CHAPTER VII

1570-1578

Desperation of Alba—Fresh Catholic conspiracies—De Spes’s

complicity—Alba and the Ridolfi plot—Discovery—The

revenge of John Hawkins—De Spes outwitted—His expulsion

from England—Guaras appointed Spanish Agent—Reopening of

trade—Guaras’ intrigues with Mary Stuart and Don Juan of

Austria—The plot discovered—Imprisonment of Guaras—Fall of Don

Juan—Bernardino de Mendoza appointed ambassador in England

Alba was driven well nigh to desperation by the contemptuous treatment

extended to Ciappino in England and the evident determination of

Elizabeth to hold her ground with regard to the property she had seized.

Something must be done, and that quickly, he wrote to the King. If they

exclude our ships from English ports, even for shelter, intercourse by

sea between Spain and Flanders must cease, and we shall be absolutely

obliged to commence hostilities. “Your Majesty’s present urgent needs are

better known to you than to any one, and here the pressure is very great.

The past wars, the emigration of the people, the stoppage of trade, and

the general want of confidence here, all convince me that a rupture with

England at present would be most inopportune; but if the English force it

upon us, we cannot avoid it;” and the grim Duke, who had drowned Flanders

in blood, had tamely to propose to his master, as the only way now open

to them, that Elizabeth should be more mildly treated than ever, in the

hope that at least she would allow Spanish ships to shelter in her ports,

whilst the plundered Flemish merchants were allowed to go over to England

unofficially and make the best terms they individually could to rescue

their property.

Nor was Philip much more stout-hearted than his general. Whilst the

northern nobles were yet in arms in Yorkshire, he wrote to Alba thus:

“English affairs are going on in a way that may make it necessary, after

all, to bring that Queen to do by force what she refuses to reason. Her

duty is so plain that doubtless God causes her to ignore it, in order

that by these means His holy religion may be restored in England and

the Catholics and good Christians rescued from the thraldom in which

they live. In case her obstinacy and hardness of heart should continue,

therefore, you will consider the best direction to be given to our

action. We here think that the best course will be to encourage with

money and secret favour the Catholics of the North, and to help those

in Ireland to take up arms against the heretics, to deliver the crown

to the Queen of Scots to whom it belongs by succession.... This is only

mentioned at present that you may know what is passing in our minds

here [_i.e._, in Spain], and that with your great prudence and a full

consideration of affairs in general, you may ponder what is best to be

done. What you say is very true; we are beginning to lose prestige by

delaying so long to provide a remedy for the great grievance done by this

woman to us.”[188]

Mary Stuart, closely watched and in prison, alone never lost heart or

courage. Norfolk’s weak poltroonery, the disastrous collapse of the

northern lords, the slow hesitancy of Philip, were all met by her with

confident predictions of coming success, if only the King of Spain would

take her cause in hand. Letter after letter went from her and from the

restless Bishop of Ross in her name to Philip and Alba. “The Queen is

in good heart,” the Bishop of Ross assured de Spes, “and the principal

Catholics of this country have sent me word not to desist from the first

intention, for that, as soon as they learn that they will have foreign

help, and arrangements are made for it to reach them, they will rise and

stand out until this country is Catholic and the succession assured to

Queen Mary.” This was soon after the flight of the northern lords (18th

January, 1570), and at the same time a warm love correspondence was

passing between Mary and Norfolk, she with honeyed words, and at serious

risk to herself, urging him not to abandon the great plan that was to

make them both free and great,[189] though he was still a prisoner in the

Tower.

Meanwhile the dangerous attempt at a Catholic rebellion in England and

the known confidence of the Queen of Scots had drawn the Protestants

of Europe together: a close union existed between Elizabeth and the

Lutheran Princes of Germany, whilst Hans Casimir and other mercenary

leaders were raising troops subsidised by England and the Huguenots

to renew the religious war in France. The privateers in the Channel

were more aggressive than ever, and Cardinal Chatillon still flaunted

his unecclesiastical equipment at the English Court. Hardly a letter

was written by de Spes at the time (1570) that does not contain some

suggestion for striking at Elizabeth’s power. The Queen of Scots might

be captured by a _coup de main_ and carried off to Spain, as she herself

suggested; the Bishop of Ross assures him that a few Spanish troops

landed in Scotland might easily overturn the new Regent Lennox;[190] a

small force sent to aid the Irish rebels would enable them to expel the

English; “and it looks as if the enterprise might be effected in both

islands at the same time, for in Ireland most of the nation will rise

as soon as they see your Majesty’s flag on the coast, and no resistance

would be made except in Dublin and the fortresses.”

To all these suggestions of his intemperate ambassador Philip had still

no answer but to enjoin prudence and secrecy. Information, pledges,

assurances without end were requested, whilst Philip pondered and

considered. Everything was referred to the Duke of Alba for decision, and

Alba would not move without specific orders; whilst in this deadlock the

Spanish commerce was swept from the seas and the legendary power of the

Catholic King was made a mock and derision of the heretics. Once Philip’s

hands were nearly forced by the impatience of Mary’s friends. The more

extreme school of English and Scottish Catholics had been urging for

some time that a Papal Bull of Deprivation against Elizabeth should be

obtained, in order that Mary’s immediate claim to the Crown of England

might be regularised. Philip had gently put aside all such requests or

left them unanswered. He was not yet ready for Elizabeth’s forcible

deposition; for, as we have seen, his cumbrous methods forbade prompt

action, and he had no intention of ousting Elizabeth until he had made

himself quite certain that he, and he alone, would be master of England

under her successor. But the action of the Scottish and Guisan Catholics

in Rome, greatly to Philip’s annoyance, procured the Bull from the Pope

over Philip’s head; and de Spes’s chaplain, Father Berga, doubtless with

the full connivance of the ambassador, who was apparently incapable of

understanding high politics, persuaded John Felton to court martyrdom by

fixing the Pope’s Bull on the Bishop of London’s door on Corpus Christi

Day late in May, 1570. De Spes, in the innocence of his heart, wrote

off in jubilant strain to Philip, recording the event and foretelling

all sorts of great consequences from it. But the King had nothing but

condemnation and annoyance that his plans should thus be interfered with

by the meddling of priests, and de Spes had to read some very plain talk

from his master, whilst the share of his fugitive chaplain in the outrage

still further brought the ambassador and his master into the black books

of Elizabeth.

The bold action of Felton, however, frightened the Government into a

milder attitude towards the moderate English Catholics, and the mustering

of a strong fleet in Spanish Flanders, for the purpose of conveying

to Spain Philip’s fourth wife, Anna of Austria, heightened the alarm.

Elizabeth was so much perturbed that she kept her room for days together,

bewailing the vengeance that she thought at last was about to fall upon

her for all her provocations of her brother-in-law. Cecil (now Lord

Burghley) appears to have been the great object of his mistress’s wrath.

To him, she cried, alone was due the trouble in which she found herself.

Here, thanks to Cecil’s policy, she said, was a great army and fleet

ready to attack her in the Channel, and Philip was causing another force

to be mustered in Spain under the traitor Stukeley to invade Ireland.

But this was only a momentary weakness, which even steadfast Burghley

himself shared to the extremity of preparing for timely flight with

such portable property as he could gather.[191] The unwonted fit of

despair did not last long. English forces were got together rapidly, the

English conservative and moderate Catholics were conciliated, and the

Duke of Norfolk was released from the Tower to only nominal arrest in

his own house; for if the conservative nobles of his party considered

themselves absolved by the Pope’s Bull from their oath of allegiance to

the Queen, then, indeed, might Elizabeth tremble. This was on the 4th

August, and, on the 23rd June previous, the Duke of Norfolk had made

in writing the most abject submission to the Queen, pledging himself

“freely, voluntarily, and absolutely, by my allegiance to your Majesty,

my Sovereign Lady, never to offend your Highness, but do utterly renounce

and revoke all that which on my part any wise hath passed, with a full

intention never to deal in that cause of marriage with the Queen of

Scots, nor in any other cause belonging to her.”[192] Even Mary herself

was now smiled upon by Elizabeth, and negotiations for a reconciliation

were opened with her; for the Spanish fleet was still in English waters,

and a peace between the warring parties had been patched up in France.

With these numerous signs of yielding on the part of the Protestants, it

is not surprising that the Spanish partisans should pluck up courage. De

Spes, raging with wounded pride at the indignities continually heaped

upon him,[193] all of which, Philip told him, he must bear patiently,

never ceased to plot with the Bishop of Ross and Mary Stuart. On the 2nd

September he wrote to Philip details of another dangerous conspiracy

that had been broached to him by Mary through the Bishop of Ross. The

Catholics, he said, feeling themselves now absolved from their allegiance

to Elizabeth by the Pope’s Bull, were willing to rise. The sons of

the Earl of Derby and the gentry of Lancashire were ready to release

Mary—one of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s sons having also been brought into

the plan, which would make it easy, as Mary was in Shrewsbury’s keeping.

This combination looked askance at Norfolk as a doubtful Catholic and

a backslider, though it was joined by his kinsmen Arundel and Lumley,

as well as by the thoroughgoing Catholics, Southampton, Worcester, and

Montagu (Sir Anthony Browne). The plan now advanced was for a Spanish

fleet to go to the Stanley country, the Isle of Man, or the Lancashire

coast, and carry Mary Stuart thence to safety. The scheme, however, was

thrown away by the kidnapping and forcible abduction to England of Dr.

