.[421]
By the beginning of 1579, however, the aspect of European politics had
become so threatening that the practised hand of the Lord Treasurer was
needed at the helm, and thenceforward his influence was again in the
ascendant. Simier was making violent vicarious love to the Queen, and
letters of the most extravagant description were exchanged between the
young Prince and Elizabeth, whilst really sincere and earnest efforts
were being made in favour of the match by Henry III. and Catharine de
Medici. Commissioners and ambassadors went backwards and forwards, and
the conditions, not only of the Queen’s marriage, but of a national
offensive and defensive alliance between France and England, were under
discussion. Henry III. was ready, he said, to submit to any conditions
desired by Elizabeth, and Alençon was almost blasphemous in his praising
of the charms of his elderly flame. There were two main reasons for
this drawing together of England and France. Don Juan was dead, and
the military genius and diplomacy of Alexander Farnese had once more
separated Catholic Belgium from Protestant Holland (Treaty of Arras,
January 1579). Orange himself still clung to the hope of consolidating
a united Flemish nation, including north and south, and desired to use
Alençon, with the Queen of England’s support, for that purpose but
there was no enthusiasm in Holland for the idea; and in the meanwhile
Alençon was isolated in Catholic Flanders, with his own brother raging
at the compromising position in which he placed him, and ordering him to
return to France. It was evident to Henry that the only way in which his
turbulent brother could be established in Flanders, without causing both
Spanish and English arms to be used against him, was to let him depend
solely upon Elizabeth and Orange, whilst France stood aloof. This was one
of the reasons for the closer relations desired by Catharine and her son.
The other was more important still. The young King of Portugal had fallen
in battle in Morocco, and the new King was an aged, childless Cardinal.
Philip of Spain was already intriguing for the succession, which he
claimed. The possession of the fine harbours and Atlantic seaboard of
Portugal by Spain would enormously increase her maritime potency, to the
detriment of England and France; and it was felt that these powers must
unite to resist the common danger. That Lord Burghley was early alive to
its importance is proved by a genealogical statement of his relating to
the Portuguese succession immediately after the death of the King Don
Sebastian[422] (August 1578), and several memoranda of subsequent date on
the subject.
Under these circumstances the Alençon approaches again became to all
appearance serious. The Prince, ceding to the pressure placed upon him,
consented to retire from Flanders early in the year, and was reconciled
to his brother; and then the arrangements for effective action in the
Netherlands and a visit of Alençon to England were actively proceeded
with. How busy Lord Burghley was in the matter will be seen by the very
voluminous minutes in his own hand of the discussions in Council on the
subject (Hatfield Papers). In all probability the Queen was not even now
sincere in the matter of the marriage, especially as Leicester and Hatton
pretended to be warmly in favour of it, until they became personally
jealous of Simier; but Burghley was evidently doubtful. In his balancing
papers he gives much more space to the “perils” than to the advantages
of the match, and his own final judgment is, that “except that her
Majesty would of her own mind incline to marriage he would never advise
thereto.” In the meanwhile, all England was in a veritable panic at the
idea of the marriage of the Queen to a Papist. Puritan pulpits rang with
denunciations; Stubbs’ famous book, “The Discovery of a Gaping Gulph,”
which cost the author his right hand and deeply offended the Queen, was
read widely; and the Queen herself was obliged to warn her eager suitor
of the hatred of her people to the idea of his proposed visit. But the
preparations went on, and the court was ordered to make itself as fine
as money would make it, Leicester alone sending to Flanders for twelve
hundred pounds’ worth of silks, velvets, and cloth of gold. Simier in the
meanwhile was daily becoming more clamorous for a definite answer to his
master’s proposal. Large bribes were paid by the French Ambassador and
Mendoza respectively to the Councillors to forward or impede the match,
and the probabilities shifted from day to day.[423]
When the Queen seemed really bent upon the match, Burghley did not
attempt to oppose her; he simply placed before her the arguments for and
against it, and left the decision to her. This is exactly what Elizabeth
did not wish. Simier and her own imprudence had drawn her into an
extremely dangerous position, and she wished her Council to assume the
responsibility of extricating her from it. Her first object in resuming
the negotiations had been to get Alençon and the French out of Flanders,
whilst preventing the despair and collapse of Orange; her present aim
was to secure the King of France to her side, and weaken Spain without
herself being drawn into open hostility. The talk of marriage helped her
in this; but if once she fell into the trap, and was married indeed, her
power of balance would be gone. Driven into a corner, late in April she
took Simier and the French Ambassador, with Burghley, Leicester, Sussex,
and Walsingham, to Wanstead, where she desired the Councillors to give
her in writing their individual opinions, in order that she might show
them to the Frenchmen. They refused to do so, and once more laid before
her the “perils and advantages” of each course, leaving her to decide.
