1584-1587
The militant Protestants were now paramount in Elizabeth’s Council, and
soon made their influence felt, not only in foreign relations, but in
home affairs as well. They were in favour of an aggressive policy in
aid of Protestantism abroad, and doubtless thought that the best way
to strengthen their hands would be to strike at Prelacy at home, and
to discredit the last vestiges of the old faith, against the foreign
champions of which they were ready to do national battle.
The appointment of Whitgift to the Archbishopric of Canterbury had been
avowedly made by the Queen (September 1583) for the purpose of repairing
the effects of Grindal’s leniency, and bringing the Nonconformists to
obedience; “to hold a strait rein, to press the discipline of his Church,
and recover his province to uniformity.” He had set about his work with a
thoroughness which brought upon him a storm of reproach from ministers,
and greatly embittered the controversies within the Church.[492] Burghley
felt strongly on the question of uniformity, as involving obedience
to the law; but Whitgift’s methods were too severe even for him, and
produced from him more than one rebuke. He was the referee of all
parties—Puritans, Churchmen, and Catholics appealed to him as their
friend—and he strove to hold the balance fairly, whilst deprecating
extreme views on each side. Leicester and Knollys were ceaseless in the
attacks upon the prelates, and Whitgift’s violence made it difficult for
Burghley to defend him. In one of his letters to the Archbishop he says,
“I am sorry to trouble your Grace, but I am more troubled myself, not
only with many private petitions of ministers recommended by persons of
credit as being peaceable persons in their ministry, but yet more with
complaints to your Grace and colleagues, greatly troubled; but also I am
now daily charged by Councillors and public persons to neglect my duty
in not staying your Grace’s proceedings, so vehement and general against
ministers and preachers, as the Papists are thereby encouraged, and
ill-disposed subjects animated, and her Majesty’s safety endangered.”
Now that the Puritan party had the upper hand, Burghley’s proverbial
middle course was not strong enough for his colleagues, and they
determined to deal with Prelacy and Papacy at the same time. The first
thing was to pack the new Parliament, and in this Leicester laboured
unblushingly. Sir Simon D’Ewes’ Journal sets forth the great number of
blank proxies sent to the Earl; and if his letter to the electors of
Andover is typical, this is not to be wondered at. He boldly asks them to
send him “your election in blank, and I will put in the names.” Another
letter from the Privy Council to Lord Cobham[493] directs him to obtain
the nomination of all the members for the Cinque Ports. Parliament
met at the end of November, and a formal complaint of the Puritan and
Nonconformist ministers was presented to the House of Commons, which,
after reducing the number of its articles from thirty-four to sixteen, it
adopted and laid before the House of Lords. Whitgift and his colleagues
fought hard, cautiously aided by Burghley and the Queen, who, when
she afterwards dismissed Parliament, roundly scolded the members for
interfering with her religious prerogative; and the only effect of the
complaints was to enable Burghley to exert pressure upon the prelates to
allay their zeal.
The attack of the militant Protestants against the Catholics, however,
was more effectual, although even that was somewhat palliated by Lord
Burghley’s moderation. It was evident now that the Catholic League
abroad and its instruments would stick at nothing. Father Creighton,
the priest who had played so prominent a part in the abortive plans of
D’Aubigny, Mendoza, and the Jesuits, had been captured with some of his
brother seminarists, and the rack had torn from them confirmation of the
desperate plans of which the Throgmorton conspiracy had given an inkling.
Leicester and his party had aroused Protestant horror of such projects to
fever heat. At his instance an association had been formed, pledged by
oath to defend the Queen’s life or to avenge it, and to exclude for ever
from the throne any person who might benefit by the Queen’s removal. Mary
Stuart somewhat naturally regarded the last clause as directed against
herself, and endeavoured to take the sting from it by offering her own
qualified adhesion to the association, which, however, was declined.
When the association was legalised by a bill in Parliament, the Queen
(Elizabeth), under Burghley’s influence, sent a message to the House,
abating some of the objectionable features, and reconciling it with the
rules of English equity. No penalties were to accrue before the persons
accused had been found guilty by a regular commission, and Mary and her
heirs were excused from forfeiture, unless Elizabeth were assassinated.
The new bill against Catholics was easily passed, under feelings such
as those prevailing in the House and the country, and the enactment was
regarded as a natural retort to the promulgation of the Papal bulls in
favour of revolution in England. All native Jesuits and seminarists
found in England after forty days were to be treated as traitors, and
it was felony to shelter or harbour them. English students or priests
abroad were to be forced to return within six months and take the oath
of supremacy, or incur the penalty for high treason; and many similar
provisions were made, by which the world could see that the militant
Protestants of England had picked up the gage thrown down by Philip and
the Pope. Henceforward it was to be war to the knife until one side or
the other was vanquished, and Lord Burghley’s astute policy of balance
and compromise was cast into the background after a quarter of a century
of almost unbroken success.[494]
Almost the only dissenting voice in the House of Commons against the
penal bill was that of Dr. William Parry, member for Queenborough. In
a violent and abusive speech, he said that the House was so evidently
biassed that it was useless to give it the special reasons he had for
opposing the bill, but would state them to the Queen alone. This was
considered insulting to the House, and he was committed to the charge
of the sergeant-at-arms, but was released by the Queen and Council the
following day. The events which followed form one of the unsolved riddles
of history. Parry was a man of bad character, who for years had been one
of Burghley’s many spies upon the English refugees on the Continent. He
appears, however, to have been esteemed more highly by the Treasurer than
such instruments usually are.
When young Anthony Bacon was sent on his travels to France, his uncle,
Burghley, specially instructed him to cultivate the acquaintance of Dr.
Parry. Leicester complained to the Queen of this, and the Lord Treasurer
undertook that his nephew should not be shaken either in loyalty or
religion by his acquaintanceship with Parry.[495] After the latter
returned to England in 1583 he was elected member of the Parliament of
the following year, after having persistently but unsuccessfully begged
a sinecure office from Burghley. From his first arrival he had been full
of real or pretended plots for the assassination of the Queen, which he
professed to have discovered on the Continent. He was, like all men of
his profession, an unprincipled scamp, and made these secret disclosures
the ground for ceaseless demands for reward. He was disappointed and
discontented, as well as vain and boastful, and overshot the mark. In one
of his interviews with the Queen he produced a somewhat doubtfully worded
letter of approval from the Papal Secretary of State, Cardinal Como,[496]
which, he said, referred to a pretended project undertaken by him (Parry)
for the murder of the Queen. He talked loosely to Charles Neville and
other Catholics of this plot as a real one, and six weeks after his
escapade in Parliament was arrested and lodged in jail. At first he would
admit nothing, but the fear of the rack, or some other motive, produced
from him a full and complete confession of a regular plan—once, he said,
nearly executed—for killing Elizabeth; but before sentence he vehemently
retracted, and appealed to the knowledge of the Queen, Burghley, and
Walsingham that he was innocent. But if they possessed this knowledge
they never revealed it, and Parry died the revolting death of a traitor,
clamouring to the last that Elizabeth herself was responsible for his
sacrifice.