Story, the English Catholic Agent in Antwerp, who upon the rack had

torn from him all he knew, which was not much, of the communications on

the subject that had passed between Mary Stuart’s friends and the Duke

of Alba. The ostentatious but insincere negotiations going on between

Elizabeth and the Queen of Scots, and the redoubled vigilance of Cecil’s

Government, completed the impracticability of this scheme, and then once

more Norfolk took the lead.

On the 15th October de Spes wrote to the King that approaches were being

made by the French to marry the young Duke of Anjou to Mary, this, of

course, being one of Catharine’s tricks to frustrate the Spanish attempts

to dominate Britain through the Queen of Scots. “It may be,” says de

Spes, “that the Queen [Mary] will consent, but it will not please the

majority of the English people, and it certainly does not please me. The

Catholics are not very much in favour of the marriage with the Duke of

Norfolk, as they are uncertain about his orthodoxy, although Arundel and

Lumley assert that he will be obedient to the Church. His desire to reign

may well lead him from bad paths to good ones. The Duke [of Norfolk]

himself has been very cool about this marriage, but he now seems to wish

to renew the project, particularly as he expects shortly to be quite at

liberty, in accordance with the Queen’s promise to him. If your Majesty’s

wishes are to be represented ... the Bishop of Ross will be a good

negotiator, and I could conduct the matter with him or with Ridolfi, who

has been in communication with them; and if it should be necessary for

the Duke of Norfolk to bind himself separately to other conditions, steps

may be taken at once in the matter. Pray your Majesty send me orders, for

it is certain that the release and marriage of the Queen of Scots carries

with it the tranquillisation of Flanders and the restoration of religion

in this country.”

Philip, in answer to this and many similar hints, had nothing but vague

expressions of sympathy to send in reply, with fresh orders to his

ambassador to follow strictly the instructions of the Duke of Alba. For

months, until the Spanish fleet had passed harmlessly down Channel, the

hollow negotiations between Elizabeth and Mary went on, and a similar

pretence of conferences with regard to the reopening of trade with the

Duke of Alba, whilst Elizabeth checkmated the French advances to Mary

Stuart by herself suddenly displaying a desire to marry the boy Duke of

Anjou. “They think,” wrote de Spes early in February, 1571, “that with

this talk about the marriage of the Queen [Elizabeth] with the Duke

of Anjou we shall be afraid to offend them, and the pirates are more

welcomed than ever, whilst the Queen of Scot’s business is being delayed.

It is true that so far as the Catholics are concerned matters were never

more favourable than now. I did not dare to accept their offers, in the

face of the Duke of Alba’s instructions; but whenever his Majesty wishes,

a great service can be done to God, and at the same time the safety of

the Netherlands secured and the throne of Spain aggrandised. The position

of the King’s ambassador here does not add much to his dignity.... I

have suffered more than can be imagined.”[194] De Spes had his personal

grudge as well as his Catholic zeal now to spur him on to vengeance. The

irresponsiveness of his master and of Alba to the repeated suggestions

that armed aid should be sent to the English Catholics suggested for the

first time a viler method by which Elizabeth, the main obstacle to the

Anglo-Spanish alliance, might be removed. The above letter is different

from any that had preceded it, and was written privately, not to the

King, as usual, but to his Secretary, Zayas. A “great service might be

done to God whenever his Majesty wished.” It was no longer dependent,

apparently, upon the ability of Philip to send large armed forces, though

they might be needed later to hold the conquest.

We will see from other sources what this new feature in the plan was. Two

days after de Spes wrote the above letter, on the 8th February, 1571,

Mary, who had learnt that the ambassador could do nothing, as he says,

but refer the conspirators to the Duke of Alba, wrote as follows to the

Bishop of Ross.[195] After saying that she would, as soon as she was

released, go to Spain and throw herself entirely upon the protection of

Philip, she proceeds: “I would advise to send some faithful man towards

the King of Spain whom he might trust, to make him understand the state

of my realm, and also of the friends I have here, their deliberations

and the means they may have to set themselves to the fields and saist

[_i.e._, obtain possession] them of me, if the said King of Spain will

embrace and sustain my cause and theirs. I think Ridolfi may best acquit

himself of this charge securely ... under colour of his own traffic.”

She continues by saying that Philip’s fears of Norfolk’s orthodoxy must

be banished. “I see no other means but to assure them of the Duke, for

that is the knot of the matter. My whole hope is in the Catholics of this

realm.” When the Bishop of Ross transmitted this proposal to Norfolk the

latter at once acquiesced in the despatch of Ridolfi to Flanders, Spain,

and Rome,[196] for the purpose of demanding aid to seize and depose

Elizabeth; and on the 10th March de Spes wrote to the King, “The Queen

of Scotland, the Duke of Norfolk, and the Catholic leaders have wisely

resolved to send a gentleman to your Majesty, who will see the Duke of

Alba first, but without the knowledge of the French. I have, after much

difficulty, obtained a copy of his instructions, and send them herewith.”

On the 25th March Ridolfi was ready to start, and de Spes wrote to

Philip: “The Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk, in the names of

many other lords and gentlemen attached to your Majesty’s interests,

and the promotion of the Catholic faith, are sending Rodolfo Ridolfi,

a Florentine gentleman, to offer their services to your Majesty, and

to represent to you that the time is now ripe to take a step of great

benefit to Christendom, as Ridolfi will set forth to your Majesty. The

letter of credence from the Duke [of Norfolk] is written in the cipher

that I sent Zayas, in case the letter is intercepted ...;” whilst to

Secretary Zayas, de Spes wrote at the same time: “The bearer is Rodolfo

Ridolfi, whom the Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk are sending to

his Majesty.... It is necessary that he should have audience of his

Majesty with the utmost secrecy, as you will be able to arrange, on so

important a matter as this.”[197] Almost simultaneously Henry Cobham was

sent to Spain by Elizabeth in order ostensibly to negotiate direct about

the seizures, but really to ascertain how far Philip was helping the

Irish rebels, and de Spes does not conceal his glee that “these thieves

and pirates” will find, “though they send ambassadors and play their old

tricks,” and he (de Spes) “is still mixing his words with honey,” “all

this will not hinder what his Majesty will decide to do.”[198]

Ridolfi arrived in Brussels at the beginning of April, and his mission

was discussed exhaustively by Alba and his Council. The long report which

Alba thereupon sent to Philip is a State paper of the highest interest,

because it not only sets forth fully the whole position, but for the

first time formulates clearly the plan of murdering Elizabeth as a

political measure. We have traced in previous pages how the provocation

had grown, how the powerlessness of the Spaniards to vindicate their

prestige and their interests had embittered them. In all the previous

suggestions for the substitution of Mary Stuart for Elizabeth on the

English throne, it is true that there could have been little doubt as

to what would have been the fate of the deposed Queen at the hands of

the victors; but in Alba’s minute to Philip the killing of Elizabeth

as a preliminary measure is recommended as a condition of Spanish

support. Alba sets forth with great prolixity the pros and cons of the

position, the saintly character of the objects, the liberation of the

captive Mary, and the restoration of the faith in England. Norfolk, he

says, will undertake to rise and hold his own country for forty days

after liberating the Queen of Scots if Philip will promise before the

expiration of that time to send him 6,000 arquebusiers. He has means, he

says, to seize the Tower of London and secure the person of Elizabeth,

and he and Mary will look alone to the King of Spain for guidance. Alba,

as usual, is full of doubts, limitations, and misgivings. Suppose after

the Spanish aid had been sent the enterprise were to fail! Not only

would the Queen of Scots and Norfolk lose their heads, but the Catholic

religion would be utterly crushed thenceforward in England, and Elizabeth

would throw herself entirely into the hands of France. Ridolfi, too,

seemed to Alba rather a talkative person for such a mission. He had to

pass through France: what if he opened his mouth too wide there, or in

Rome? Besides, the Pope himself was rather too fond of consulting French

Cardinals....

[Illustration: FERNANDO ALVAREZ DE TOLEDO, THIRD DUKE OF ALBA]

And so on, and so forth, until at last Alba gives to Philip his final

recommendation. Ridolfi was to be warned that the French must have

nothing whatever to do with the affair, and he was to be sent on his

way to Rome and Madrid. The King is recommended to embark the 6,000

men required for England in the fleet being prepared in Spain to bring

out the new Governor of Flanders, Medina Celi; but that on no account

should the aid be sent to England on the conditions proposed by Norfolk

and Mary, for fear of failure. “But in case that the Queen of England

should first have died, _either of natural death or otherwise_, or the

confederates had seized and secured her person without your Majesty

having had anything to do with it, then I should find no objection

whatever to it, for the affair would be quite on another footing.”