The Councillors mentioned sat in conference almost day and night during
their three days’ stay at Wanstead, but, after all, returned as they
came. Simier was furious, and threatened to go back to France; and a full
Council sat at Whitehall on the 3rd May, from two o’clock in the day till
two the next morning, finally to discuss the question. It was found that
the only man really in favour of the marriage was Sussex, and Simier was
called in and informed that his master’s conditions were unacceptable.
The envoy roared out that he had been played with, and flung out of
the room to make his complaint to the Queen. She was all sympathy. She
wanted to get married—she must get married. It was all the fault of her
Councillors, and so forth, until her ruffled “ape,” as she called him,
was pacified. Alençon was not lightly put off. He announced his intention
of coming to see his goddess, no matter what the consequences might be.
The Queen was for refusing him leave, but Lord Burghley pointed out to
her the danger of this open affront to a French prince. She had gone too
far to refuse, and she was obliged to give a passport. Simier rarely
left the Queen’s side now, and she seems quite to have lost her head.
Mendoza worked hard to spread the sinister murmurs of her behaviour
through the country. Leicester grew violently jealous, and twice hired
an assassin to kill Simier, which he nearly did once in the Queen’s own
barge. The Queen was beside herself with rage, and Simier, to revenge
himself upon Leicester, told the Queen, as no one else had dared to do,
of the marriage of Leicester with Lady Essex. It was a master-stroke. The
Queen’s fury was boundless, and she swore like a trooper at Leicester and
the she-wolf he had married. For a time Leicester’s influence was gone,
and Simier lived in the palace of Greenwich, to the open disgust of the
English people. In August, Alençon rushed over to England in disguise.
His coming was an open secret, but the Queen kept him hid in the palace
of Greenwich.[424] She posed before him, showed off all her charms, dined
and supped with him in private, fell desperately in love with him, or
pretended to do so, and sent him off after a week’s stay as secretly as
he came, with expressions of affection on both sides, even too fervid to
be sincere, and long afterwards continued by correspondence.
Whatever might be the final result of the marriage negotiations—and
Burghley himself was as much in the dark as any one on that point—a close
alliance between France and England was of growing importance to both
countries. The English Council under Burghley sat at Greenwich almost
continuously from the 2nd to the 8th October discussing, weighing, and
reporting upon the whole question of alliance and marriage. The final
result was that the marriage would be undesirable, Burghley and Sussex
being the only Councillors who were not strongly opposed to it.[425]
The message to the Queen was delivered by Burghley. It was ambiguous
and moderate, begged the Queen to tell the Council her own mind, and
so on; but there was no doubt of the meaning of it to the Queen. The
Council was against the match, unless some guarantee could be found that
the Protestant religion should not be imperilled. Burghley’s minute
sets forth the Queen’s answer. “She shed many tears to find that her
Councillors, by their long disputations, should make it doubtful whether
it would be safe for her to marry and have a child.” She was a simpleton,
she said, to have referred the question to them. She expected they would
have unanimously begged her to marry, instead of raising doubts about
it. When they saw her again later in the day she was more angry still.
She railed at those who would think of “surety” before her happiness,
“and that any should think so slenderly of her” as to doubt that she
would take care that religion was properly safeguarded if she married.