It cannot be doubted that Parry was an _agent provocateur_, and great
question arises as to the reality of the crime for which he was punished.
I have found no trace in the Spanish correspondence of his having been a
tool of Mendoza or Philip, such as exists in the cases of Throgmorton,
Babington, and others; and I consider that the evidence generally favours
the idea that he was deliberately caught in his own lure, and sacrificed
in order to aggravate the anti-Catholic fervour in the country, and
secure the passage of the penal enactments. In one particular I dissent
from nearly every historian who has written on the subject. All fingers
point at Lord Burghley as the author of the plan. I look upon it as being
the work of Leicester, Knollys, and Walsingham. It was they, and not
Burghley, who were anxious to strengthen the fervent Protestant party.
It was they, and not Burghley, who were forcing the penal enactments
through the Parliament they had packed. The Treasurer could hardly have
been blind to what was going on, but he could not afford to champion
Parry. The latter, a venal scoundrel known to be in Burghley’s pay, but
discontented with his patron, was doubtless bought by Leicester to play
his part in Parliament, and afterwards to confess the Catholic plot on
the assurance of pardon, with the object of blackening the Catholics, and
perhaps, by implication, Burghley as well.
That Leicester’s friends were at the time seeking to represent the
Lord Treasurer as against the Protestant cause is clear from several
indignant letters written by Burghley himself. “If they cannot,” he says,
“prove all their lies, let them make use of any _one_ proof wherewith
to prove me guilty of falsehood, injustice, bribery or dissimulation
or double-dealing in Council, either with her Majesty or with her
Councillors. Let them charge me on _any_ point that I have not dealt as
earnestly with the Queen to aid the afflicted in the Low Countries to
withstand the increasing power of the King of Spain, the assurance of
the King of Scots to be tied to her Majesty with reward, yea, with the
greatest pension that any other hath. If in any of these I am proved to
be behind or slower than any in a discreet manner, I will yield myself
worthy of perpetual reproach as though I were guilty of all they use
to bluster against me. They that say in rash and malicious mockery
that England is become _Regnum Cecilianum_ may use their own cankered
humour.” In July of the same year he writes in similar strain to Sir
Thomas Edmunds:[497] “If you knew how earnest a course I hold with her
Majesty, both privately and openly, for her to retain the King of Scots
with friendship and liberality, yea, and to retain the Master of Gray and
Justice-Clerk, with rewards to continue their offices, which indeed are
well known to me to be very good, you would think there could be no more
shameful lies made by Satan himself than these be; and finding myself
thus maliciously bitten with the tongues and pens of courtiers here, if
God did not comfort me, I had cause to fear murdering hands or poisoning
points; but God is my keeper.”
The more or less hollow negotiations for the liberation of Mary, and for
the association of her son with herself in her sovereign rights, had
dragged on intermittently for years. Burghley himself has set forth the
reasons for the successive failures;[498] in each case the discovery of
some fresh plot in her favour. The serious set of conspiracies brought to
light in 1584 had caused her removal from the mild custody of Burghley’s
friend, Lord Shrewsbury, to that of the rigid Puritan, Sir Amyas Paulet,
at Tutbury. In her troubles the captive Queen, like every one else,
appealed to Burghley, and especially in the matter of the reckless
accusations of immorality brought by the Countess of Shrewsbury and her
Cavendish sons against her husband and Mary.[499]
Burghley’s kindness in this matter, and his attempts to soften the
fresh severity of the Queen’s captivity, had not only persuaded Mary’s
agents that he was her friend,[500] but had given to Leicester and his
party an excuse for spreading rumours to the Treasurer’s detriment. At
an inopportune time, Nau, Mary’s French secretary, had gone to London
with new plans of associated sovereignty; but almost simultaneously the
Master of Gray had arrived as James’s Ambassador. He was easily bought
by the English Government, as we have seen, with the full approval
of Burghley;[501] and on his return to Scotland promptly caused the
rejection by the Lords of Nau’s project in favour of Mary. It was never
on the question of securing the Scots by bribery to the English interest
that Burghley was remiss. It was open war with Spain that he always
opposed.
In the meanwhile the toils were closing round the unhappy Mary. She
had now thrown herself entirely into the arms of Spain; and the Guises
were being gradually but steadily forced into the background by Philip,
as being likely to frustrate his plans, by claiming for their kinsman,
James Stuart, the succession of England after his mother. Every letter
to and from Tutbury was intercepted by Paulet. Morgan, Charles Paget,
Robert Bruce, and others, in their communications with Mary, laid bare
her hopes and their intrigues.[502] If any doubts had previously existed
as to the intentions of Spain and the Queen of Scots, they could exist
no longer. The only question for England was how best to withstand the
combination against her. Here, as usual, Burghley was at issue with the
now dominant party of militant Protestants; and equally, as usual, his
opposition was cautious and indirect. Leicester and his friends were for
open operations against Spain both in the Netherlands and on the high
seas, and for helping Henry III. to withstand the Guises; whilst the
Treasurer preferred to stand on the defensive, and keep as much money in
hand as possible.[503] Elizabeth rarely required urging to parsimony, and
by appealing to her weakness Burghley was able for a time to moderate the
plans of the other party.
But events were too strong for him. Mainly by his influence Leicester had
been restrained since 1580 from subsidising a great expedition against
Philip in favour of the Portuguese Pretender, Don Antonio; but in the
spring of 1585 the treacherous seizure of English ships in Spain had
aroused the English to fury. Drake’s great expedition of twenty-nine
ships was fitted out, and general reprisals authorised. Never was an
expedition more popular than this, for the English sailors were aching
for a fight with foes they knew they could beat, and Burghley’s cautions
were scouted. Drake’s fleet sailed in September, doubtful to the last
moment whether the Queen would not be prevailed upon to stay it;[504]
and by sacking Santo Domingo and ravaging Santiago and Cartagena almost
without hindrance, demonstrated the ineffective clumsiness of Philip’s
methods. Leicester and the war-party were now almost unrestrained; for
the Lord Treasurer made the best of it, and confined his efforts to
minimising the cost of the new policy as much as possible, and suggesting
caution to the Queen.
The Commissioners from the States continued to urge the Queen to
assume the sovereignty of the Netherlands, and to govern the country,
either directly or through a nominee; but this was a responsibility
which neither she nor Burghley cared to accept. At length, after much
hesitation on the part of the Queen, Sir John Norris was sent with an
English force of 5000 men to take possession of the strong cautionary
places offered by the Hollanders, and Leicester was designated to follow
as Lieutenant-General of the Queen’s forces (September 1585).
Elizabeth approached the business with fear and trembling. It was a
departure from Burghley’s safe and tried policy, and was involving her in
large expenditure. She distrusted rebels and popular governments; she did
not like to send away her best troops in a time of danger, and she railed
often and loudly at Leicester and Walsingham for dragging her into such a
pass. Only a day after Leicester’s appointment she changed her mind and
bade him suspend his preparations. “Her pleasure is,” wrote Walsingham,
“that you proceed no further until you speak with her. How this cometh
about I know not. The matter is to be kept secret. These changes here
may work some such changes in the Low Countries as may prove irreparable.