“Everything,” added Alba, “should be prepared secretly in Flanders,

but no move should be made until Elizabeth was dead, _naturally or

otherwise_. As soon as _that_ happened your Majesty ought not to miss

such a fine opportunity to attain the end desired—the restoration of our

holy Catholic faith and the future tranquillity of your dominions.”[199]

Whilst Ridolfi, duly warned to be secret, went on his way to Rome, where

the Pope heartily blessed his mission, and thence to Madrid, where

he arrived in the last days of June, evil fell upon the project in

England. The Flemish Secretary of the Bishop of Ross, Charles Bailly,

had accompanied Ridolfi to Flanders, in order to bring back news of the

reception of Norfolk’s proposals by Alba. The latter had, of course,

not gone beyond general approval in his intercourse with Ridolfi, the

murder condition being reserved for Philip’s own consideration; but he

had said enough to prove conclusively that he regarded with sympathy,

and hoped to aid, a project intended to depose Elizabeth in favour of

Mary and Norfolk. Bailly wrote letters in cipher at Ridolfi’s dictation,

giving Alba’s provisional answers to the Bishop of Ross and two other

correspondents identified by numbers only. Bailly, who had been closely

watched by Cecil’s spies in Flanders, carried the letters to England

himself, and on the 15th April de Spes reports to the King that this man

had been stopped at Dover and his packets taken from him. The letters

he bore were in cipher, which of itself was suspicious; but in addition

to this, every movement of Ridolfi in Brussels was known to Elizabeth’s

Government, and the Secretary’s coming had been looked for. The packet of

letters was given into the custody of Lord Cobham, the Governor of Dover

Castle, until the Council in London should send instructions, whilst the

unhappy youth, Bailly, was sent to the Marshalsea in Southwark pending

inquiries.

The Cobhams belonged to the party of conservative nobles, ready to turn

against Elizabeth the moment she was in danger, and by a trick of one of

the younger brothers, Thomas—they were notoriously a turbulent lot—the

precious packet of letters was spirited away to the Spanish ambassador in

London and a dummy packet substituted for it. When this was opened with

great anticipation before the Queen’s Council in London, to their dismay

they found nothing but a confused jumble written in the same cipher. But

they were not to be baulked. At least they had Charles Bailly safe under

lock and bars, and the rack might induce him to talk. He began by making

a grave mistake, writing letters—of course intercepted—to the Bishop

of Ross that, now that the real letters had reached their destination

without being deciphered, they had nothing to fear; that though they

tore him to pieces on the rack he would confess nothing; and he begged

the Bishop to tell him what answers he should give to his examiners.

The Bishop, claiming ecclesiastical and diplomatic immunity, was just

as imprudent as his secretary, urging him to stand firm and defy the

English and gain the lasting gratitude of Mary. The poor wretch knew

little of the details of Ridolfi’s mission, but he had written the cipher

letters he bore; and gradually the agony of torture wrung from him all

he knew.[200] Every day he sent fresh appealing letters to the Bishop of

Ross, with the only result at length of lodging the Bishop himself in the

Tower, threatened with the rack, notwithstanding his mitre and diplomatic

position. Bailly deposed that Alba had received Ridolfi favourably, and

had sent him on to Rome and Madrid to demand armed help in England for

the two persons whose identity had been concealed by numbers.

For some time the authorities could get no further than this. Of course

they knew that the two persons unnamed were Mary and Norfolk, but they

needed legal proof, and gradually Cecil’s net was widened and swept into

gaol one after the other of the confidants and tools of the plotters.

In August a false follower of Norfolk brought to the Council a bag of

£600 with a cipher letter that had been entrusted to him by Norfolk’s

secretary to forward to Lord Herries, the leader of Mary’s Catholic

friends in Scotland. Curiously enough this sum of money had been received

from the French ambassador, so it is clear that Mary and Norfolk were

playing false and doing what Alba dreaded most, namely, bringing the

French into the business. But this fact made matters no better from

the point of view of the English Council, and suddenly the Duke of

Norfolk, the first noble in England, found himself in prison with all

his confidential servants. The torture did its fell work promptly, and

the secrets of the underlings were drawn from them, implicating the Duke

beyond redemption. The Bishop of Ross, seeing his most secret papers

deciphered, became almost loquacious in his fright, and went out of his

way to vituperate his unhappy mistress.

Norfolk collapsed as abjectly as before. He had hoped at first, he said,

to wed Mary by Elizabeth’s permission. He was sorry and repentant for

having acted so falsely after he had promised not to do so, and would

never do it again. He had not really been a Catholic, he said, and now

submitted himself entirely to her Majesty’s mercy. He had never, he

solemnly avowed, intended to bring foreign troops into England, or to

touch the sacred person of his revered sovereign. It was all the fault

of the Bishop of Ross, of Mary, of anybody but himself, ... and so, with

such sorry lies as this, the most beloved and highest noble in England

whined for mercy and his bare life. Elizabeth was loath to sacrifice him,

for he was her cousin and the head of a powerful group of Englishmen, but

at length the Protestant influences around her were too strong for her to

resist, and Norfolk’s head fell on Tower Hill on the 2nd June, 1572.

Before this happened, Philip’s Council in Madrid had exhaustively

discussed Alba’s recommendation that the murder of Elizabeth should

precede the sending of Spanish forces to England. They not only approved

fully of it, but laid down that the act should be committed, not in

London, but whilst the Queen was on a progress. Much sanctimonious talk

there was in the Council about the sacredness of the cause excusing the

means, and even the Pope’s Nuncio smiled upon the nefarious plan and

called it righteous. As for Philip himself, he was perfectly willing,

and said that the whole thing now turned upon the ability to get the

money together for the purpose, “and it would be a great pity to miss so

important a matter or so small an amount, as later it would cost so much

more.”[201] It is probably true, as was urged for them, that neither Mary

nor Norfolk consented in so many words to this openly avowed condition of

the Spaniards to make the prior murder of Elizabeth a condition of armed

aid being sent from Flanders. The proposal was certainly not contained

in the instructions carried by Ridolfi from Norfolk, though it is, in

my opinion, indicated in the letter from de Spes to Zayas of 25th March

quoted on an earlier page. It is first put clearly in black and white by

Alba himself, and warmly adopted by Philip and his Council. But though

Mary and Norfolk were not therefore necessarily parties to the proposed

crime, there can be no doubt in the mind of any reasonable person what

would have befallen Elizabeth if success had attended the attempt, and

Norfolk had carried out the pledge he gave to Alba to seize the Tower of

London and secure the person of the Queen.

We have here, however, not to deal with the culpability of the English

actors so much as with that of the Catholic King, so full of saintly

professions and so devoutly pious himself, who in his helplessness

and desperation was willing at last, in order to extricate himself

from a political impasse, to consent to treason and murder as a means

to righteousness. In the letter Philip wrote to de Spes (4th August,

1571)—in ignorance, of course, of the collapse of the plot—he conveys

his intention to patronise the murder of Elizabeth in the following

characteristic words: “After carrying the whole question before

Almighty God, whose cause it is, and in whom we trust for the guidance

and direction of the affair better than human prudence can effect or

understand, since the object is entirely, purely, and simply directed

to His glory and service and the exaltation of His holy faith, I have

resolved to adopt the course which you will learn from the Duke of Alba,

to whom I write about it at great length. In conformity therewith and

the orders he will give to you, you will act in the business with the

discretion, dexterity, suavity and prudence which we expect of you,

keeping in close communication with the Duke (of Alba) and carrying out

his orders explicitly.”[202]

As the damning facts were gradually wrung out of the miserable

accomplices in the plot, during the summer and autumn of 1571 the

position of de Spes became daily more impossible in England. His name

was constantly cropping up in the depositions, and every deponent had

some evidence to give of his activity in forwarding this conspiracy

to overturn the Government to which he was accredited. Even then,

semi-prisoner as he was, and himself in danger of punishment or

ignominious expulsion, he never ceased to plot; and his eagerness made

him and his master an easy prey to an amusing piece of successful

mystification that any person less blinded by hate than he would have

seen through at once. It will be recollected that John Hawkins’s trading

expedition to Central America had been treacherously attacked by a

superior Spanish force at St. Juan de Lua, Mexico, in October, 1568,

Hawkins with difficulty escaping with only two tiny ships. Property of

great value and over a hundred men had been captured by the Spaniards

and sent to Seville, the unfortunate sailors being delivered to the

Inquisition and condemned to slavery. John Hawkins was the last man in

the world to reconcile himself tamely to such a loss; and through a

Catholic friend of his, George Fitzwilliam, a kinsman of the Duchess of

Feria, he opened negotiations in Spain for the release of his sailors and

the return of his property, on condition that he deserted the English

service with the Queen’s fleet of fourteen armed ships, and joined that

of the King of Spain for the invasion of England in favour of Mary Stuart.

Poor Mary, as usual, was easily hoodwinked, as indeed was Fitzwilliam

himself at first, and the Ferias eagerly listened to the suggestion of

apostasy of such a man as John Hawkins. Fitzwilliam returned to London

from Spain with an encouraging answer and tokens for the Queen of Scots,

in order that she might be asked to assure the Ferias and Philip of the

genuineness of Hawkins’s offer. Cecil, who was behind Hawkins in the

whole negotiation and enjoyed the position almost as much as the great

sailor, smoothed over the difficulties of access to Mary, who, only

too ready to believe in the honesty of others, sent him back to Spain

with all sorts of assurances, letters for Philip and the Ferias, and a

beautiful missal bound in gold for the Duchess of Feria, wherein she

had written “_Absit nobis gloriari nisi in cruce Domini nostri Jesu

Christi.—Marie R._” When Fitzwilliam came to him, de Spes was easily

drawn into the plan, and became enthusiastically certain of the _bonâ

fides_ of Hawkins. The more he sees of him, he says, the more convinced

he is of his honesty. He is a Catholic, and very ambitious; and only

once, and then but for a moment, did the gullible ambassador somewhat

distrust Cecil’s complaisancy in allowing Fitzwilliam easy access to Mary

Stuart, and to run backwards and forwards unimpeded between England and

the coast of Spain.

