ENTERTAINING A QUEEN
Many a monarch has liked to wander about his domains in disguise and
hear what his subjects had to say about him when they did not suspect
that he was near. Elizabeth thoroughly enjoyed journeying about her
kingdom, but she did not wish to be disguised, she preferred that
everyone should know where she was and should be able to sing her
praises in such wise that she need not lose the pleasure of hearing
them. These journeys of hers were called progresses, and while on a
progress she was always entertained by some wealthy subject.
Whenever there was a rumor that the queen meant to leave town, every
nobleman who owned a beautiful country seat would tremble, for
while a royal visit was an honor, it was also a vast expense and
responsibility. The queen would set out with a great retinue, but for
what place no one was told until a few days before the journey began.
If there was the least reason to think that she would go to a certain
district, the noblemen of that district hastened to engage provisions
of all sorts. The luckless favorite was at last told that the great
honor of entertaining his sovereign was to be bestowed upon him. He
had to appear exceedingly grateful and to make humble speeches of
thankfulness, even though he was wondering between the words where he
could buy meat and fish and fruit and other food for a great company.
As soon as the queen's messengers were out of sight, then was there
a hurrying and a scurrying. In one case many of the nobles in a
certain district were so afraid of being victims that they engaged
all the provisions in the vicinity, and the unfortunate man who was
first chosen had to send post-haste to Flanders to buy food for his
unwelcome guests. One man provided for a royal visit of three days
wheat, rye, oats, butter, partridges, trout, lobsters, beer, ale, wine,
sugarloaves, turkeys, pheasants, salmon, deer, sheep, oysters, plums,
preserved lemons, sweetmeats, cinnamon water, beef, ling, sturgeons,
pigeons, etc. These eatables had to be obtained in large quantities;
for instance, this three-days' host bought fifty-two dozen chickens for
one item, and twenty bushels of salt for another.
Nor was this all. Damask, knives, and pewter dishes must be hired;
carpenters and bricklayers must be engaged to make all sorts of changes
in the house and grounds that might suit the whim of a queen who did
not hesitate to express her opinions if she was displeased. Moreover,
when this queen was entertained, she expected to find entertainment;
dancers must be hired, and perhaps a whole company of actors must be
engaged to present a play for her pleasure.
It is not at all wonderful that even the richest of Elizabeth's
subjects dreaded a visit from their queen. The archbishop of Canterbury
wrote a most pitiful letter about the difficulty of finding bedrooms
for so great a party. He explained what he had planned, and ended,
"Here is as much as I am able to do in this house." One man who had
been notified that the queen would soon honor his castle wrote to
Cecil, "I trust you will provide that her Majesty's stay be not above
two nights and a day," and he added anxiously, "I pray God that the
room and lodgings may be to her content."
This man, like the rest of Elizabeth's hosts, was not anxious without
good reason, for the queen often manifested but slight gratitude for
the efforts of her entertainers, while she seldom hesitated to express
her disapproval if anything occurred that did not please her. At one
house she discovered by chance an image of the Virgin Mary, and within
a fortnight her host was in prison on the charge of being a Catholic.
To another house she made an unexpected visit when the owner was away
from home. The unfortunate lord had a fine deer park in which he took
great pride, but on his return he found that large numbers of the deer
had been slaughtered to amuse the queen and her retinue. He was so
indignant that he "disparked" the ground. It seems that it was not safe
for a man to do what he would with his own, for not many weeks later a
friend of his at court wrote to him:--
"Her Majesty has been informed that you were not pleased at the good
sport she had in your park. Have a wary watch over your words and
deeds. It was Leicester who brought her to your castle. He has taken no
small liking to it, and it might easily be that he would claim to have
good title to the same."
The most brilliant of Elizabeth's entertainments was given her by
Robert Dudley at Kenilworth Castle not long after he became Lord
Leicester. For nineteen days he was her host, but he could well afford
to make the outlay, for the queen's recent gifts to him were valued
at £50,000, an amount that was worth as much then as a million and a
quarter dollars to-day.
On this visit Elizabeth was received at a neighboring town and was
feasted in a great tent. Then after a day's hunting she and her train
arrived at the fine old castle with its manor lands of hill and dale,
forest and pasture. It was already eight in the evening, but there were
all sorts of sights for her to see before she entered the castle. First
came forth ten sibyls in white silk, gleaming in the soft twilight.