God give her Majesty another mind, … or it will work both hers and her
best affected subjects’ ruin.”[505] To this Leicester wrote one letter
of submission to be shown to the Queen, and the other for Walsingham’s
own eye, full of indignation. “This,” he says, “is the strangest dealing
in the world.… What must be thought of such an alteration? I am weary of
life and all.”
Elizabeth had, however, gone too far now to retire, and Leicester’s
journey went forward. But it is plain to see that whilst he was making
his preparations to act as sovereign on his own account, the Queen,
influenced by Burghley, was drafting his instructions in a way that
strictly limited his power for harm, and minimised her responsibility
towards Spain. Leicester was directed to “let the States understand that
whereby their Commissioners made offer unto her Majesty, first of the
sovereignty of those countries, which for sundry respects she did not
accept; secondly, under her protection to be governed absolutely by such
as her Majesty would appoint and send over as her Lieutenant. That her
Majesty, although she would not take so much upon her as to command them
in such absolute sort, yet unless they should show themselves forward to
use the advice of her Majesty … she would think her favours unworthily
bestowed upon them.”
This must have been gall and wormwood for Leicester, for in his own
notes he lays down as his guiding principles, “First, that he have as
much authoryte as the Prince of Orange had; or any other Captain-General
hath had heretofore: second, that there be as much allowance by the
States for the said Governor as the Prince had, with all offices
apportenaunt.”[506] He had infinite trouble in getting money from the
Queen, and went so far as to offer to pledge his own lands to her
as security; but at last, in December, all was ready, and Leicester
foolishly went to Holland with his vague ambitions, leaving Burghley in
possession at home. It is plain from his beseeching letter of farewell to
the Lord Treasurer that he recognised the danger. He prays him earnestly
not to have any change made in the plans agreed upon, and to provide
sufficient resources for the sake of the cause involved and for the
Queen’s honour. “Hir Majesty, I se, my lord, often tymes doth fall into
myslyke of this cause, and sondry opinions yt may brede in hir withal,
but I trust in the Lord, seeing hir Highness hath thus far resolved, and
gone also to this far executyon as she hath, and that myne and other
menne’s poor lives are adventured for hir sake, that she will fortify
and mainteyn her own action to the full performance that she hath agreed
on.”[507] Burghley was very ill at the time, unable to rise from his
couch, but in answer to the Earl’s appeal he assured him that he would
consider himself “accursed in the sight of God” if he did not strive
earnestly to promote the success of the expedition.
The Lord Treasurer was, of course, sincere in his desire to prevent the
collapse of the Protestant cause in the Netherlands, for he had never
ceased for years to insist that the quietude of England mainly depended
upon it. Where he differed from Leicester was in his determination, if
possible, to avoid such action as would lead to an open breach with
Spain. Before even Leicester landed at Flushing he had begun to quarrel
with the Dutchmen, and in a fortnight was intriguing to obtain an offer
of the sovereignty of the States for himself. The offer was made, and
modestly refused at first; but on further pressure Leicester accepted
the sovereignty, as he had intended to do from the first (January 1586).
The rage of Elizabeth knew no bounds. This would make her infamous, she
said, to all the world. Leicester was timid at the consequences of the
step he had taken, and made matters worse by delaying for weeks to write
explanations to the angry Queen. Walsingham and Hatton did their best,
but very ineffectually, to appease her. Burghley in a letter to Leicester
(7th February) assured him that he too had done so, and that he himself
approved of his action, and hoped to “move her Majesty to alter her hard
opinion.” As we have seen, Burghley’s opposition was seldom direct, and
it may be accepted as probable that he mildly deprecated the Queen’s
anger against her favourite; but a remark in a letter (17th February)
from Davison, who was sent by Leicester to explain and extenuate his act
to the Queen,[508] seems to show that the Lord Treasurer’s advocacy had
not been so earnest as he would have had Leicester to believe.
The Queen had ordered Heneage to go to Holland post-haste, to command
Leicester openly to abandon his new title; but from the 7th February
till the 14th, whilst Heneage’s harsh instructions were being drafted,
Burghley was diplomatically absent from court, and the pleading of
Walsingham and Hatton had no softening effect upon the Queen. On the
13th February, Davison at length arrived with Leicester’s excuses. The
Queen railed and stormed until he was reduced to tears. She refused at
first to receive Leicester’s letter or to delay Heneage’s departure.
Burghley arrived the next day, and Davison writes on the 17th that he
“_had successfully exerted himself to convince the Lord Treasurer that
the measures adopted were necessary_, and that his Lordship had urged the
Queen on the subject.”
The only effect of Burghley’s persuasion, however, was to obtain for
Heneage discretion to withhold, if he considered necessary, the Queen’s
letter to the States, and to save Leicester from the degradation of
a public renunciation. Burghley had thus done his best to preserve
Leicester’s friendship and gratitude; but, after all, it was his policy,
and not that of Leicester, that was triumphant. Heneage was a friend
of the Earl’s, and on his arrival in Holland delayed action; but the
Queen was not to be appeased. She had, she said, been slighted, and her
commission exceeded, and would send no money till her instructions were
fulfilled. Confusion and danger naturally resulted, and Leicester’s
friends redoubled their efforts to save him. Burghley himself assured
Leicester (31st March) that he had threatened to resign his office unless
she changed her course. “I used boldly such language in this matter, as
I found her doubtful whether to charge me with presumption, which partly
she did, or with some astonishment of my round speech, which truly was no
other than my conscience did move me, even in _amaritudine anima_. And
then her Majesty began to be more calm than before, and, as I conceived,
readier to qualify her displeasure.”[509]
When the Queen saw that Heneage and Leicester were construing her
leniency into acquiescence of the Earl’s action, she blazed out again;
and when Burghley begged her to allow Heneage to return and explain the
circumstances, “she grew so passionate in the matter that she forbade me
to argue more;” and herself wrote a letter to Heneage containing these
words: “Do as you are bidden, and leave your considerations for your own
affairs; for in some things you had clear commandment, which you did
not do, and in others none, which you did.” At the urgent prayer of the
States, however, representing the danger to the cause which a public
deposition of Leicester would bring about, the Queen finally allowed
matters to rest until they could devise some harmless way out of the
difficulty.
Throughout the whole business Burghley almost ostentatiously acted the
part of Leicester’s friend. It was a safe course for him to take, for
the Queen was so angry that he could keep the good-will of Leicester
and the Protestants, and yet be certain of the ultimate failure of his
opponent. As soon as the States understood Leicester’s position, and had
realised his incompetence, they were only too anxious to be rid of him;
and throughout his inglorious government Burghley could well speak in
his favour, for it must have been evident that the Earl was working his
own ruin, and that his position was untenable. One curious feature in
the matter is that both Burghley and Walsingham hinted to Leicester that
the Queen was being influenced by some one underhand. “Surely,” writes
the Secretary, “there is some treachery amongst ourselves, for I cannot
think she would do this out of her own head;” and the gossip of the court
pointed at Ralegh, who wrote to Leicester[510] vigorously protesting
against the calumny.