Fitzwilliam again returned early in September to England entirely

successful in his mission, and Hawkins wrote full of glee to Lord

Burghley. The King and the Duke of Feria had jumped at Hawkins’s offer,

his sailors had all been released and embarked for England, and the

agreement between Hawkins and the Spaniards with orders for a great

sum of money to be paid to Hawkins had been sent to de Spes, who was

to forward the enterprise with all diligence. “The design is,” wrote

Hawkins, “that my power should join with the Duke of Alba’s power, which

he doth secretly provide in Flanders, as well as with the power which

cometh with the Duke of Medina from Spain, and so all together to invade

this realm and set up the Queen of Scots. They have practised with us for

the burning of Her Majesty’s ships; therefore there should be some good

care had of them; but not so as to appear that anything is discovered....

The King hath sent a ruby of good price to the Queen of Scots, with

letters also, which in my judgment were good to be delivered. The letters

be of no importance, but his message by word is to comfort her and say

that he hath now none other care than to place her in her own. It were

good, also, that the ambassador (de Spes) did make request unto your

Lordship that Fitzwilliam may have access to the Queen of Scots to render

thanks to her for the delivery of our prisoners [_i.e._, in Spain] now at

liberty. It will be a good colour for your Lordship to confer with him

more largely. I have sent your Lordship a copy of my _pardon_ from the

King of Spain, in the very order and manner I have it. The Duke of Medina

and the Duke of Alba hath, each, one of the same _pardons_ more amplified

to present to me; although this be large enough! with very great titles

and honours from the King: from which God deliver me!... Their practices

be very mischievous, and they be never idle. But God I hope will confound

them and turn their devices upon their own necks.”[203]

There was no limit to the credulity of de Spes. The great sum of money

passed from him to Hawkins, but though the fourteen ships that the latter

had promised to the King of Spain came not, for the discovery of the

Ridolfi treason upset for the time the whole plan of murder and invasion,

the ambassador never lost faith in Hawkins and Fitzwilliam. Norfolk was

condemned to death, Mary Stuart, herself in closer confinement than ever,

was in dire danger of the block, de Spes threatened and insulted hourly,

and his henchman, Luis de Paz, haled to prison, and Antonio de Guaras,

his close friend, not daring to leave his house for many months together,

and yet de Spes firmly believed that John Hawkins, an Englishman if

ever there was one, was only waiting the signal from the King of Spain

to desert with the English fleet and join his country’s enemies. At

length, on the 14th December, Elizabeth determined she would have no more

of de Spes. His complicity in the Ridolfi plot had been made absolutely

clear; his pernicious activity had been watched for three years, and

every effort had been made to drive him out of England without avail.

So, on the 14th December, 1571, the Lords of the Council summoned him to

Westminster. Lord Burghley spoke and told him that repeated requests had

been made to the King of Spain to withdraw him, and now the Queen wished

to know when he was going, as she did not want him in England. De Spes

replied defiantly that he knew nothing about her wants. When he received

proper instructions from his own Sovereign to go he would go, and not

before.

A long statement of all his misdeeds in England was then read to him in

Spanish, to which he replied that much of it was false, and he desired

to send an answer to it. “Oh no!” quoth Cecil, “your King would have no

reply from Dr. Man, and our Queen will have none from you.” Then, after

a few more heated words, the ambassador was told roughly that he would

have to leave England in three days, and in the meanwhile he would be

in charge of Henry Knollys. Could he send a courier to his King? he

asked. No; that would take too long, he was told. To the Duke of Alba,

then? Certainly not; they cared nothing for the Duke of Alba, replied

Burghley. “It was impossible to leave,” objected de Spes, “until I send

and get money from Antwerp to pay my debts.” “We will lend you the money

you need,” replied Cecil; and at last de Spes had to make the best of

it. Lagging on the road as long as he could upon all sorts of pretexts,

his servants imprisoned and he himself threatened and insulted at every

step, the ambassador of Spain was at last hustled out of England, fuming

with rage and full of hare-brained projects by which, with the help of

Hawkins, the King of Spain might be avenged on the heretic Queen and

become the master of England.

The Huguenots were now in unrestrained power in France, and Elizabeth,

as usual when she was in fear of Spain, was carrying on a desperate

flirtation with the Duke of Anjou, and surpassing herself in her

blandishment to Catharine de Medici. Simultaneously with the expulsion

of de Spes from England, the Spanish ambassador in Paris, Don Francés

de Alava, found France similarly uncongenial to him; for he had been

plotting against the Huguenots as de Spes had plotted against the

Protestants, and had fled in disguise to Flanders, so that Philip

found himself alienated both from England and France at the same time,

a position that always made him uneasy, especially now that not only

a marriage but a national alliance was in full negotiation between

Elizabeth and Catharine.[204] For the next six months the farcical

political courtship of the young Duke of Alençon, the boy brother of

Anjou and the King of France, was carried on furiously by the middle-aged

Queen of England as an antidote for the unappeasable anger of Spain. But

with her usual diplomacy, now that she had worked her will in everything,

Elizabeth thought best not to drive Philip into violent courses against

her. She had seized his million ducats and all the property of his

subjects in England, she had unmasked all his plots, had expelled his

ambassador, flouted his great viceroy Alba, her subjects had harried

Spanish ships on every sea, and helped unchecked the Dutch rebels who

defied him; but she did not wish to go to war with him if she could help

it, especially if she could gain all she wanted without doing so.

When the Spanish ambassador in Paris was about to escape, Walsingham, the

English ambassador, had gone and congratulated him upon the great naval

victory over the Turks in the Mediterranean that King Philip’s brother,

Don Juan, had just gained at Lepanto; and then, after asking many curious

questions about Don Juan, Walsingham had said to Don Francés, as if in

joke, “This sounds like a marriage, does it not?” The Spaniard retorted

in the same tone, “Yes; let you and I manage it together.” With this

opening Walsingham became serious, and enlarged upon Elizabeth’s personal

obligations and liking for her Spanish brother-in-law, and the turpitude

of certain ministers in sowing discord between them. If it were not for

the obstacle of religion, he continued, the marriage hinted at might take

place. It was, of course, mere talk, and was intended to be no more; but

Walsingham spoke with a purpose, and knew that his mistress thought it

time to repair some of the broken ties that held her country to Spain.

More marked and authoritative approaches were made simultaneously in

England itself. The man who had been instructed by Alba to keep an eye

on Spanish affairs unofficially when de Spes left England was Antonio de

Guaras, an Aragonese merchant living on Dowgate Hill, Thames Street. He

had been established in London for many years as a prosperous importer

of Spanish produce, and had a perfect craze for writing descriptions of

public events and taking part in public affairs; a zealous busybody,

whose flamboyant patriotism and Catholicism had made him the friend and

companion of successive Spanish ambassadors, especially of de Spes. In

the anti-Catholic excitement in May, 1569, his house had been raided by

the officers of the law deputed to destroy superstitious images, and a

considerable stock of church ornaments of this description seized. One

half of the stock was piled into a heap before Guaras’ door and burnt,

the other half being similarly treated by the Standard in Cheapside;

whilst the people, who only a dozen years before, under Mary, had been so

devoutly Catholic, cried in derision that they were burning the Spanish

gods.[205] Since that time, as Guaras had been the principal importer of

such wares from Spain, he had shown himself as little as possible in the

streets to avoid unpleasantness, though of course he, like so many other

Spaniards interested, had tried his hand again and again to make some

private arrangement for the ransom of the Spanish commercial property

seized by the English.

The Flemish noble Zweveghem, and the Genoese merchant Fiesco, who had

both been negotiating in London about the seizures, were packed off at

the same time as de Spes, for Elizabeth and Cecil were bent upon making

the demonstration as political and public as possible; but though it did

not suit the economical Queen to disgorge what she had taken, she had

no wish to drive Philip to extremities, and the stoppage of the great

English cloth trade with Flanders and of the importation of Spanish

produce into England was causing serious distress in the country. So,

having thoroughly humbled the Spaniards, whose hands were fuller than

ever now with the capture of Brille by the Beggars and the rising of all

Zeeland, supported by ample English aid, Elizabeth thought that the time

had come for her to unbend a little to her sorely pressed brother-in-law.

Walsingham’s half joking colloquy with Alava in Paris, in January, 1572,

had been a straw cast into the air; the warning of the Dutch privateer

fleet out of Dover, though ostensibly to satisfy the remonstrances of the

Hamburg merchants, was another; and in March Guaras, a mere merchant,

hitherto so unpopular, suddenly found himself made much of by emissaries

from the Court. Friends of Cecil told him that the Queen was only too

willing to come to an amicable arrangement about trade, and any person

who brought it about would be doing a great service to God and to both

countries. What a pity it was that there was no person accredited in

London who could undertake it! Would Guaras convey these expressions to

Alba? If so, the interlocutor would approach Lord Burghley.

After many hints of this sort Burghley himself sent for Guaras, and told

him that they were anxious to settle matters. “He spoke of your Majesty’s

person with due reverence, confessing to me that they had always hitherto

feared and suspected greatly that the Duke of Alba, being a declared

enemy, might oppose a settlement, but they had lately been informed that

the evil did not arise with him entirely, but from certain persons in

your Majesty’s Court, mentioning the late Duke of Feria, who, he said,

though ostensibly a good friend of the Queen, was in matters of State

her enemy.” Guaras, who loved to play the statesman, boasted somewhat

of his master’s greatness and of the benefit his friendship would bring

to England, but, of course, in diplomacy he was no match for Cecil,

who firmly put him into his place. Thenceforward for weeks the game

of advance and retire on the part of Cecil went on. Sometimes Guaras

would go home to Thames Street in the seventh heaven of delight, with

the idea that he was settling great national affairs where professional

diplomatists had failed; at other times he would stand for hours in

Cecil’s anterooms of Whitehall, only to be passed by silently with a cold

nod when the Minister came out.