One of them made a speech of welcome, and the company passed into
the tilt-yard. There stood a tall porter, big of limb and stern of
countenance. He brandished a heavy club as he strutted to and fro,
apparently talking to himself. He did not know, he declared, what all
this chattering, riding, and trudging up and down was for, but he did
not like it, and there was no one great enough to deserve it. Suddenly
he saw the queen, and was so overcome by her beauty--so he said in
his speech--that he could only fall down on his knees before her and
beg her pardon. He gave her his keys and called his six trumpeters to
announce the arrival of so wondrous a being.
On two sides of the castle there was a beautiful pool, and as the queen
stepped upon the bridge that crossed an arm of the mere, a sudden light
gleamed far out on the lake, and over the quiet water came a little
floating island, all ablaze with torches. On the island was the fair
Lady of the Lake, and with her were two attendant nymphs. The Lady
recited a pretty poem to the purport that ever since King Arthur's days
she had been hidden, not daring to come forth, but now a royal guest
had come for whom she could feel as deep a love as for Arthur himself.
She ended:--
"Pass on, madame, you need no longer stand,
The lake, the lodge, the lord are yours for to command."
With all her quickness of wit, Elizabeth could think of no better reply
than, "We had thought the lake had been ours; and do you call it yours
now? Well, we will herein commune more with you hereafter." Then came a
great flourish of shawms, cornets, and other musical instruments, and
the queen passed on. She was as eager as a child to see what was to be
the next sight, for nothing gave her more pleasure than these displays.
Everyone was interested in mythology in those days, and no
entertainment was regarded as complete without some reference to the
gods and goddesses; cooks often represented in their pastry scenes
from the stories of the early deities. Elizabeth's way now led over a
bridge that crossed the lower court and extended to the entrance of the
castle. On either hand were seven pairs of wooden pillars, each pair
loaded with the gift of some god. On the first pair were the tokens
of Sylvanus, god of the woodfowl; these were great cages containing
various kinds of birds, alive and fluttering in the glare of the
torches. Then came Pomona's treasures, two large silver bowls full of
the fairest apples, pears, cherries and nuts. White and red grapes
represented the welcome of Bacchus, while on the fifth pair of pillars
were the gifts of Neptune, herring, oysters, and mullets, for the god
of the sea as well as the deities of the woods and the fields had
been summoned to give greeting to Elizabeth. Mars was not forgotten;
well polished bows and arrows, gleaming swords and spears shone in
the flaring lights. The last pillars bore the offering of Apollo, the
cornet, flute, and harp, the lute, viol, and shawm.
At the end of this bridge was an arch whereon was written a lengthy
welcome in Latin. The letters were white, but wherever the queen's
name appeared, it shone out in yellow gold. Leicester had no idea of
trusting the flickering light of torches to reveal all these elaborate
preparations for the queen's reception, and beside the arch stood a
poet with a wreath of bays on his head. His part was to explain to
her what each offering signified and to read the inscription over the
gateway. It is to be hoped that the lights shone upon him well and
clearly, for he was attired in all the splendor of a long robe of blue
silk with sleeves flowing widely to reveal glimpses of his gorgeous
crimson doublet.
As the queen alighted from her horse and entered the castle, every
clock in the building was stopped, perhaps to suggest that she would
never grow old, that even time had no power over her. She was escorted
to her rooms, and then came the welcome of Jupiter, king of the gods.
This was peal after peal of the guns of the castle and a display of
fireworks. For two long hours this greeting of Jupiter's blazed and
roared, but it was none too long to please the woman for whom it had
been planned.
The next day was Sunday, and the queen went to church, but in the
afternoon came music and dancing, and at night more fireworks, stars
and streams and hail of fire and burning darts flashing through the
darkness. This was only the beginning of the festivities. The next
afternoon there was a hunt, and many a deer was slain to amuse the
royal guest. A "savage man," covered with moss and ivy, came out of
the forest as she was riding back to the castle and made her a long
speech, declaring that never before had he seen so glorious a sight. He
called nymphs and fauns and dryads and satyrs to his aid, but no one
could tell the meaning of the vision. At last he held a conversation
with Echo, and learned how mighty a queen was before him. Then he made
another speech about her wondrous beauty, her grace and manner, and
the rare qualities of her mind. Finally, to show his submission, he
broke his stick into pieces. Unfortunately, this action startled the
queen's horse. There was confusion for a moment, and all flocked around
in utter dismay lest some harm had befallen her. "No hurt, no hurt,"
said Elizabeth graciously, and the officer who wrote the account of the
visit says, "These words were the best part of the play."