She managed, as usual, to reduce the Council to a state of confusion
with her tears and reproaches; and a hasty meeting was called, at which
a resolution was passed to the effect, that as the Queen seemed so much
bent upon the marriage, the Councillors all offered their services to
promote it. When this message was taken to her, Lord Burghley records
that “her Majesty’s answers were very sharp in reprehending all such
as she thought would make arguments against her marriage, and though
she thought it not meet to declare to them whether she would marry with
Monsieur or no, yet she looked from their hands that they should with one
accord have made a special suit to her for the same.”[426]
No wonder that with such a change on the part of the Queen from morning
to afternoon, the Councillors were at their wits’ end to know what she
really meant; but it is evident that she intended to have her own way,
whatever it was, and lay the responsibility upon others. Burghley and
Sussex had avoided open opposition, and were favourably regarded by the
Queen in consequence; whilst Leicester, Walsingham, Knollys, and even her
poor “sheep” Hatton, came in for a share of her vituperation and abuse;
and the Puritans who were leading the outcry against the match received
harder measure than ever.
Early in November she summoned the Council again, and told them that she
had decided to marry. It was only for them now to consider the means.
Let them, she said, individually put their opinions in writing. It was
evident that this course would again bring forward the dissensions on the
subject, and render it more difficult, which was perhaps her intention.
Simier went and told her so, whereupon she asked him angrily how he knew
what orders she had given to her Council. He replied that Lord Burghley
had told him. “Surely,” she cried, “it is possible for my Councillors to
keep a secret. I will see to this.” Then she sent orders to the Council
to write a letter to Alençon, asking him to come to England quickly,
which they refused to do. He was, they said, coming to marry her, not
them, and she ought to write herself. They openly quarrelled with Simier,
who was finding England too hot for him, and who left late in November,
taking with him a hastily patched draft agreement for the marriage,
in which the Queen characteristically introduced at the last hour an
additional loophole of escape, by stipulating that the articles should
remain in suspense for two months, “during which time the Queen hopes to
have brought her people to consent. If before that time she did not write
consenting to receive ambassadors for the conclusion of the treaty, the
whole of the conditions would be void.”[427]
The year 1580 opened full of anxiety for Elizabeth. The ostentatious
fitting out of the Spanish fleet, and the active support by Spain
and the Pope of the Desmond rebellion, the success of Parma, and the
desperate attempts of Orange to reunite Flanders with Holland under
Alençon in the national cause, were all so many dangers to England. If
Elizabeth offended France or alienated Alençon himself, Flemish affairs
might be settled without her participation, and to her detriment, and
she would have to face Spain alone. This was the more to be feared, as
religious affairs in England were in a worse condition than before,
and for the first time since her accession the Queen herself was
unpopular. Her light conduct with Simier, and, above all, her seeming
determination in favour of the Alençon marriage, had aroused all the old
hatred against the French, and had embittered the widespread Puritan
distrust of the “Papists.” The country was being flooded with seminary
priests, specially trained for the propaganda to which they devoted
their lives,[428] and the great Catholic party in England, having
recovered somewhat from the blow of the Norfolk conspiracy, were once
more holding up their heads. Elizabeth had allowed Leicester and her own
passions to lead her too far, and she struggled to free herself from the
toils. When she tried in January to withdraw gently from the Alençon
negotiations, and suggested to Henry III. that some fresh conditions
were necessary, she found it difficult. The King was determined to throw
the responsibility of breaking upon her, and it still suited him to
keep up an appearance of friendship. She could, he replied, make her
own stipulations; he would accept them. As for religion, that was his
brother’s affair. Alençon himself also said that he would come over
at once to England and leave everything to her. He hoped she was not
reviving the religious question for the purpose of deceiving him again,
as some people said; but he would risk everything for his love. He went
so far as to beg her to forgive Leicester for his sake, and blamed Simier
for quarrelling with the Earl.
But Leicester, Hatton, and Walsingham were quite determined now to stop
the marriage, which looked too serious to please them; and a cloud of
questions about religion, rank of ambassadors, &c., soon threw the
matter into obscurity again. How completely affairs had changed in this
respect in a few weeks is seen in the long draft of a letter to the
Queen at Hatfield, dated at end of January 1580, in the handwriting of
Sir Thomas Cecil, although it can hardly have been really written by
him to the Queen, but certainly represents the views of his father.