When at last it was agreed (8th April) that Zweveghem, the Flemish

Councillor, should come again to England and settle matters, Guaras,

much pleased at his success, entered his barge from Whitehall stairs to

return home with the friend who served as his intermediary with Lord

Burghley. As the boat pushed off into the stream, he says, “I saw the

Queen approaching the landing-place of the Palace in her barge, in which,

the day being fine, she had been taking the air in company with my Lord

of Leicester and many other gentlemen, and followed by a large number of

boats filled with people who wished to see her Majesty. We, being amongst

the press of people, stayed our boat to look upon her, and when I made my

bow like the rest, the Queen, as usual, saluted the people, and noticing

me, either because she recognised me or because I was a foreigner or some

one told her my name, to the surprise of every one, I being such a humble

person, she, calling out to me in Italian, my boat being somewhat distant

from hers out of respect to her, asked me very gaily and graciously if

I was coming from the Court and had seen Lord Burghley I knelt, as was

my duty, and replied, ‘Yes, Madam, at your Majesty’s service.’ As the

boats approached the landing-place her Majesty’s barge was delayed a

moment, when she smilingly seemed to desire to say something more to me,

whereupon I endeavoured to bring my boat alongside the Queen’s barge, and

she turned towards me and asked, ‘When were you with Lord Burghley?’ to

which I replied, ‘Madam, I have just left him,’ whereupon she waved her

hand several times, apparently with great pleasure, and said, ‘That is

all right,’ and her barge then proceeded, she bidding me farewell with so

many signs of pleasure and favour that people noticed it much, and I was

more surprised than any one to receive these favours from the Queen, to

whom I have never rendered any service.”[206]

Elizabeth had no intention, however, of allowing the Spaniards, and

particularly Alba, to assume any airs of superiority on the strength of

her willingness to negotiate about trade. When Zweveghem saw her a few

days afterwards, sent by Alba to discuss terms, she thought that his

tone was too haughty, and that he seemed to assume that she was pleading

for an arrangement. Guaras, of course, had to bear the blame. It was

at once said that he had misrepresented matters to Alba, and there was

nothing but black looks for him. “Tell Guaras,” said Burghley, “that if

he wants to come and see me let him come, or stay away, as he likes....

If the Duke of Alba, through Guaras, pretends to be willing for peace and

concord, whilst on the other hand through Zweveghem he treats the matter

in a different spirit, it is clear that, however good our intentions may

be, theirs are not equally so.” Alba was in no melting mood now, for

English men and arms were being poured into Zeeland, and the Huguenots

also were helping the Netherlanders against him. The Dutch privateers

were still sheltered in English ports, whilst Constable Montmorenci, and

one of the most splendid embassies that ever represented France, was in

England for the ratification of the offensive and defensive alliance of

the two countries that had been signed at Blois on the 12th April. By it

the Spanish Netherlands were to be partitioned, the ancient rivals were

never to quarrel again, the Huguenot Navarre was to marry the King of

France’s sister. Elizabeth might, perhaps, marry young Alençon, but in

any case she and Catharine, with the Huguenots, were bound together for

ever to resist the arrogance of Spain. All this was gall and wormwood

to Alba, and, busy as he was with his bloody work, it is no wonder

that he was now in no hurry to respond to the English approaches for a

settlement, and Guaras for a time found himself cold-shouldered.

The affection between the French and English, however, was too pronounced

to last very long. The offensive and defensive alliance against Spain

had given to the Huguenots more power than quite suited Catharine, and

the Colignys and their friends of the “religion” were speaking too

boldly to please her. The Emperor (whose daughter the young King Charles

IX. had married), the Pope, and the Doge of Venice sent to remonstrate

with the Most Christian King for thus joining rebels and heretics

against good Catholics, whilst the Gondis, Biragos, and Guises were

whispering to Catharine that she was provoking Philip too far. So, as

the summer of 1572 wore on, the messages sent from France to England

grew cooler, and Charles IX. began to cry off the bargain for the joint

action with Elizabeth in the Spanish Netherlands. But still Catharine

pushed industriously the love-making of her favourite boy Alençon with

Elizabeth, in order that England and the Huguenots might not be driven

into open opposition to her. A pretty lad named La Mole, one of the

_mignons_, was sent to England in July, ostensibly to do the vicarious

love-making for Alençon, but really to discourage the idea of any act of

overt hostility on the part of France in the Spanish States,[207] and

thus practically to withdraw from the much-lauded treaty of alliance, of

which the ink was hardly dry.

La Mole performed the philandering part of his mission entirely to

Elizabeth’s satisfaction. She was on her progress to Kenilworth, and

carried the young French gallant along with her from place to place,

exerting all her mature witcheries upon him, but keenly alive and not a

little apprehensive at the way in which she had been thrown over with

regard to the alliance. The danger to her was great, for she had been

drawn into a position of open hostility to the Spaniards in Flanders on

the strength of the alliance with France, and now found herself alone.

So she told everybody, and most people believed her this time, that she

meant to marry the French prince without fail, and when she bade goodbye

to La Mole at Kenilworth, he went on his homeward way loaded with sweet

messages for the Prince and rich presents for himself.

He arrived in London on the 27th August on his way to France; and on the

same day there landed at Rye two couriers from Paris, one with letters

from Walsingham to the Queen, the other with official despatches to

the French ambassador. The latter were seized by the port authorities

and sent in haste to the Queen at Kenilworth; but secret though they

were kept, ill tidings fly fast, and soon there sped through England,

none knew how or whence, the dread news that the Papists had banded

together to slaughter Protestants throughout the world. On the fated day

of Navarre’s wedding in Paris—the day of Saint Bartholomew—the storm

had burst. Hounded on by the King himself and by his mother, slaughter

unchecked had swept across the capital. The noble Coligny had fallen

first, and then every citizen but those who wore the badge of Guise was

hounded to his death. Through France the tale of horror ran, across the

Channel to Protestant England fled thousands of Huguenots, dreading

the general massacre that portended; and when Elizabeth suspended her

pastime at Kenilworth to read the despatch that brought the news, her

brow clouded and her heart sank; for it seemed now that, at last, all her

clever tricks had failed and catastrophe loomed over her and England. For

the league of Bayonne had produced its baleful fruit at last.[208] The

alliance and friendship just so ostentatiously concluded with France was

but a fraud and a blind, the marriage talk with Alençon was all a lie:

Catharine and her son, after all, had made common cause with Philip and

the Guises, and England stood alone opposed to united Catholicism pledged

to wholesale massacre.

In a day the orgy of St. Bartholomew had changed the political aspect.

The French, lately so caressed in England, were now regarded as monsters

of falsity. Elizabeth, in deep mourning, after long delay received the

French ambassador coldly, and contemptuously listened to his palliations

and explanations; for she knew that the Guises were now paramount in

France, and from them she had nothing but enmity to expect. But dismay

was not allowed to dominate the counsels of Elizabeth for very long.

When such a combination as this existed between the ancient enemies

Spain and France, England’s safety depended upon sowing discord between

them. This was never very difficult, for their interests nationally were

always antagonistic, and their antipathies were stronger than their

affinities.[209] At the first flush of the news Philip and the Spaniards

were overjoyed that so many heretics should be butchered, and Guaras from

London, writing to the Duke of Alba on the 30th August says: “God grant

that it may be true, and that these rebel heretics may have met with this

bad end”; and the national consequences were not lost upon him, even thus

early, for though he was but a meddling merchant, he had far clearer

ideas of policy than had de Spes. “Since the news came we hear no more of

English soldiers going over to Flanders. This last affair, indeed, will

give them something else to think about. If the news from Paris be true,

the league between these people [_i.e._, the English] and the French will

probably come to nothing, as the people are already murmuring that they

cannot trust Frenchmen.”

Elizabeth, indeed, had been badly betrayed by the French. She had been

drawn into hostility to Philip in Flanders, and had been left in the

lurch. To her alone now could the Prince of Orange look for help, since

the French had deserted him; and though she had no intention of allowing

the Dutch Protestants to be crushed by Alba, Elizabeth saw that in future

all she did to help them must be done without an open national rupture

between England and Spain. Immediately, therefore, her tone changed.

Not only were the Dutch rebels ostentatiously disavowed by her, but the

somewhat bewildered Guaras found himself once more a _persona grata_

at Court.[210] Early in October the Duke of Alba sent him his cool and

tardy reply with regard to the proposed negotiations for reopening trade.