There was a mock fight; some Italians gave an exhibition of "leaps,
springs, and windings," and so agile were they that the chronicler says
it could hardly be distinguished whether they were "man or spirit."
There was a bridal procession of a rustic couple who were delighted to
have the opportunity to appear before the queen. The groom was "lame
of a leg broken in his youth at football," but he made up for the loss
by wearing a mighty pair of harvest gloves to show that he was a good
husbandman, while on his back was slung a pen and inkhorn to indicate
that he was "bookish." On his head was a straw hat with a crown made
steeple-shape. He and his bride were escorted by the young folk of the
parish, each man wearing a bit of green broom fastened to his left arm,
and carrying an alder pole in his right hand by way of spear. One wore
a hat, another a cap; one rejoiced in a coat or a jerkin, while another
had only doublet and hose; one had boots without spurs, and another
had spurs without boots, while a third had neither; but it was a merry
time, for were they not all come to display themselves before the
glorious queen?
So the days went on. There was another scene on the lake when a
dolphin, eighty feet long, came swimming up to meet Elizabeth. On his
back was the god Arion, who had come from regions far away that he
might sing to her, and within the machine were six players with their
instruments. There was a show of bear-baiting, wherein thirteen bears
tied to stakes, were attacked by a company of dogs trained for the
purpose. To see them clawing and tumbling and growling and scratching
and biting, to note the bears' watchfulness for their enemies and
the dogs' keenness in getting the better of the bears, was what
the letter-writing official called "a very pleasant sport." This
seems to have been the general opinion of the cruel amusement, for a
bear-baiting was often arranged as a treat for the entertainment of
foreign ambassadors and other national guests of rank and dignity.
The day's pastime was often closed by thundering peals of guns and by
fireworks that would "mount in the air and burn in the water." Often
the whole castle was illuminated by candle, fire, and torchlight, as
if the god of the sun himself--so said one who was there--was resting
in its chambers instead of taking his nightly course to the antipodes.
There was surely no lack of amusements, and indeed several spectacles
had been planned for which there was no time. One man who was to
represent a minstrel of the olden days was sorely grieved because he
could not have the honor of singing before the queen. He found what
comfort he might, however, in showing his skill to a company of the
courtiers. One of them described his appearance, and a reader cannot
help feeling sorry that Queen Elizabeth lost the sight. The "ancient
minstrel" wore a long, flowing robe of green, gathered at the throat
and fastened with a clasp. The wide sleeves were slit from shoulder
to hand, and under them was a closely fitting undersleeve of white
cotton. He wore a black worsted doublet, confined at the waist by a
wide red girdle. His shoes were "not new indeed, but shining," though
perhaps not quite so brilliantly as was his hair, for that had been
smoothed with a sponge "dipped in a little bear's grease" till it
gleamed like a duck's wing. He wore a shirt whose bosom was ruffled,
and starched "after the new trink," till every ruffle stood up stiff
and "glittering." A handkerchief was thrust into his bosom, but enough
of it was displayed to show that it was edged with bright blue lace and
marked with a heart. Around his neck was a broad red ribbon which held
his harp, while on a green lacing hung the tuning key. It was really a
pity that the queen lost all this display.
The chief reason for Elizabeth's pleasure in these progresses was
probably her delight in all pageants and thorough enjoyment of her
popularity among the people. At such times she was nearer to them than
at any others. The humblest servant in the castle where she was making
her stay, the simplest peasant of the countryside, had as free access
to her Majesty as the greatest of her nobles. Anyone might bring her a
petition, anyone might offer her a gift; and no matter of how slight
value the present might be, its donor was never disappointed in the
gracious thanks that he hoped to receive from his sovereign. Often
sufferers from scrofula were brought before her with the prayer that
she would but lay her hand upon them, for England had believed for six
hundred years that the touch of the royal hand would cure this disease.
It was said that on Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth she healed nine.
This was only one of the many superstitions of the Elizabethan times.