Burghley had struggled during all his ministry, and often against
great difficulties, to preserve peace with Spain, whilst holding high
England’s honour and prosperity; but now that Leicester and the extreme
Protestant party, together with Philip’s seizure of Portugal, had forced
the Queen into a position which sooner or later must end in hostility to
Spain, and perhaps with France also, Burghley urged the need for a close
understanding with France, on the safest terms possible for his country.
The course now taken by the Queen seemed to render inevitable that which
Burghley had all his life endeavoured to avoid, namely, the isolation
of England with both of the great powers against her. The address above
referred to lays down that, so long as the Queen was favourable to the
Alençon marriage, the writer was willing to sacrifice his life for it.
He still maintains that it is the only safe course, and one which should
enable the Queen to “rule the sternes of the shippes of Europe with
more fame than ever came to any Quene of the Worelld.” But finding her
Majesty utterly against it, he proposes such remedies as are necessary,
at least for comparative safety. He points out that she cannot expect
that France and Alençon will sit down patiently under the slight, though
they may dissemble for a time; and he suggests that Alençon should be
diverted from allying himself with Spain, by encouraging his enterprise
in the Netherlands, dangerous though such a course was to England.
All Papists should be dismissed from positions of trust; the army,
navy, and fortifications should be placed on a war-footing; mercenary
Germans should be bespoken; fresh vents for English commerce should be
sought;[429] the Irish should be conciliated, and their just grievances
remedied, and “certain private disorders in Ireland winked at.” The
Queen of Scots should be brought to a safer place farther south, and
repressive precautions taken against her friends in England. Whoever may
have given this remarkable state paper to Elizabeth,[430] it is certain
that the advice contained in it was followed. Orders were given to
bring Mary Stuart to Ashby-de-la-Zouch,[431] the mild and lenient Lord
Shrewsbury being reinforced in his guard by Sir Ralph Sadler and two
other known Protestants;[432] a general muster of militia was summoned,
90,000 men in all; London was called upon for 4000 armed men; the
Queen’s navy, seventeen ships, was mobilised;[433] and negotiations were
opened for Condé and a Huguenot force, with a number of mercenary German
Protestants, to enter Flanders.[434] It was considered rightly that if a
large body of Huguenots depending entirely upon England were by Alençon’s
side, it would not only prevent his brother from supporting him, but
would render his enterprise in Flanders less dangerous to England.
Concurrently with these precautions, the Queen renewed her extravagant
love correspondence with Alençon. There is no more remarkable instance
than this of the consummate statesmanship of Burghley. The country
had been driven out of the straight course in which he had held it so
long, and was rapidly nearing the breakers. The document now under
consideration laid before the Queen the only course which could avert
destruction, and this course, as we see, she wisely took. If Burghley
had openly opposed Leicester and Walsingham from the first, he would
probably have fallen into disgrace, and have lost his influence entirely;
but by holding aloof and tempering their policy only, he was able,
when catastrophe impended, to lead the ship of state into a harbour of
comparative safety. Under the influence of fear and Burghley, the Queen
at the same time became most amiable to the Spaniards again. She assured
Mendoza (20th February) that “she would never make war upon your Majesty,
unless you began it first, which she could not believe by any means you
would do.” She was, she said, a sister to Philip. “She had always done
her best for the tranquillity of the Netherlands, and to prevent the
French from getting a footing there.” Mendoza spoke some hard truths to
her, but she was very humble.
A few days afterwards, when the French Ambassador had been driving her
into a corner about Alençon, and threatening that the Prince would
publish her letters, she was closeted in her chamber at Whitehall with
Burghley and Archbishop Sandys. “Here am I,” she cried, “between Scylla
and Charybdis. Alençon has agreed to all my conditions, and wants to know
when he is to come and marry me. If I fail he will probably quarrel with
me, and if I marry him I shall not be able to govern the country. What
shall I do?” Sandys gave a courtier-like reply, and Burghley was silent.