When Guaras appeared at Windsor with the despatch he found Burghley all

smiles. “On that very day, he said, and on many other previous occasions

the Queen had said to him she wondered why Guaras did not come to Court

with the reply. They were much surprised to have received no answer to

the offer made by the Queen to withdraw the Englishmen from Flanders,

who, he said, only went there to resist the Frenchmen, who might try

to gain a footing.... When I told him I had a letter for the Queen he

seemed greatly delighted and asked me to show it to him. When he read

the superscripture he said, ‘Although it comes tardily and the Queen is

unwell, I will take it to her at once, because I know how pleased she

will be to know that you have come with the message.’”[211]

Thenceforward for a time no one was more welcome at Court than Guaras. A

fortnight after the above letter was written the French ambassador, La

Mothe, remarked: “Guaras ... the Spaniard, is much better attended to

and more favourably received at this Court than he used to be. He has

great hopes of getting them to withdraw all the English from Flushing

and Flanders, as well as of arranging the disputes about commercial

intercourse.”[212] All was not plain sailing yet, for Alba was hard

and Elizabeth stood out firmly for religious toleration for Englishmen

in Spain, which claim from the first was scouted as preposterous by

the Spaniards, and in the end was almost the only point upon which the

English had to give way. But the constant more or less covert aid in

men and money sent from England to support Orange, and the fear that

if driven too far Elizabeth might at last yield to the arguments and

persuasions of the Dutch that she would assume the protection of Holland

and Zeeland, brought down even Alba’s pride; and early in the spring of

1573 trade was reopened, on terms greatly in favour of Elizabeth, since

her subjects again obtained an open market for their cloths, whilst she

kept practically the greater part of the property she had seized.

Gradually Guaras, though in somewhat more humble fashion than de Spes,

immersed himself in intrigues on behalf of Spain, many of them doubtless

proposed to him in good faith, but others, as we know now, mere traps set

for him by Lord Burghley’s contrivance, into which he easily fell to his

own ultimate undoing. Several English captains were in close negotiation

with him for months for the betrayal to the Spaniards of Flushing,

Caunfer, and other strong places, for the murder of the Prince of Orange,

and other schemes. But it is evident that these advances through him

were received with doubt and caution by Philip and Alba, who probably

doubted his discretion, for when a group of English captains had to be

finally negotiated with for the capture of Flushing a special envoy, a

merchant seaman named Zubiaur, was sent to England for the purpose with

strict orders that Guaras should know nothing whatever of it; and even

whilst Guaras was acting as _chargé d’affaires_ of Spain a Portuguese spy

(Fogaza) in Spanish pay reported all his movements to the authorities at

Madrid.

By the end of 1573 it was patent to all the world that Alba’s reign

of blood had failed. The stern old chief had been beaten indeed by

Elizabeth’s seizure of the treasure, and he never recovered from the

blow. Forced to raise money somehow, for Philip was bankrupt both in

credit and in means, Alba imposed upon rich Flanders and Brabant the

“tenth penny” that had ruined Castile. Then all the Netherlanders rose.

It was no longer a question of local government or even of faith, but of

moneybags; and Catholic and Protestant alike rebelled against spoliation

and the destruction of Flemish prosperity. Indignant remonstrances

went to Philip, and the Spanish Council even angrily condemned Alba’s

measure. “Neither the heads smitten off nor the privileges abolished have

aroused so much resistance as this,” wrote Alba: but he needed money for

the King’s service, and money he must have. Thus he found himself face

to face, not with a faction in revolt, but with an outraged and united

nation, and through 1572 the grim old Duke stuck to his guns. First he

crushed the south, sweeping the Huguenot auxiliaries aside and submitting

all those who raised the slightest protest to ruthless slaughter.

Brabant and Flanders, bloodless, could fight against him no more,

but Holland and Zeeland were made of sterner stuff. Money and men in

abundance came to them from England, and all the silver ducats scattered

by Guaras and all Elizabeth’s protestations of friendship for her dear

brother in Spain could not stop them; until at last Philip grew angry

and impatient at the useless slaughter, and Alba, heartbroken, went

into disgrace, whilst a viceroy of widely different type came with the

olive-branch in hand to win back at least Catholic Brabant and Flanders

to Philip’s rule again by almost any concessions. There was, indeed, no

other way for Philip now, for he had come to the end of his resources,

and his troubles were not confined to the Protestant Netherlands.

His brilliant young brother, Don Juan of Austria, in command of the

combined Christian fleet, had sailed from Messina in September, 1571, and

had broken the Moslem power in the Mediterranean that had for so long

been a thorn in the side of Spain. All Catholic Christendom lost its

head over Don Juan: his enthusiasm, his gallantry, his personal beauty

made him in the eyes of his contemporaries a very paladin of the Cross.

Philip, religious though he might be, was cold and reticent, appealing

little to the imagination of men. But this young Prince, his brother,

splendid beyond words and with some of the military ability of his father

the Emperor, might be the man destined by God for the final victory of

the Cross over all its enemies. Don Juan not only carried away others,

but was carried away himself. To follow up his victory by the conquest of

Constantinople and the Holy Land, and to become a new Constantine, seemed

to him and to the Catholics, who idolised him, an easily realisable

vision. If not that, then why not Christianise Africa, re-establish the

empire of Carthage with Don Juan as its sovereign?

But all this meant vast sums of money, and to such suggestions Philip

turned an irresponsive ear. Clamour as Don Juan and his friends might,

no assistance could be got from Spain for his wild schemes; for King

Philip had other things to do than conquer vast new empires for his base

brother, whilst his own Netherlands were slipping from his grasp and

Elizabeth of England openly defied him. Then Don Juan, disobeying orders,

seized and fortified Tunis on his own account. All appeals for support to

Philip were sternly refused, and within a year the city was recaptured by

the Turk and the eight thousand Spaniards in it slaughtered. Don Juan in

despair remained in Italy, full still of high dreams if heroic conquest

for the faith. He was surrounded, as before, by advisers as flighty and

hot-headed as himself; and it occurred to some of them if he was not to

be allowed to become a Christian Emperor of the East, there was in the

West another empire in the hands of heretics, still awaiting its champion

who should restore it to the Church.

Guaras wrote to Philip’s Secretary, Zayas, as early as November, 1574,

saying, “The Queen of Scotland founds all her hopes upon his Majesty

after God, and by a letter she has written to an influential friend, who

read it to me, it is certain that there is nothing she desires more than

to accept the proposition about Don Juan of Austria,[213] she having been

persuaded by this person and others that it would benefit Christendom

greatly. If it be his Majesty’s wish that this matter should be

considered, and communications have to be carried on with the Queen about

it, this cipher can be utilised for the purpose, it being so obscure and

without an alphabet that no one can decipher it.... If this happy event

could be brought about, she would be a saintly, chaste, and Catholic

Princess, the greatest lady on earth, for England, Scotland, and Ireland

are indeed a vast empire.... If his Majesty will graciously allow a

letter for her contentment in this business to be written, an opportunity

might occur for her rescue. If consent is given on our part this project

would undoubtedly be executed. She writes herself about it to the person

I have mentioned, and desires above all things that her son should marry

the elder Infanta, for which purpose she will consent that the man who

holds him should carry him to Spain.”

Philip had heard stories similar to this before, and was not ready

yet for another plot depending upon the English Catholics. Requesens,

the new Viceroy of Flanders, did his best, but he was surrounded by

unconquerable difficulties from the first, legacies, most of them, from

the _régime_ of Alba. Many of the Flemish seamen were disloyal and the

Catholic clergy disaffected, whilst the mercantile classes were nearly

beggared and in deep discontent. But, withal, the Walloons and Southern

States were pacified, though Holland and Zeeland were as stubborn as

ever. Requesens’ principal difficulty, as usual, was want of money; and

the Catholic Flemings insisted that if they were to remain loyal to Spain

the unpaid, murderous rabble of foreign soldiers who were terrorising

friends and enemies alike must be withdrawn from Flanders. But Philip

could not pay them, and they would not budge without their wage, for the

rich houses of the burghers were always there for plunder. In the midst

of this _impasse_, when things were at their worst, Requesens died, in

March, 1576, and Philip, glad to get his brother away from Italy, ordered

him to hurry direct to Flanders and carry out the policy of pacification

at any cost or sacrifice. The troops were to be sent away, the burghers

conciliated, and, if possible, the Dutch won over by promises of large

concessions.

To Don Juan, with his heart aflame with high ambitions, concessions

and conciliation of heretics were utterly repugnant; but the mission

seemed to open a sure road to the great plan we have seen hinted at in

Guaras’ letter of November, 1574. Pope Gregory XIII. was as ready as

Don Juan for such an enterprise, and sent his Nuncio to Philip to pray

him to allow his brother to swoop down upon England with the troops from

Flanders, release and marry Mary Stuart, and with her become sovereign

of a Britain Catholic and a faithful ally of Spain. Philip, as was his

wont when he disapproved of a plan, was vaguely benevolent, but he hated

priestly interference in his plans, and distrusted the Vatican where

the French priests had so much to say. Worst of all, Don Juan disobeyed

orders and came to Spain to press his plans for capturing England, and

the delay thus caused was fatal. Before he could reach the Flemish

frontier the Italian and Spanish troops had thrown off all restraint and

had sacked Antwerp. The Catholic Flemings and Walloons were forced to

make common cause with Orange, who assumed the lead in the Government,

and all Netherlanders stood shoulder to shoulder against the ravishers

and spoilers of their homes. When Don Juan came, therefore, he was told

that he would only be admitted on conditions to be dictated by the

States. Among these conditions was that the mutinous troops should not be

sent away by sea, for the plan to invade England with them was well known

by Orange, but should march out overland. Don Juan protested and raved

in vain. Philip coldly ordered him to accede to any terms consistent

with Spanish sovereignty over Flanders; and at last, in the early spring

of 1577, he made his “joyous entry” into Brussels with a heart steeped

in hate of the Flemings, whose firmness had destroyed his great dream

of capturing England for the Cross and marrying the imprisoned Catholic

Queen, like the hero of a fairy tale.