There were, however, wheels within wheels in Elizabeth’s court. Two of
her Councillors were Spanish spies, Ralegh was Burghley’s partisan, the
Conservative party in favour of friendship with the House of Burgundy
was not dead, and, notwithstanding all that has been written, it may
be fairly assumed that the decadence of Leicester and the militant
Protestant party during the Earl’s absence in Holland did not take place
without some secret prompting from Lord Burghley.
In the meanwhile the plans for the invasion of England were gradually
maturing in Philip’s slow mind. The raid of Drake’s fleet upon his
colonies, and Leicester’s assumption of the sovereignty of the
Netherlands, had at last convinced Philip, after nearly thirty years of
hesitancy, that England must be coerced into Catholicism, or Spain must
descend from its high estate. So long as the elevation of Mary Stuart
meant a Guisan domination of England, with shifty James as his mother’s
heir, it had not suited Philip to squander his much needed resources upon
the overthrow of Elizabeth; but by this time Guise was pledged to vast
ambitions in France, which could only be realised by Philip’s help. The
Jesuits and English Catholics had persuaded the Spaniard that he would be
welcomed in England, whilst a Scot or a Frenchman would be resisted to
the death. Most of Mary’s agents, too, had been bribed to the same side,
and Mendoza in Paris was her prime adviser and mainstay. Various attempts
were made by the Scottish Catholics and Guise’s friends to manage the
subjugation of England over the Scottish Border; but though Philip
affected to listen to their approaches, and used them as a diversion, his
plan was already fixed—England must be won by Spaniards in Mary’s name,
and be held thenceforward in Spanish hands. Mary was ready to agree to
anything, and at the prompting of Philip’s agents she disinherited her
son (June 1586) in favour of the King of Spain. Morgan, Paget, and others
had at last succeeded in reopening communication with Mary, who had
now lost all hope of release except by force. A close alliance between
England and James VI. had been agreed to: she knew that no help would
come from her son or his Government; and her many letters to Charles
Paget, to Mendoza, and to Philip himself, leave no doubt whatever that
she was fully cognisant of the plans for the overthrow, and perhaps
murder, of Elizabeth, in order that she, Mary, might be raised by Spanish
pikes to the English throne.[511]
In May 1586 the priest Ballard had seen Mendoza in Paris, and had sought
the countenance of Spain for the assassination of Elizabeth; and in
August the matter had so far progressed as to enable Gifford to give to
Mendoza full particulars of the vile plan. There was, according to his
account, hardly a Catholic or schismatic gentleman in England who was not
in favour of the plot; and though Philip always distrusted a conspiracy
known to many, he promised armed help from Flanders if the Queen were
killed. Mendoza, when he saw Gifford, recommended that Don Antonio,
Burghley, Walsingham, Hunsdon, Knollys, and Beale should be killed; but
the King wrote on the margin of the letter, “It does not matter so much
about Cecil, although he is a great heretic, but he is very old, and it
was he who advised the understandings with the Prince of Parma, and he
has done no harm. It would be advisable to do as he [_i.e._ Mendoza] says
with the others.”[512]
The folly of Babington and his friends almost passes belief. They seem to
have been prodigal of their confidences, and to have had no apprehension
of treachery. Babington’s own letter to Mary setting forth in full
all the plans in favour of “his dear sovereign” (6th July) was handed
immediately by the false agent Gifford to Walsingham. No move was made
by Walsingham, except to send the clever clerk Phillips to Chartley to
decipher all intercepted letters on the spot, and so to avoid delay in
their delivery, which might arouse the suspicion of the conspirators.
Surrounded by spies and traitors, but in fancied security, the unhappy
Queen involved herself daily deeper in the traps laid for her; approved
of Babington’s wild plans, and made provision for her own release, whilst
Walsingham watched and waited. When the proofs were incontestable, and
all in the Secretary’s hands, the blow fell. On the 4th August Ballard
was arrested, Babington and the intended murderer Savage a day or so
afterwards, and Mary Stuart’s doom was sealed. She was hurried off
temporarily to Tixhall; Nau and Curll were placed under arrest, the
Queen’s papers seized, and her rooms closely examined. Amias Paulet was
a faithful jailer, and he did his work well. “Amyas, my most faithful,
careful servant,” wrote Elizabeth, “God reward thee treblefold for the
most troublesome charge so well discharged. If you knew, my Amyas, how
kindly, besides most dutifully, my grateful heart accepts and prizes
your spotless endeavours and faultless actions, your wise orders and safe
regard, performed in so dangerous and crafty a charge, it would ease your
travail and rejoice your heart.… Let your wicked murderess know how with
hearty sorrow her vile deserts compel these orders, and bid her from me
ask God’s forgiveness for her treacherous dealing.” Elizabeth and her
ministers rightly appreciated the great peril which she had escaped, and
from the first it was recognised by most of them that Mary had forfeited
all claim to consideration at their hands.[513]
It is usually assumed by a certain class of writers that Mary was
unjustly hounded to her death, mainly by the personal enmity of Lord
Burghley. Nothing, in reality, is more distant from the truth. A most
dangerous conspiracy against the government and religion of England had
been discovered, in which she was a prime mover. Her accomplices rightly
suffered the penalty of their crime,[514] and it was due to justice and
to the safety of the country that the mainspring of the conspiracy should
be disabled for further harm. But still the matter was a delicate and
dangerous one, for Catholics were numerous in England, and the great
Catholic confederacy abroad was ready to take any advantage which a
false step on the part of Elizabeth might give them. As we have seen,
moreover, the feelings of the Queen of England herself with regard to
the sacredness of anointed sovereigns was strong, and no more difficult
problem had ever faced the Government than how to dispose of their
troublesome guest in a way that should in future safeguard England
from her machinations, whilst respecting the many susceptibilities
involved. As usual in moments of difficulty, Elizabeth turned to her aged
minister,[515] and as a result of a long private conference with him
the question was submitted to the Privy Council. The Catholic members
advocated only a further stringency in Mary’s imprisonment. Leicester
was in favour of solving the difficulty by the aid of poison,[516]
whilst Burghley, followed by Walsingham and others, proposed a regular
judicial inquiry, which was now legally possible by virtue of the Act of
Association passed by Parliament in the previous year. A commission was
consequently issued on the 6th October for the trial of Mary, containing
the names of forty-six of the principal peers and judges, and all the
Councillors, but only after some bickering between the Queen and Burghley
with regard to the style to be given to Mary and other details.[517]
Before this point had been reached, however, measures had been taken to
test the feeling of foreign powers on the subject. Diplomatic relations
had ceased between Spain and England; but as soon as the Babington
conspiracy was discovered, Walsingham impressed upon Chateauneuf, the
French Ambassador, that the Spaniards were at the bottom of it, and that
it was directed almost as much against the King of France as against
Elizabeth herself. The Ambassador himself was a strong Guisan,[518] and
personally was an object of odium and suspicion to the excited Londoners;
but his master’s hatred of the Guises and dread of their objects was
growing daily, and when Madame de Montpensier prayed Henry to intercede
for the protection of Mary, she obtained but a cold answer;[519] and no
official step by the French was taken in her favour at the time, except
as a matter of justice Elizabeth was requested that she might have the
assistance of counsel. It was clear, therefore, that Henry III. would not
go to war for the sake of his sister-in-law.