The Queen was impatient at this, and roughly told him he was purposely
absenting himself from the Council. What was his advice? Thus pressed,
the Lord Treasurer replied that if it was her pleasure to marry she
should do so, as Alençon had accepted the terms which rendered her safe.
“That,” said the Queen, “is not the opinion of the rest of the Council,
but that I should keep him in play.” Burghley was aware of this already,
and dryly told the Queen that those who tried to trick princes generally
ended by being caught themselves. But Elizabeth knew her profound powers
of dissimulation better even than Burghley did, and went on her way. The
Lord Treasurer stood almost alone among the councillors in his mild and
cautious policy. Sussex, in deep dudgeon, was generally at his mansion
at Newhall; and, as we have seen, Burghley himself avoided as much as
possible incurring responsibility for the present action of the Queen,
except so far as to advise her how to render her policy as little harmful
as possible. But it is evident that Elizabeth, in moments of difficulty
like this, always turned away from Leicester, and sought the sounder aid
of the Lord Treasurer.
Leicester, in March, pretended to fall ill, and during his absence from
court completely turned round. Now that Lord Burghley was urging for a
close friendship with France, since Leicester’s policy had alienated
Spain, the Earl, with characteristic instability, suddenly professed to
Mendoza a desire to “serve the King of Spain.” His enemies, he said,
were plotting this French alliance and marriage only to spite him, and
he would bring the Queen to a close friendship to Spain. The Queen was,
doubtless, aware of Leicester’s change; because when Castelnau, the
French Ambassador, addressed Elizabeth with an important message from
Catharine, proposing that a joint effort should be made to prevent the
domination of Portugal by Philip (17th April 1580), he was referred to
Burghley alone, and only after the decision had been adopted not to
commence hostilities, as suggested, was Leicester let into the secret.
Dangerous as it was to England that Philip should dominate Portugal, it
was of more importance to France; and it was determined to cast upon the
latter power, if possible, the responsibility of preventing it.
The prospect of a serious cause for dissension between France and Spain
was, indeed, a welcome one for Elizabeth, and she made the most of it.
The star of Morton in Scotland was waning fast, and D’Aubigny, Earl
of Lennox, had already gained a complete command of the young King’s
affection. Mary Stuart from her captivity was taking the grave step of
laying herself, her country, and her child at the feet of the King of
Spain, with the acquiescence this time of the Duke of Guise. The English
Government, however, was not yet aware of this, and looked upon France
as more likely than Spain to influence Scotland under D’Aubigny.[435]
Division in France was consequently promoted by Leicester and his party.
Alençon was warned not to be too pliant in agreeing with his brother;
and when Condé and Navarre once again raised the Huguenot standard, the
former rushed over to England to beseech for funds (June 1580), and
was received several times in secret by the Queen and Leicester. He
immediately sent a message to his adherents in France that all was well,
and that assistance would be given to him.
After some days the Queen sent word to Castelnau, the French Ambassador,
saying that she had heard that Condé was in England, but she would not
receive him except in the Ambassador’s presence. Burghley, writing to
Sussex, says that on arriving at Nonsuch from Theobalds, “I came hither
about five o’clock, and repairing towards the Privy Chamber to see her
Majesty, I found the door at the upper end shut, and understood that the
French Ambassador and the Prince of Condé had been a long time there with
her Majesty, with none others of the Council but my Lord of Leicester
and Mr. Vice-Chamberlain Hatton.” After the audience Castelnau went to
Burghley and complained of Condé for raising disturbances in France. “He
augmenteth his suspicions upon the sight of the great favours shown to
the Prince of Condé by certain Councillors here, whom he understandeth
have been many times with him (Condé) at the banqueting-house where he is
lodged.” The Queen told Burghley that Condé had asked for a contribution
of one-third of the cost of a Huguenot rising, the King of Navarre
and the German Protestants paying the other two-thirds; but the Lord
Treasurer’s opinion of it is sufficiently expressed in the following
words, which probably decided the question, for Condé did not get the aid
he sought notwithstanding Leicester’s efforts: “I wish her Majesty may
spend some portion to solicit them for peace … but to enter into war and
therewith to break the marriage, and so to be left alone as subject to
the burden of such a war, I think no good counsellor can allow.”[436]
The fact that he had not been personally consulted earlier did not
apparently ruffle Lord Burghley. In his quiet, prudent way he brought
things round to his view, without caring for the personal aspect. Not
so, irritable, hot-tempered Sussex. He replied in boiling indignation
against Leicester—“I have never heard word from my Lord Leicester, Mr.