A bit of the wood of which the gallows was made would cure the ague;
wearing a topaz stone would bring an insane man to his right mind; a
verse of the Bible written on parchment and worn about the neck would
drive away evil spirits; to carry fern-seed in the pocket would enable
a man to "go invisible." Powdered diamonds would heal one disease;
wiping the face with a red cloth another; while pills made of the
powdered skull of a man that had been hanged were a sure remedy for
a third. Not only the ignorant but most of the most learned men of
the day believed firmly in astrology, and the home of the queen's
astrologer, Dr. Dee, was often crowded with nobles who were eager to
know the fates foretold to them by the heavens. There was so firm a
belief in witchcraft that one of the queen's bishops preached before
her on the subject, telling her what sufferings her subjects were
enduring from witches. "They pine away even unto the death," said he,
and he begged her Majesty to make a law providing for the punishment
of sorcerers. This was done, or rather, an old law was revived. When
Elizabeth had a toothache, many of her advisers declared that the pain
had been produced by magic, and it was suggested that the treatment of
waxen images of the queen at the hands of some who were ill-disposed
toward her was the reason for her sufferings. The royal physicians
could not agree upon the cause of the trouble or upon a remedy, and the
matter was ended by the council of state taking charge of the affair
and ordering a prescription from a foreign physician.
At the time of Queen Elizabeth's progress to Kenilworth, a banquet was
arranged for her. One of her courtiers says that it was neither well
served nor nicely set down, that it was "disorderly wasted and coarsely
consumed," that it was carried on "more curtly than courteously;" but
he adds, "If it might please and be liked and do that it came for, then
was all well enough."
[Illustration: Kenilworth in Elizabeth's time.--_From an old print._]
The Elizabethan life was a strange mingling of magnificence and
discomfort. There were most palatial mansions with noble towers
and gateways and terraces, with lawns and gardens and fountains
and parks and wide-spreading acres of hill and dale, of field and
forest, but according to modern ideas there was little comfort in all
this splendor. The only way to warm these lordly castles was by an
occasional fireplace, and the rooms were full of drafts that even the
heavy tapestry hung on the walls would not prevent. Cleanliness was
almost unknown. Floors were strewn with rushes, and when a room was to
be put in order, fresh rushes were brought in, but no one thought it
at all necessary to carry away the old ones. A room was almost never
swept unless space was needed for dancing; then a circle in the middle
was cleared of rushes, dirt, dust, crumbs and bones from the dining
table and all sorts of rubbish that had accumulated since the time of
the last merrymaking. One letter-writer of the day declared that the
rushes on floors not needed for dancing were sometimes left for twenty
years without being swept away. Whoever could afford it owned several
country houses, and when one became absolutely unendurable, even
according to sixteenth century notions, he would move to another to let
the first house "sweeten," as was said.
The list of different kinds of food purchased for the queen's progress
gives an idea of what the rich folk ate, that is, what they ate in
the summer. In the winter they had little besides salt meat, various
kinds of bread, and the most remarkable pies that one ever heard of.
They were made of everything from artichokes to herring. One pastry
is described as made of fish and flavored with pepper, ginger, and
cloves. The artichoke pies were made of a combination of artichokes,
marrow, ginger, raisins and dates. Few vegetables were used. Potatoes
had been brought from America, but they were regarded as a luxury.
They were roasted in the embers or else boiled and eaten with pepper,
oil, and vinegar. There was neither tea nor coffee; beer or wine was
drunk at every meal. People ate with knives and fingers, for forks
did not appear until near the end of Elizabeth's life. One that was
richly jeweled was presented to her and was kept in a glass case as a
curiosity.
The homes of the poor were indeed bare and comfortless. The floors were
of clay or beaten earth. A clumsy table, some wooden stools, a wooden
trencher to hold the food, a pile of straw to sleep on, salt fish and
rye or barley bread--these were all the comforts that a poor man could
expect to have in his home. The house itself was built of boughs of
trees interwoven with willow twigs and daubed with clay. The fire was
made against a rock set into one of the walls, and the smoke found
its way out as best it could. Before the reign of Elizabeth was over,
chimneys had become more common, and many men whose fathers had lived
in huts of mud and had eaten from wooden trenchers were building for
themselves houses of oak with the comfort of a chimney and perhaps the
elegance of a pewter porringer or two among their wooden dishes. At
best the luxuries were not very luxurious, but a writer of the time
lamented that men were no longer as brave and strong as they used to
be, and thought their weakness was due to these dainty and enfeebling
fashions.