Mary was removed to Fotheringay for trial on the 6th October, and on the
following day Paulet and Mildmay delivered to her Elizabeth’s letter,
informing her of the charges against her, and the tribunal to which she
was to be submitted. She indignantly refused to acknowledge Elizabeth’s
right to place her, an anointed sovereign, upon her trial; but she
denied all knowledge and complicity in the murder plot. This was the
safest attitude she could have assumed, although the proofs against
her already in the hands of Elizabeth were overwhelming;[520] and the
arguments of Burghley and Lord Chancellor Bromley failed to alter Mary’s
determination. This was embarrassing, and in the face of it Elizabeth
wrote to Burghley[521] instructing him that, although the examination
might proceed, no judgment was to be delivered until she had conferred
with him. At the same time she wrote to Mary a letter of mingled threats
and hope, with the object of changing her attitude towards the tribunal.
This, added to the persuasions of Hatton, succeeded in the object,[522]
and Mary, unfortunately for her, retreated from her unassailable position.
On the 14th, two days afterwards, the tribunal sat in the great hall of
Fotheringay Castle, and Mary, almost crippled with rheumatism, painfully
hobbled to her place, supported by her Steward, Sir Andrew Melvil. On
the right of the Lord Chancellor sat Lord Burghley. That the proceedings
against Mary, in which he had from the first taken an active part, were
in his opinion necessary for the safety of England, is clear from his
many letters upon the subject; but it is equally evident that if he could
decently have avoided personal identification with them he would have
been better pleased. His letters to Popham, the Attorney-General, show
that he wished to be absent from the trial; but as he wrote at the time
to Sir Edward Stafford, the English Ambassador in France, “I was never
more toiled than I have been of late, and yet am, with services that here
do multiply daily; and whosoever scapeth I am never spared. God give me
grace.”
Much of the obloquy that has been unjustly cast upon him in the matter
of Mary Stuart arises from his inveterate habit of putting everything in
writing, which other men did not do. For instance, the draft of the whole
case, or, as he puts it, “the indignities and wrongs done and offered
by the Queen of Scots to the Queen,” is in his handwriting,[523] and the
letters to the Queen detailing the progress of events at Fotheringay are
sent from him, whilst Elizabeth’s instructions through Davison are all
addressed to Walsingham and Burghley. But it must be remembered that
he was the Queen’s most trusted and experienced Councillor, and the
existence of records written by or to him does not show that he was more
eager than the rest for the sacrifice of the Scottish Queen.
Mary defended herself with consummate ability before a tribunal almost
entirely prejudiced against her. She was deprived of legal aid, without
her papers, and in ill health; and, according to modern notions, the
procedure against her was unjust in the extreme. Once she turned upon
Walsingham and denounced him as the contriver of her ruin, but soon
regained her composure; and in her argument with Burghley, with respect
to the avowals of Babington and her Secretaries, reached a point of
touching eloquence which might have moved the hearts, though it did not
convince the intellects, of her august judges.[524] But her condemnation
was a foregone conclusion; and although the sentence was not pronounced
until the return of the Commission to Westminster (October 25), Mary left
the hall of Fotheringay practically a condemned felon on the 15th.
But it was one thing to condemn and another thing to execute. Here
Elizabeth’s scruples again assailed her. The two Houses of Parliament
addressed her on the 12th November, begging that for the sake of the
realm and her own safety the sentence might be carried into effect. At no
point of her career was the profound duplicity of Elizabeth more resorted
to than now. She had evidently determined that Mary must die, which is of
itself not surprising; but she was equally determined that, if she could
help it, no blame should personally attach to her for having disregarded
the privileges of a crowned head. After much pretended sorrow and
repudiation of any desire for revenge, but at the same time setting forth
a careful recapitulation of Mary’s offences, she complained of Parliament
for passing the Act which made it necessary for her to pronounce sentence
of death on a kinswoman, and said she must take time for prayer and
contemplation before she could give an answer to the petition. A few
days afterwards she besought the Houses to consider again whether some
other course could not be adopted instead of executing Mary, but she
was assured by them that there was “no other sound and assured means”
than that which they had formerly recommended (18th November). Her next
address to the Houses was still more hypocritical. After infinite talk
of her mercy, her goodness, and her hatred of bloodshed, even for her
own safety, she ended enigmatically: “Therefore if I should say I would
not do what you request, it might be peradventure more than I thought,
and to say I would do it might perhaps breed peril of what you labour to
preserve, being more than in your own wisdoms and discretions would seem
convenient.”[525]
Several days before this, Mary’s sentence had been communicated to her by
Lord Buckhurst and Beale. She was dignified and courageous, rejoiced that
she was to die, as she said, for the Catholic faith, and again affirmed
that she had taken no part in the plot for the murder of Elizabeth,
which was doubtless true so far as active participation or direction was
concerned. Her letters written immediately afterwards to Mendoza[526]
and the Duke of Guise[527] are conceived in the same spirit, and appear
to entertain no expectation of mercy. The Spaniards, however, were more
hopeful, and ascribed to Burghley a deep scheme for selling Mary’s life
to France, in exchange for concessions to English interests.
The arrangements for the invasion of England by a great fleet from
Spain were now so far advanced as to be impossible of concealment, and
the English Government were actively adopting measures of defence and
reprisal. Under the transparent pretext of aiding Don Antonio, English
armed ships were hounding Spanish commerce from the seas and harrying
Spanish settlements; the English troops under Leicester, and the Scots
under the Master of Gray, were fighting Spaniards in Holland, and the
English militant Protestant party had now supplanted Burghley’s policy on
all sides. But still the cautious old statesman patiently worked in his
own way to minimise the dangers with which his political opponents had
already surrounded the Queen. There were two things only that he could
do, namely, once more to endeavour to disarm Spain by making a show of
friendship, and to sow discord between France and Spain; and both these
things he did. One of Ralegh’s privateers had captured Philip’s governor
of Patagonia, the famous explorer and navigator, Sarmiento; and almost
simultaneously with the passing of Mary’s sentence, Ralegh was invited to
bring his prisoner to Cecil House for a private conference. Sarmiento was
flattered and made much of, and received his free release on condition
of his taking to Spain messages from Burghley and Ralegh suggesting a
friendly arrangement between the countries. Ralegh, indeed, went so far
as to offer—whether sincerely or not does not affect the question—two of
his ships for Philip’s service, and for many weeks sympathetic messages
found their way secretly from the Lord Treasurer and Sir Walter to Spain
and Flanders.[528]
At the same time Sir Henry Wotton was sent to Paris with certified copies
of Mary’s will in favour of Philip, and of her correspondence with
Mendoza. “He is instructed to point out how much she depended upon your
Majesty, and how shy she was of France.”[529] This was exactly the course
most likely to alienate Henry III. from Spain and his sister-in-law;
and although he tardily sent Pomponne de Bellièvre to remonstrate with
Elizabeth, the Spaniards and Guisans, at all events, never believed
in the sincerity of his protests.[530] Mendoza writes: “Elizabeth has
given orders that directly Bellièvre arrives in England the rumour is
to be spread that the Queen of Scots is killed, in order to discover
how he takes it. Bellièvre, however, is forewarned of it, and has his
instructions what to say when he hears it. It is a plan of Cecil’s
arising out of a desire (as I wrote to your Majesty) to sell to the
French on the best terms they can what they do not dream of carrying out.