Vice-Chamberlain, or Mr. Secretary Walsingham, of the coming of the
Prince of Condé, or of his expectations, or to seek to know what I
thought fit to do in his cause; whereby I see either they seek to keep
the whole from me, or else care little for my opinion … perhaps at my
coming some of them will mislike I am made such a stranger … I can give
as good a sound opinion as the best of them … I am very loath to see
my sovereign lady to be violently drawn into war.”[437] In any case,
Burghley’s unaided efforts were sufficient to prevent the Queen from
giving money to Condé, and thus setting the King of France against her
as well as the King of Spain. She was, indeed, in a month, so completely
turned by Lord Burghley’s influence as to exert herself to bring about
some sort of accord between Henry III. and the Huguenots.[438]
During the rest of the year the haggling between Elizabeth and Alençon
went on. The deputies of the States, after much discussion, offered
the sovereignty to the French Prince, whose letters to the Queen grew
more preposterous than ever. It was evident that if he went too far
in the Protestant direction to please Elizabeth he would be useless
as a means for attracting the Catholic Flemings to cordial union with
Orange; whereas an uncompromising Catholic attitude, or any appearance
of depending upon his brother for armed aid, would have been fiercely
resisted both by the English and the Hollanders. Many points therefore
had to be reconciled, and the Queen kept the affair mainly in her own
hands, playing upon the hopes, fears, and ambitions of Alençon with the
dexterity of a juggler.
Burghley’s main efforts in the meanwhile were directed to preventing her
from drifting into war, either with France or Spain. When the envoys
came from the Portuguese pretender, Don Antonio, they brought bribes and
presents in plenty for Leicester, who entertained them splendidly, and
urged their suit for assistance for their master; but again Lord Burghley
pointed out to the Queen the expense she would incur and the risks she
would run in a war with Spain, and one Ambassador after another went back
discomfited, whilst Leicester pocketed their bribes, and alternately
raged and sulked when his advice was not followed.
There were others besides Leicester whose recklessness or greed was
dragging England to the brink of a war with Spain, in spite of Burghley’s
efforts. Strong as was the great statesman’s interest in increasing the
legitimate trade of the country, we have seen that from the beginning
of Hawkins’ voyages to the West Coast of Africa, and thence to South
America with slaves, Burghley had refused any participation in the
syndicates that financed them. He had, it is true, on more than one
occasion repudiated the claim of the Spaniards, and especially of the
Portuguese, to exclusive dominion of the western world by virtue of the
Pope’s bull, but he had always frowned upon the filibustering attempts
of the syndicates, under the auspices of some of the aldermen of London,
to establish posts in territory occupied by other Christian powers, or
to force trade upon established settlements against the will of the
authorities. He had honestly done his best to check robbery in the
Channel by those who called themselves privateers, and almost alone of
the Councillors, he had no share or interest in the piratical ventures
under the English flag which had committed such destructive depredations
upon shipping.
The attack upon Hawkins’ fleet at San Juan de Ulloa, 1568, had aroused
fierce and not unnatural indignation amongst sailors and merchants in
England; but the expedition was in defiance of the Spanish law, in a
port belonging to and occupied by Spain, and it is more than doubtful
whether Burghley advised the seizure of the specie belonging to Philip,
in December 1568, in reprisal for the attack. There were ample reasons,
and an excellent legal pretext, for the seizure of the money without
that. In fact it was a master-stroke of policy which the foolish rashness
of De Spes had put into Burghley’s power, and the latter and Elizabeth
naturally welcomed the opportunity of crippling Alba. But when it became
a question of revenging San Juan de Ulloa by the despatch of a strong
armed expedition against Spanish colonies, Lord Burghley looked askance
at what might well be made a _casus belli_ by Spain, and could only
enrich the mariners and shareholders who took part in it.