In these fine plans Guaras was a zealous and a willing agent, and

Mary Stuart, as usual, an eager participant, all their intrigues

being perfectly well known to Cecil through his spies. Cecil, indeed,

had become quite friendly with Guaras,[214] and thus, without being

suspected, kept his eye on all his proceedings. The letters the merchant

wrote to Spain were frequently intercepted, and although the pride

of Guaras in his cipher was justified and most of the contents are

still undeciphered, sufficient was read to prove that he was plotting

ceaselessly with England’s enemies. Letters, too, were known to be

passing by means of Guaras between Mary Stuart and Don Juan; and even

the Flemish Catholic nobles, who had now for a time deserted the Spanish

cause and were appealing to Elizabeth for aid, were constantly warning

the English of the plans that were being so industriously forwarded by

Guaras.

That Mary Stuart and Don Juan at this time understood each other

perfectly, though Philip, for reasons already pointed out, was

irresponsive to their appeals, is seen in an important letter written by

Mary to the conspirator Charles Paget long afterwards (May, 1586) at the

time when she was implicated in the plot that ended in her death. Paget

was instructed to discover through Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador in

Paris, whether Philip was then (1586) ready to attack England, which, she

says, “to me seemeth the surest and readiest way for him whereby to rid

himself altogether of the Queen’s malice against him. So as now he doth

find himself constrained to come to the same remedies which in Don John

of Austria’s time were propounded unto him, which I doubt he shall not

find presently in these parts of such strength and virtue as if he had

applied them in time and place.... I remember that Don John was always

stiff in this opinion that there was no other means in the world whereby

to set up again the King’s affairs in the Low Countries, and to assure

his States in all other parts, than in re-establishing this realm under

God and a Prince his friend; for, so much as Don John foresaw right well

that this Queen would not fail to break with him, and give him, as she

hath done, the first blow.”[215]

Guaras had many hints and warnings which he failed to regard, both from

Cecil and the Queen herself. In his letter of 29th March, 1575, he gives

an account of one such hint. “The Queen was walking,” he says, “a long

way from the Palace of Richmond, where she is staying, surrounded by her

courtiers and nobles, when, catching sight of me from afar, she called me

by name and welcomed me.” He had to ask her permission to buy some cannon

in England for the Flemish Government, to which she gave him an amiable

reply, and he continued to walk through the park a few steps behind her

chatting with her alone. She was full of her witcheries and compliments

to Spaniards, with whom for the moment it suited to be friends, but

told Guaras that she was annoyed at the way her subjects in Spain were

treated by the Inquisition. She grew somewhat vehement about it and

said, “I promise ye my father would not have put up with it, and if the

matter is not amended I shall be obliged to arrest some of the King of

Spain’s subjects and treat them in the same way.” Having given this

hint, she grew gracious again and said: “You know full well, old wine,

old bread, and old friends should be valued, and if only to let these

Frenchmen see, who are wrangling as to whether our friendship is firm

or not, there is good reason to show undisguisedly the kindly feeling

which inwardly exists.” This, of course, referred to the attempts of the

French to interfere in Flanders, which always made Elizabeth smile upon

Spaniards;[216] and when Guaras handsomely returned the compliment the

Queen suddenly turned upon him, and shot the bolt she had been preparing

all along: “You say you wish to serve me, Guaras; will you tell me the

truth? They say that a certain Scottish prisoner of mine has sent you

a token of friendship in the form of a painted lion; is it true?” Poor

Guaras could only protest that he had never received any such token,

as he had not; but the hint, and the more pointed one about the arrest,

certainly did not abate his activity as a go-between for Mary and Don

Juan.

So long as the danger of French interference in Flanders lasted Elizabeth

dared not do anything very unpleasant to Spain; but as soon as that

difficulty was banished by new negotiations for the marriage of Elizabeth

and Alençon, Guaras began to find his position less comfortable. In

November, 1575, Egremont Ratcliff, the brother of the Earl of Sussex, who

had been a fugitive in Flanders and Italy since the northern rebellion,

came to England, with a story of Don Juan’s plans in conjunction with

Mary Stuart, and in this, of course, Guaras was involved. His fresh

negotiations, too, early in 1576 for the betrayal by the English

Catholics of certain of the Zeeland fortresses to the Spaniards was

discovered. The Flemish Catholic nobles were now in England praying for

support against Philip’s soldiery, and Elizabeth was in mortal fear of

French aid being given to them on the one hand and of Don Juan’s reported

plans against England on the other, whilst Guaras in his correspondence

grew more and more bitter and violent as he saw the fruition of his hopes

gradually disappear before Elizabeth’s amiability to the Catholic Flemish

nobles and the united opposition now offered to Don Juan’s ambitions.

But in the circumstances Elizabeth did not dare yet to proceed to

extremities with Spaniards; and one case amusingly shows that these high

political considerations somewhat bewildered administrative officers,

who could not follow such frequent changes of attitude. A Portuguese

ambassador, Giraldi, had been for some time in England endeavouring

to arrange some open questions relative to the depredations of the

Protestant privateers; and late in 1576 the Recorder of London, Sir

William Fleetwood, a zealous Catholic-baiter, with the Sheriffs,

considered it his duty to surround with his posse the house of the

Portuguese envoy for the purpose of catching and arresting unauthorised

persons there hearing Mass. They forced an entry after a stiff fight with

the Portuguese porter, Mr. Recorder Fleetwood being rather seriously

mauled in the affray, and loudly broke in upon the sacred service by

summoning all English people to come out in custody. Immediately the

foreigners present, indignant at the interruption, drew their daggers and

swords, and made as if to attack the officers, but were appeased by the

sheriffs until the ladies had withdrawn. Having allowed the members of

the embassy to depart, the officers then examined the other foreigners:

“and trulie they most despitefully against all civilitie used such lewd

words in their language against us, that if our company had understande

them there might have chanced great harm. ‘Sirs,’ I saide to them, ‘I see

no remedie but you must goe to prison, for most of you be free denizens.’

And then I willed the officers to lay hand on them, and immediately every

man suddenly most humbly put off his cap, and began to be sutors and

sought favour; and so on their submission we suffered them to depart, all

save Antonio de Guaras, who was not willing to go from us, but kept us

company.” After sending the English subjects off to prison and scolding

some of their own constables for accepting “singing cakes” from the

priest at the altar, Fleetwood and Sheriff Barnes stood in the gallery

looking down upon the altar. “And then Antonio Guaras tooke me by the

hand to see the altar how trim it was. And I said to Guaras, ‘Sir, if

I had done my duty here to you and to the Queen upon All Hallowes Day

last I had taken two hundred, and as many more on All Souls.’ ‘Ho! Sir,’

said Guaras unto me: ‘become of this religion, and surely you will like

it well, and I will be readie means to make you a good Christian.’ And

so we went near the altar, where neither he nor I touched any manner of

thing; and so we bade the priest farewell, who gently saluted us, and

I suddenlie looked back and saw the priest shake his head mumbling out

words that sounded like _Diable_ and _male croix_, or to that effect.

Then said I to Mr. Sheriff, ‘Let us depart, for the priest doth curse

us.’ And so we departed, and Antonio Guaras brought us to the utter gate,

where the Sheriff and I invited him to dynner with us; but he departed

back to hear the profaned Mass. The aforesaid Guaras at this business

said that he himself was an ambassador of a greater person than —— and

so did shake his head. ‘What!’ quoth I, ‘do you mean a greater personage

than our mistress?’ ‘Na, na,’ said he, ‘I mean not so.’ ‘No,’ quoth

I, ‘it were not best for you to make comparisons with the Queen our

mistress. Whose ambassador are ye, then?’ quoth I, ‘the Pope’s?’ And then

he departed further off in anger. This Guaras was a very busy fellow in

this action.”[217]

Neither Giraldi nor Guaras was disposed to allow their diplomatic

privileges to be violated in this fashion, however; and in consequence of

their vehement complaints Fleetwood had to submit to a severe scolding

from the Council and was sent to the Fleet. But Guaras’ immunity was

not to last much longer. Elizabeth, before many months were over, found

herself assiduously courted by the French, and assured by Catharine

that Alençon would do nothing in Flanders but with the co-operation

of England—it was hoped as Elizabeth’s husband. Don Juan also, during

the time that he remained in negotiation with the States, was only

too anxious to win Elizabeth’s help, or at least neutrality; so that

when suspicion against Guaras became certainty she had no hesitation

in closing the toils around him. In January, 1577, Sir Amyas Paulet,

the English ambassador in Paris, reported that a dependent of Guaras,

a Spanish tailor, named Damian Dela, a resident in London, had passed

through Paris with some highly suspicious letters for King Philip. We

know now that the King was firmly against Don Juan’s plans to invade

England; but this, of course, was not known at the time, and Paulet

advised Burghley to put Guaras to the torture to discover what was going

on. This only made the English Government more vigilant; but in the

spring of 1577 Secretary Wilson was sent to Flanders to endeavour to

bring about an agreement between the States and Don Juan. The latter,

when jocosely twitted by Wilson on his wish to marry the Queen of

Scots, somewhat ungallantly ridiculed the idea as preposterous; but

whilst Wilson was in the Low Countries he managed to obtain through St.