The English and French will have no difficulty in agreeing on the point,
because the King and his mother are very well pleased that the Queen of
Scots should be kept alive, though a prisoner, in order to prevent the
succession of your Majesty to the English throne; whilst the English see
plainly that the many advantages accruing to them from keeping the Queen
of Scots a prisoner would change into as many dangers if they made away
with her.”[531]
On the 6th December public proclamation of Mary’s sentence was made in
London amidst signs of extravagant rejoicing on the part of the populace.
The next day Bellièvre delivered a long speech to the Queen, in which
he made no attempt to deny Mary’s guilt, but appealed to Elizabeth’s
magnanimity, and proposed guarantees from France to insure Mary’s future
harmlessness. The Queen repeated bitterly her grievances against Mary,
and replied that the life of Mary was incompatible with her own safety;
and Lord Burghley, in a subsequent interview with the Frenchman, repeated
more emphatically the same idea. Shortly afterwards, at the renewed
request of Bellièvre and Chateauneuf, Elizabeth ungraciously consented
to grant a respite of twelve days to Mary to enable the Ambassadors
to communicate with their master. But Henry III. himself was now in a
hopeless condition. “Such is the confusion of the court, the vacillation
of the King, and the jealousy, hatred, and suspicion of the courtiers,
that decisions are adopted and abandoned at random.… The King is trying
to draw closer to the Queen of England, which is the principal object
of Bellièvre’s mission.”[532] The only reply, therefore, sent to
Bellièvre and Chateauneuf from France was a pedantic and wordy appeal
to Elizabeth’s mercy, which must have convinced her that she need fear
nothing from the French.[533]
Notwithstanding the first movement of indignation on the part of James
also, it soon became clear that selfish reasons would confine his action
to protest. This is not altogether to be wondered at. He had been
informed that Mary had disinherited him, and told De Courcelles, the
French Ambassador, that he knew “she had no more good-will towards him
than towards the Queen of England.” The Master of Gray, at his side, too,
was the humble servant of England, and the traitor, Archibald Douglas,
represented him in the English court. On pressure from France, however,
James sent Sir William Keith, another English partisan, to intercede for
his mother, or at least to induce Elizabeth to delay the execution until
a fitting embassy from him might be sent. Elizabeth hectored and stormed
at James’s threatening letters; but when she became calmer she granted
the twelve days’ respite already referred to. The Master of Gray and
Sir Robert Melvil subsequently arrived at the English court and were
equally unsuccessful.[534] Melvil undoubtedly did his best, and Elizabeth
threatened his life in consequence; but the Master of Gray’s advocacy
went no further than he knew would please the English Government.
It is certain that Elizabeth herself had decided that Mary should
die, if the execution could be carried out without uniting France
and Spain against her, and especially if she herself could manage to
escape personal opprobrium. Of Lord Burghley’s personal opinion on the
matter it is extremely difficult to judge. He is generally represented
by historians as being the prime enemy and persecutor of the unhappy
woman, which he certainly was not. He was a cautious man and took his
stand behind legal forms; but the slightest slackness on his part was
represented by Leicester and his friends as a desire to curry favour
with Mary. He, the Howards, Crofts, and the other conservatives were,
as usual, desirous of staving off the rupture with Spain, but dared not
appear for a moment to favour so unpopular a cause as that of Mary. The
truth of this view is partly shown by the revelations of Sir Edward
Stafford, the English Ambassador in Paris, a great friend of Burghley’s
and a paid agent of Spain. Stafford told Charles Arundell in January that
Burghley had written that Bellièvre had not acted so cleverly as they had
expected, and if that he (Burghley) had not prompted him he would have
done worse still. “He was advised to ask for private audience without
Chateauneuf, and was closeted with the Queen, who was accompanied by
only four persons. What passed at the interview was consequently not
known; but that he (Cecil) could assure him (Stafford) that the Queen of
Scotland’s life would be spared, although she would be kept so close that
she would not be able to carry on her plots as hitherto. This is what I
have always assured your Majesty was desired by the Queen of England,
as well as the King of France. Cecil also says that, although he has
constantly shown himself openly against the Queen of Scots, Leicester
and Walsingham, his enemies, had tried to set the Queen against him by
saying that he was more devoted to the Queen of Scotland than any one.
But she (Elizabeth) had seen certain papers in her (Mary’s) coffers
that told greatly against Leicester, and the Queen had told the latter
and Walsingham that they were a pair of knaves, and she saw plainly
now that, owing to her not having taken the advice of certain good and
loyal subjects of hers, she was in peril of losing her throne and her
life, by burdening herself with a war which she was unable to carry on.
She said if she had done her duty as Queen she would have had them both
hanged.”[535]
By this and several similar pronouncements it would appear that Burghley,
true to his invariable method, was still by indirect and cautious steps
endeavouring to lead the Queen back to the moderate path from which
Leicester, Walsingham, and the militant Protestants had diverted her; and
that, very far from being the mortal enemy of Mary, he would probably
have saved her if he could have done it with perfect harmlessness
to himself, and have insured the future security of the Queen and
Government. But whilst the Queen was very slowly being influenced by the
Catholics and Conservatives near her, events were precipitated and Mary
paid the last penalty. There is no space in this work to tell in detail
the obscure and much debated story of the issue of the warrant for Mary’s
execution;[536] but a summary glance at Burghley’s share in it cannot be
excluded in any biography of the statesman. Soon after the proclamation
of the sentence (6th December 1586) Elizabeth herself directed Burghley
to draft the warrant for the execution. He did so, and sent for Secretary
Davison—Walsingham being absent from illness—and informed him that as
he, Burghley, was returning to London, the court then being at Richmond,
he would leave the draft with Davison that it might be engrossed and
presented to the Queen for signature. When Davison laid the document
before the Queen she told him to keep it back for the present. Six weeks
passed without anything more being done, and Leicester in the interval
complained to Davison, in Burghley’s presence, of his remissness in not
again laying the document before the Queen.
The Master of Gray left London at the end of January, and on the
1st February Lord Admiral Howard told the Queen that there was much
disquieting talk in the country with regard to attempts to be made for
the rescue of Mary, &c.[537] Elizabeth then requested Howard to send for
Davison and direct him to lay the warrant before her for signature. The
Secretary accordingly carried the warrant to the Queen, who was full of
smiles and amiability, and asked him what he had there. Davison told her,
and she signed the warrant, explaining to him whilst doing so, that she
had hitherto delayed it for the sake of her own reputation. Then, with
a joke, she handed the signed warrant back to him, and, according to
Davison, bade him carry it at once to the Lord Chancellor, have it sealed
with the great seal as privately as possible, and send it away to the
Commissioners, so that she should hear no more about it.