Drake’s raid upon Nombre-de-Dios, 1573, had been robbery pure and simple,
carried out swiftly and secretly, so that the authorities at home had no
opportunity, even if they had the will, to prevent it; and Drake kept
out of the way for nearly three years afterwards, to escape punishment.
But in 1577 he was introduced by Walsingham or Hatton to the Queen,[439]
who told him that she wished to be revenged upon the King of Spain, and
that he, Drake, was the man to do it. When Drake explained his plan for
a great piratical raid into the Pacific, the Queen swore by her crown
that she would have any man’s head who informed the King of Spain of it;
and, says Drake, “her Majesty gave me special commandment that of all
men my Lord Treasurer should not know it.” But the preparations for the
voyage could not be kept secret entirely from Burghley, who was well
served by spies, and had many means of winning men. He could not prohibit
the expedition, of course; but, as usual, he sought to render it as
innocuous as possible. Thomas Doughty, presumably a barrister, certainly
a man of questionable character, had become Hatton’s secretary, and was
deep with Drake in the plans for the expedition. The whole business is
somewhat obscure, but Lord Burghley appears to have bought this man to
his interests, and, according to Doughty himself, to have offered him the
post of his private secretary, which, however, is unlikely. In any case,
he learned from him all that there was to know about Drake’s intentions,
and when, in November 1577, Drake’s expedition sailed, Doughty
accompanied it as Burghley’s secret agent, and, it may charitably be
surmised, for the express purpose of moderating if not frustrating its
action. First he tried to desert with his ship, and was duly chased and
brought back by Drake. Then he was accused of attempting to sow discord,
discouragement, and mutiny amongst the men, and Drake hanged him with
his own hands on the coast of Patagonia.[440] Winter, the other captain,
drifted back to England again from Tierra del Fuego, whilst Drake in the
little _Pelican_ went on his great voyage of plunder round the world.
All Europe rang with the news of his ravages in the South Seas, and the
shareholders, says Mendoza, “are beside themselves with joy.” But the
feelings of peaceful English merchants, and of Burghley himself, were far
different. They saw that Spain had been attacked wantonly, her mariners
hanged, her treasure stolen without legal excuse, her sacred edifices
ransacked, and it was felt that a war of retaliation was inevitable, in
which all England would suffer for the dishonest profit of a few.
One day towards the end of September 1580, after an absence of nearly
three years, when most people had given up Drake for lost, the _Pelican_
sailed quietly into Plymouth Sound, bringing in her hold plundered
riches incalculable. Drake posted up to London, hoping doubtless that
Elizabeth’s greed would overcome her fears of war. He was closeted for
six hours with the Queen; but when he was summoned to the Council not
one of his own backers was there, but only Burghley, Sussex, Crofts—a
Spanish agent—and Secretary Wilson. They ordered all his treasure to be
brought to the Tower, and a precise inventory made of it, preliminary
to its restitution. When the order was taken to Leicester, Walsingham,
and Hatton, they refused to sign, and exerted their influence with the
Queen to get it suspended. Mendoza raged and threatened. The Queen was
in mortal fear of war, and had promised that Drake should be punished if
he came back. But she loved money, and was not blind to the injury that
had been done to her probable foe by Drake’s boldness. So she temporised
as usual, accepted Drake’s presents graciously, and gradually came round
to making a hero of the great seaman, in spite of Mendoza’s talk of war
and vengeance. She must have proofs against Drake before she punished
him, she said. Besides, what were the Spanish troops doing in Ireland?
When the last Spanish-Papal soldier was withdrawn, she would talk about
the restitution of Drake’s plunder—not before.[441] At present she was
the aggrieved party. Gifts and bribes showered from Drake upon the
Councillors; but when Burghley was offered 3000 crowns’ worth of fine
gold, he refused it, saying he could not receive a present from a man who
had stolen all he had,[442] and Sussex also declined any portion of the
booty. Once more it was Burghley’s task to avert or provide against the
war with Spain, which the ineptitude and cupidity of others had brought
within measurable distance.