Aldegonde possession of some intercepted letters from Guaras on the

matter. The cipher was difficult, and only some words could be read;

but they were enough to prove that Guaras was in constant communication

with Mary Stuart and Don Juan, and Wilson wrote to Cecil expressing his

surprise that an unofficial person like Guaras should be allowed to act

more scandalously than any accredited ambassador would be allowed to do.

From that time, May, 1577, Guaras was watched almost night and day, and

most of his letters intercepted, though not many could be read. On the

28th September, 1577, he proposed to Zayas, King Philip’s secretary,

that he should be allowed to arrange for the kidnapping and conveyance

to Spain of some of the important Catholic Flemish nobles then in

England, or to promote a revolt in Ireland; and he continues by saying,

“I have received the enclosed letters from the Queen of Scotland. I have

perfectly safe means of sending and receiving letters for her, and the

world is praying that God may be preserving her for some great service

to the fear of this Queen and her friends. I am encouraging her with

letters of comfort until she can be served by acts.”[218] On the 4th

October Guaras wrote another inflammatory letter to Zayas, detailing

the plans which he said had been agreed upon by England and the Flemish

nobles to throw off the Spanish yoke for good by the aid of Elizabeth.

He passionately cries for prompt reprisals upon the English, but he

complains that his letters are read, and he fears his ciphers may be

discovered.

At midnight on the 19th October, 1577, the Sheriff of London with an

armed force appeared before the house of Guaras in Thames Street. In the

Queen’s name entrance was forced and Guaras placed under arrest, all his

papers being seized, and he himself a few days later placed in solitary

confinement in Newgate. His clerk, in conveying the news to Zayas,

understood the gravity of the affair, for from the first the authorities

refused to acknowledge the prisoner’s diplomatic status. “God deliver us

from these troubles,” he wrote, “for I promise your worship that unless

some remedy be sent from Spain my master Antonio de Guaras will find

himself in dire trouble, as will all of us in his house, for we are sore

distressed. With all earnestness I supplicate you to let his Majesty

know, in the hope that delivery may be sent to us.” Guaras himself writes

from prison in hot indignation. He had, he says, placed the letters from

the Queen of Scots and King Philip in a safe place, and they had not been

captured, but he knows that much of his correspondence has been sent to

England by the Flemish nobles, and, reading between the lines, one sees

that the poor wretch is in mortal fear, though he passionately protests

his innocence whilst vituperating his captors.

No consideration or mercy was shown to him, and now that he was under

lock and key all sorts of claims and accusations were made against

him.[219] To add to his trouble he, who for thirty years at least

had been looked upon as a wealthy merchant, was found to be well-nigh

penniless. Philip was always a bad paymaster, and the 500 ducats a year

he allowed to Guaras had been embargoed or stopped in Spain for some

time previously. The great sum of 20,000 crowns, promised to him for his

services in negotiating the reopening of trade, was never paid to him,

though for the rest of his life he was petitioning piteously for it.

Damian Dela, his tailor-steward, was arrested at the same time as his

master and lodged in Newgate, whereupon Recorder Fleetwood, examining him

in November, he revealed the sad condition of Guaras’ finances: “I finde

that he hath not a groat to bless him withal. His household stuff is not

worth forty shillings. He is in my opinion _Iro Pauperior_, and were it

not that libertie is sweet I know not where in his own country he should

have like entertainment.” By Fleetwood Guaras sent beseeching messages

for mercy to Burghley, “his only hope and trust”; but it was not the

Cecil way to befriend fallen men, and Guaras appealed to his former crony

in vain.

Slowly the act of accusation against Guaras was elaborated. Such portions

of his letters as could be read were brought up against him,[220] his

servants, one and all, were interrogated, whilst he himself was almost

driven crazy by threats of the rack and the scaffold. The questions

administered to him in prison are amongst Lord Burghley’s papers and

at Simancas, and show the charges brought against him: “What letters

had passed between you and the Scots Queen?” “What do you know of their

contents and of the negotiations between her and Don Juan?” “How far did

Don Juan proceed in the marriage treaty with the Queen of Scots?” “In

the cipher between you and Don Juan, who were intended by the numbers

82, 29, and 38?” “What practices have been intended for disquieting the

realm, and who were the principal authors?”[221] and many other questions

of the same sort. In June, 1578, the case against him for conspiring

against the State in favour of Mary Stuart was held to be proven, and

the unfortunate man was lodged in the Tower, threatened now with death.

To all interrogatories Guaras had answered haughtily that he was the

diplomatic representative of the Catholic King, who would heavily avenge

any injury done to him; but Philip had other cares to occupy him than

to avenge a meddling merchant’s plots, of which he (Philip) had never

approved.

It was more important now than ever that Elizabeth should be

conciliated. Don Juan, in despair at his hateful position and at the

cold irresponsiveness of his brother, had in February, 1578, cast all

considerations to the winds, had fortified himself in Namur, and had

defied the States to do their worst. Philip, by the rash impetuosity

of his brother, thus found it necessary to fight not only for the

maintenance of orthodoxy in his Netherlands dominions, but for his

sovereignty. The Archduke Mathias, one of his own kin, had been invited

by the Flemings to accept the Catholic Crown of Flanders, and on his

failure to unite the country, Alençon, the French Prince, had bidden

for the prize. If Elizabeth could be won over by Orange to help or

co-operate with the French in Flanders, then nothing could save Philip’s

sovereignty; and so, until the great Alexander Farnese, Don Juan’s

successor, with warcraft and diplomacy combined, was able gradually to

separate the Catholic Flemings from the Protestant Dutchmen, it behoved

Philip at any sacrifice to win again the good graces of Elizabeth, to

arouse her jealousy of French interference in Flanders, and hold her,

notwithstanding all that had passed, to the traditional alliance with

his House with the ancient object. Nor was Elizabeth loath to meet her

brother-in-law half-way this time, for a French domination in Flanders

she could never allow, and whilst on the one hand she conjured the danger

by befooling Alençon into the firm belief that she would marry him if he

would obey her, on the other she held out her hand to Philip. Wilkes,

the Clerk of the Privy Council, was sent off to Spain to vindicate the

Queen’s action in Flanders: to say how hard she had tried to bring about

peace, notwithstanding Don Juan’s impracticability, to beg for Don Juan’s

recall,[222] and to urge that some sort of peace should be brought about

with the States on the basis that Don Juan had violated, failing which

she will be obliged, as before, to aid those who are battling for freedom

of conscience.

It was a bitter pill for Philip that he should have to brook Elizabeth’s

interference between his rebel subjects and himself, and he treated

Wilkes in very high and mighty fashion, on the pretext that his rank

was inadequate for such a mission. But he made amends by sending to

England, hard upon Wilkes’ heels, a scion of one of the noblest houses

in Spain as his ambassador. Soldier, author, diplomatist, and courtier,

Don Bernardino de Mendoza, a man with the pride of Lucifer and the

intolerance of St. Dominic, was entrusted with a mission of humility

to the Queen of all the “heretics.” No apology had ever been sent by

Elizabeth for the expulsion of de Spes, or for the seizure of the

treasure; Guaras was a close prisoner, daily threatened with torture, and

his claim to diplomatic privilege laughed at; yet the King of Spain was

obliged to swallow his pride, and send an ambassador who was almost a

suppliant to beg Elizabeth not to help his revolted subjects.

The change of position between the two sovereigns since the beginning

of the Queen’s reign is nowhere so clearly seen as by a comparison of

the instructions of Mendoza with the attitude of Feria and his master,

described in the earlier pages of the present volume. Mendoza’s mission

was piteously apologetic. Don Juan and the Spanish troops should be

withdrawn. It was all a mistake about the abrogation of the edict of

toleration. The States should have all they demanded if they would only

be loyal and Catholic, and Elizabeth was appealed to earnestly not to

aid rebellion in her good brother’s States. Mendoza was directed to

“endeavour to keep her in a good humour, and convinced of our friendship,

banishing the distrust of us which she now appears to entertain, and for

which we have given her no good cause.” The English ministers were all to

be heavily bribed, and at any cost, the new ambassador was instructed,

English neutrality was to be secured.

Mendoza passed through Paris on his way to England in February, and found

the French Court in dismay. Young Alençon had escaped his brother’s

vigilance, and, with a force of Huguenots and German mercenaries, was

on the Flemish frontier in full negotiation with the Prince of Orange

and the Protestants to assume the sovereignty as a rival to Mathias, the

nominee of the Catholics. Don Juan had just won the battle of Gembloux

against the united rebel States, and was known to be intriguing with

the Guises against Elizabeth, though not, as was thought in England,

with Philip’s connivance; and the Queen of England found herself in

perplexity between two fires. The Marquis d’Havrey, the Flemish Catholic

noble representing the States, was assuring her that unless she sent an

army over at once, under Leicester or his brother, to help them, they

must hand themselves over to Alençon and the Frenchmen, which she was

determined to prevent, cost what it might;[223] whilst, on the other

hand, she was told from all quarters that the Kings of Spain and France,

with the Pope, Don Juan, and the Guises, were all united and determined

to crush her for once and for all. Her problem was how to save Orange

and the Protestants in Holland from being overwhelmed, without dragging

England into a war with Philip; to prevent the French, even Huguenots,

from gaining a footing in the Low Countries, and to avert a Catholic

coalition against her. By what consummate diplomacy she contrived to

attain her ends will be seen in the next chapter, which recounts her

intercourse with Bernardino de Mendoza as Philip’s ambassador.