Elizabeth afterwards, however, swore that she had given him no such
instructions. As he was leaving, Elizabeth directed him to call on
Walsingham, who was confined to his house by illness, and to tell him
what had been done. She then spoke bitterly of Amias Paulet for not
having made the warrant unnecessary, and hinted to Davison that he
might write to Paulet again suggesting the poisoning of Mary. This
Davison demurred at doing, as he knew that it would be fruitless, and
he did not relish the task, but promised to mention it to Walsingham.
The Secretary’s story is that he went straight to Lord Burghley and
showed him and Leicester the warrant, repeating the Queen’s directions.
He then proceeded to Walsingham House; and the result of his visit is
seen in a memorandum (dated the next day, 2nd February) in Walsingham’s
hand, annotated by Lord Burghley, laying down the steps to be taken for
immediately carrying the warrant into effect.[538] The fullest details,
even for the burial, are set forth, and at the end it is directed that
“the Lords and court are to give out that there will be no execution.”
Thus far Davison’s statement has been followed; but there is at Hatfield
(part iii., No. 472) a rough draft in Lord Burghley’s handwriting, which,
in view of the date upon it, 2nd February, throws rather a new light
upon the matter, and proves that, unknown to Davison, Lord Burghley and
the rest of the Council were accomplices of the Queen in her intention
of subsequently repudiating her orders and ruining her Secretary, and
that the tragi-comedy was not played by Elizabeth alone, but by her grave
Councillors as well. The draft document is in the name of the Council,
and sets forth the reasons that had moved them to despatch the warrant
without further consulting the Queen; “_and yet we are now at this time
most sorry to understand that your Majesty is so greatly grieved with
this kind of proceeding, and do most humbly beseech your Majesty_,” &c.
This, be it remembered, is dated the 2nd February, before the warrant had
been sent off or the Queen even knew it had been sealed.
Early in the morning of the 2nd the Queen sent Killigrew to Davison,
directing him not to go to the Lord Chancellor until he had seen her.
When he entered her presence she asked him, to his surprise, whether
he had had the warrant sealed, and he informed her that he had. Why so
much haste? she asked; to which he replied that she had told him to use
despatch. He then inquired if she wished the warrant executed. Yes,
she said; but she did not like the form of it, for it threw all the
responsibility upon her, and again suggested poison as the best way out
of her difficulty.
All this made Davison suspicious, and he went to Hatton and told him
that he feared the intention was subsequently to disavow him. He would,
he said, take no more responsibility, but would go at once to Lord
Burghley. This he did, and the latter summoned the Privy Council for
next day; whilst he, Burghley, busied himself in drafting the letters to
the Commissioners, the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury. The next morning
(3rd February) the Council met in Lord Burghley’s room, and the Lord
Treasurer laid the whole matter before them, repeating Davison’s story,
and recommending that the warrant should be despatched without further
reference to the Queen. This was agreed to, and the instructions
and warrant were sent the same night (Friday, 3rd February) to the
Commissioners, Burghley himself handing the document to Beale to carry
down into the country.
The next morning when Davison entered the Queen’s room at Greenwich
she was chatting with Ralegh, and told the Secretary that she had
dreamed the previous night that the Queen of Scots was executed, which
made her very angry. It was a good thing, she said, that Davison was
not near her at the time. This frightened Davison, and he asked her
whether she really did not wish the warrant executed. With an oath
she said she did, but again repeated what she had said the previous
day about the responsibility, and “another way of doing it.” A day or
so afterwards, Davison informed the Queen that Paulet had indignantly
refused Walsingham’s suggestion to poison Mary, whereupon she broke into
complaints of the “daintiness of these precise fellows,” and violently
denounced people who professed to love and defend her, but threw all
responsibility upon her.
On the 8th February the tragedy of Fotheringay was consummated, and in
the afternoon of the 9th young Talbot brought the news to London. Lord
Burghley at once summoned Davison, and after consulting with Hatton and
others, it was decided not to tell the Queen suddenly. When she learnt
it later in the day the well-prepared blow fell upon Davison. The Queen
pretended to be infuriated, swore that she had never intended to have the
warrant divulged, and whilst blaming all the Councillors,[539] threw
most of the onus upon Davison. The Council advised him to retire from
court, and he was soon afterwards cast into the Tower and degraded from
his office. After a long and tedious trial and a painful imprisonment, he
was condemned to a fine sufficient to ruin him, and thenceforward lived
in poverty and obscurity. The Earl of Essex fought manfully in his favour
whilst he lived, but Lord Burghley and the rest of the Councillors were
too strong for him, and the man they had ruined was never allowed to
raise his head again.[540]
That Burghley and the other principal Councillors were parties to the
plot, and that the Queen’s anger with them was assumed, is also seen
by a memorandum in Burghley’s handwriting at Hatfield,[541] dated 17th
February, headed “The State of the Cause _as it ought to be conceived
and reported_ concerning the Execution done upon the Queen of Scots,”
in which the Queen’s version is adopted, and all the blame thrown upon
Davison and the Council. Even before this was written the affair was
so reported to Burghley’s friend Stafford in Paris, in order that this
version might be spread on the Continent. Charles Arundell, in conveying
the news from Stafford to Mendoza, says that Burghley was absent through
illness,[542] and that the execution was carried through by Davison, “who
is a terrible heretic,” and the rest of Mary’s enemies. This is perhaps
the blackest stain that rests upon Burghley’s name. We have seen before
that he was not generous or magnanimous in his treatment of others when
his own interests were at stake; and the sacrifice of Davison would
probably appear to him a very small price to pay for helping Elizabeth
out of a difficult position, and maintaining his own favour.
Although we have seen that the Lord Treasurer from motives of policy had
been forced to take a prominent part in the condemnation and execution
of Mary, it cannot be supposed that the position of affairs at the time
was agreeable to him. The wars in Flanders, the persecution of English
Protestants in Spain, the reprisals of Drake and the privateers, and the
Catholic plots in the interests of Mary had aroused a strong Protestant
war feeling in the country. Leicester and his friends had the popular
voice on their side, and Burghley and the Conservatives could only very
cautiously and tentatively endeavour to stay the impetus with which
the country was rushing towards a national war with the strongest
power in Christendom. The great Armada was in full preparation, and
the ports of Italy, Flanders, Spain, and Portugal rang with the sound
of arms. Don Antonio once more was welcomed in England, to be used as
a stalking-horse, this being Lord Burghley’s last hope of levying war
without national responsibility.
But though there was much talk about Don Antonio, and Spanish spies in
England continued to report that the great fleet under Drake was to be
employed in his interests, its real object was to render impossible, at
least for that year, the junction of Philip’s naval forces in Lisbon.
Thanks to the efforts of Burghley and his party, an elaborate pretence
was kept up of the expedition being a private one; but it was really
controlled and organised by government officers, and the second in
command, Borough, was a Queen’s admiral, sent avowedly to place a check
upon Drake, and to prevent him from going too far in his open attack upon
Spain. Drake’s instructions were “to prevent or withstand any enterprise
as might be attempted against her Highness’s dominions, and especially
by preventing the concentration of Philip’s squadrons;” and he was to
distress the ships as much as possible, both in the havens themselves
and on the high seas. Drake arrived in Plymouth from the Thames on the
23rd March, and in a week of incessant energy had everything ready. The
secret of his intentions was well kept, and Mendoza’s many spies could
only tardily report the loose gossip of the streets. Sir Edward Stafford
assured his Spanish paymaster that no living soul but the Queen and the
Lord Treasurer knew what the design was to be.
Leicester was now at Buxton (April 1587), shortly to start on another
visit to Flanders, and in his absence Burghley’s influence, both Ralegh
and Hatton being on his side, as well as Crofts and the Catholics,
overshadowed that of Walsingham and Knollys. Drake seems to have feared
the consequence of this, and hurried his departure from Plymouth (2nd
April). He was only just in time, for as soon as he had gone a courier
came in hot haste with orders from the Council, which now meant Burghley,
strictly limiting Drake’s action:[543] “You shall forbear to enter
forcibly into any of the said King’s ports or havens, or to offer any
violence to any of his towns or shipping within harbour, or to do any act
of hostility on land.”
This was exactly what Drake had foreseen. The ship sent after him
with the orders failed to reach him, and the great seaman went on his
way. But, as usual with Drake, the official drag on the wheel had to
be overcome. Off Cape St. Vincent, Borough recited to the Admiral the
conditions under which the Queen’s ships accompanied him, evidently
expecting that he would not confine his operations to preventing the
concentration of the Spanish squadrons. But Drake was on his own
element now, and sailed straight to Cadiz, as some people had shrewdly
expected he meant to do from the first.[544] Borough warned him not to
exceed the Queen’s orders, and was placed under arrest for his pains;
and unopposed, Drake sailed into Cadiz harbour, to the dismay of the
astounded Spaniards. He plundered, burned, and sank all the ships in
port, destroyed the stores, and then quietly sailed out again unmolested.
He did damage to the extent of a million ducats (though Philip wrote
that he felt the insolence of the act more than the material damage),
and if he had cared to disobey the Queen’s orders further he might have
stopped the Armada for good by burning the ships in Lisbon, for they had
neither guns nor men on board to protect them. But he knew now that the
peace party in the Council were busy arranging with Parma’s envoy for the
meeting of a conference, and doubtless thought he had gone far enough in
his brilliant disobedience.
The indispensable Andrea de Looe had arrived in London from the
Prince of Parma immediately after Drake sailed, and was soon deep in
negotiation with Burghley with the object of arranging a meeting of Peace
Commissioners. When he had returned to Brussels with the proposals, news
came of Drake’s daring raid. De Looe then wrote a long letter to Burghley
(11th July), pointing out how much the cause of peace was injured by such
acts of aggression. Burghley’s answer[545] (28th July) perfectly defines
his position towards Drake’s action. After professing the Queen’s desire
for peace, and readiness to send her Commissioners to Flanders if the
Duke of Parma will suspend hostilities (before the Sluys), he says: “True
it is, and I avow it upon my faith, her Majesty did send a ship expressly
with a message by letters charging him (Drake) not to show any act of
hostility before he went to Cadiz, which messenger, by contrary winds,
could never come to the place where he was, but was constrained to come
home, and hearing of Sir Fras. Drake’s actions, her Majesty commanded
the party that returned to be punished, but he acquitted himself by oath
of himself and all his company. And so unwitting, yea unwilling, to her
Majesty those actions were committed by Sir Fras. Drake, for the which
her Majesty is greatly offended with him; and now also for bringing home
of a rich ship that came out of the East Indies.”[546] And then, as some
counterbalance to these enormities, Lord Burghley sets forth once more
the various grievances of England against Spain.
Whilst the elaborate and frequently insincere negotiations for peace were
being laboriously pursued for many months, Lord Burghley’s other standing
policy was not neglected, namely, that of causing jealousy between France
and Spain. Henry III. was now in mortal fear of Guise, and was ready to
listen to English and Huguenot suggestions that Philip’s conquest of
England would be followed by a Guisan dynasty under Spanish patronage in
France. All the French influence at the Vatican was exercised to procure
the conversion of James Stuart and the opposition of Spanish aims, and
before the end of the year Lord Burghley had the satisfaction of seeing
that Henry III. and his clever mother in no case would aid Philip to
subjugate England.
Elizabeth, in the meanwhile, was assailed by doubts and fears, and
periodical fits of penuriousness in the midst of her danger, which drove
her Councillors to despair. Stafford told Mendoza that “Cecil writes that
the Queen is so peevish and discontented that it was feared she would
not live long. Her temper is so bad that no Councillor dares to mention
business to her, and when even he (Cecil) did so, she had told him that
she had been strong enough to lift him out of the dirt, and was able
to cast him down again. He (Cecil) was of opinion that the Councillors
might be divided into three classes—those who wished to come to terms
with Spain, those who desired a close friendship with France, and those
who wanted to stand aloof from both, whilst enriching themselves with
plunder. He (Cecil) was neither a Spaniard nor a Frenchman, but wished
the Queen to be friendly with both powers. King Henry, under whom the
country was powerful and tranquil, thought he was doing a great thing
when he was able to make war with France when he had an alliance with
Spain; and now it happened that the French were as desirous of being
friendly as the English were, and he urges the Ambassador to hasten the
conclusion of an agreement.”[547]
But whilst he was writing amiably for the French, he took care, on the
other hand, to make the most of the peace negotiations with Spain, and
thus to cause Henry to be the more anxious for England’s friendship. The
old statesman was thus cautiously and slowly going on his traditional
way, hopeless though he must have been of the final result as regarded
keeping peace with Spain. The long-continued preparations of the Armada
were rapidly approaching completion; the Pope had been cajoled into
promising funds unwillingly to aid Philip’s aims; the English Catholic
refugees were eagerly awaiting the harvest of their efforts; the great,
cumbrous machine for crushing England was already in motion, and no
efforts of diplomacy could stop it.
But yet Burghley did his best. The war and plunder party, as usual,
checked him at every turn; but early and late, through constant pain and
sickness, family trouble[548] and public disappointment, he struggled
on in the way he had marked out for himself so many years before—to
divide England’s possible enemies, and keep the peace with Spain so long
as was humanly possible. The Queen was full of qualms and misgivings;
swaying now to one side, now to another, and abusing in turn both the
party of peace and the advocates of war. “The Queen has been scolding
the Lord Treasurer greatly for the last few days, for having neglected
to disburse money for the fleet,” wrote a Spanish spy in November; and a
few days afterwards, when she was alarmed at the delay in Parma’s reply,
she flew into a tremendous rage with Burghley, “upon whom she heaped a
thousand insults,” for having induced her to negotiate for peace whilst
the enemy completed his preparations. “She told the Treasurer he was old
and doting; to which he replied that he knew he was old, and would gladly
retire to a church to pray for her.” But the old minister gave the Queen
as good as she brought, and in vigorous words pointed out in detail that
her present dangers arose entirely from her neglect of his advice and the
imprudence of his opponents in the Council.[549] But the next day came
Parma’s answer, and the Queen was all smiles again towards Burghley and
the peacemakers.