An account of Simier--His mission to the Queen--Her strange
relations with him--Leicester’s jealousy--Simier’s
negotiations on behalf of Alençon--Rochetaillé’s mission--
Leicester’s attempts to have Simier murdered--Alençon’s first
visit to England--Elizabeth’s infatuation for him--His
departure and letters to the Queen--Exhaustive discussion of
the marriage negotiations by the English Council--The Queen
announces her determination to marry Alençon--Philip Sidney’s
remonstrance.
Jean de Simier, Alençon’s Master of the Wardrobe, and one of his
firmest friends, was a consummate courtier steeped in the dissolute
gallantry of the French Court, and, above all, a _persona grata_ of
Catharine de Medici. He arrived in London on January 5, 1579, having
gone through Paris on his way to England, and presumably can hardly
have been at the moment in a very happy frame of mind. During his
absence with Alençon his wife had been guilty of infidelity with his
young brother, and on Simier’s arrival home the intrigue was divulged
to him. He sent his men ahead to kill his brother at the gate of the
château before his arrival, and his wife died, probably of poison,
perhaps of grief, soon afterwards, and the avenged husband then
went his way and came on his mission to England. He was lodged and
entertained at the Queen’s cost, and brought with him twelve thousand
crowns’ worth of jewels to win over the courtiers to his master’s
cause. At his first interview with the Queen on the 11th of January
she was not very cordial, and said that Alençon could not have been
very eager, as Simier had tarried three months on his way since his
coming was first announced, but she soon melted under the influence
of the envoy’s dulcet words and the casket of jewels he handed her
from his master. After the interview Leicester entertained him at
supper, and the same night a grand ball was given by the Queen in his
honour, at which we are told there was an entertainment in imitation
of a tournament between six ladies and a like number of gentlemen who
surrendered to them. Young La Mole had charmed Elizabeth with his
language of French gallantry, but Simier was a much more experienced
hand at the game, and artfully made violent love to the Queen under
shelter of his master’s name. The sober ambassador, Castelnau de la
Mauvissière, even could not avoid seeing the effect upon Elizabeth, and
wrote to the Queen-mother: “This discourse rejuvenates the Queen; she
has become more beautiful and bonny than she was fifteen years ago. Not
a woman or a physician who knows her who does not hold that there is no
lady in the realm more fit for bearing children than she is.”[103]
On the 16th of January, only a few days after her first interview with
Simier, the Queen wrote a letter to Alençon, in which her delight at
his envoy is clearly indicated. She says that she is so pleased with
him that no other advocate is necessary to make his peace with her.
Alençon’s own words, she tells him, are worthy not of being written
on parchment, but graven on marble. She bids him consult his wisest
friends about coming over, but if he thinks his honour will suffer the
least thereby she would not have him come for untold gold. She assures
him of her eternal friendship. She has never, she says, broken her
word in her life, so that as constancy is rare amongst princes she is
offering no common thing. She ends by hoping that he will reach the
years of Nestor, and that all his foes may be confounded.[104]
This was a pretty good beginning, but the correspondence thereafter
daily becomes more affectionate. On the 8th of February the Queen
writes a long letter to her lover, in which she says: “Je voy clair la
constance rare résider en vostre cœur qui ne se diminue par quelque
ombre d’ingratitude, qu’est asses de preuve pour m’assurer de vostre
affection sincère.” She then goes on to point out to her _tres cher_
that her people are strongly opposed to the match, and it will be best
for Alençon and herself to settle the conditions before commissioners
are sent. The meaning of this was that Simier, to whom even thus
early she had given the punning pet name of her monkey (singe), was
trying to get better terms for his master, especially in the matter
of religion. In vain the young Prince flatters her by saying that he
should sink under his troubles but for “l’imagination de vos beautés,
et lesperance que j’ai de vos bonnes grases”; in vain he says he
will leave every other point to her sole discretion, but cannot give
up his religion, and so offend God; but Elizabeth and her advisers
were firm, and things dragged on month after month. In the meanwhile
Alençon was obliged to cross the border and re-enter France, and in
March made a voyage of semi-reconciliation to see his brother in
Paris. Simier at the same time was pressing him warmly to come over
to England at once, strike the iron whilst it was hot, and marry the
Queen offhand; but the Queen’s own letters persistently threw cold
water on this proposal, as did Castelnau, the French ambassador, who
was bitterly jealous of Simier; and Alençon, for the present contented
himself with staying at his town of Dreux awaiting her favourable
decision as to the conditions “for which hope alone he lives.” But he
was more loving than ever in his letters, and writes on the 22nd of
March: “Je garde vostre belle pinture, qui ne se separara james de
moi que par la fin de mes os. C’est ou je fes mes auresons et pase la
pluspart du tans en ladoration des divintés qui y sont. Je supplie tres
humblement vostre majesté pardonner a mes pations (_i.e._, passions)
si trop presontuheuzement je dis se qui est dans mon ame.” It is
evident that the Queen was playing with him again, but she must have
deceived many of her ministers as well, for in the Hatfield Papers
there exists a whole series of documents, mostly in Burleigh’s hand,
discussing the advantages and disadvantages of the match from every
conceivable point of view at prodigious length, at which grave State
papers doubtless her Majesty and Leicester laughed heartily in their
sleeves. The Queen told the Spanish ambassador that it “was a fine
idea for an old woman like her to talk about marriage,” and more than
hinted to him that the negotiations had only been undertaken for the
purpose of getting the French out of the Netherlands, as she did not
want them there. She assured him that nothing would be arranged about
the marriage unless Alençon came. All through March the negotiations
for Alençon’s visit continued, whilst the Puritan pulpits rang with
denunciations of the proposed popish match, and London was in a fever
of apprehension of the coming of a French King consort. At last it was
settled that the Prince should come over in April; and it was then
considered necessary to secure Leicester’s neutrality at least. He
and Hatton had very soon got jealous of the bewitching “monkey,” who
rarely left the Queen’s side now, so Castelnau, the ambassador, had to
be the intermediary. Some letters signed by the King of France, but
really concocted by Castelnau in London, were delivered to the Queen
and Leicester, saying that Alençon would come in May, and assuring
Leicester on the King’s word that the marriage should in no way injure
his honour or position. Leicester urged that Alençon should come whilst
Parliament was sitting, even though the conditions were not agreed upon
beforehand, and said he would move the House to demand the marriage.
As the match was extremely unpopular in London, this was about the
very worst advice that could be given, and was meant to be so. Whilst
the proposed conditions were being discussed with Alençon’s special
envoy, Rochetaillé, in April, and the marriage was looked upon in
London as inevitable, some persons told the Queen that papers had
been found in the late Chancellor Sir Nicholas Bacon’s office, proving
that when the affair was under discussion before, the object of the
French was only to ruin the country, kill the Queen, and place Mary
of Scotland on the throne. If Elizabeth had been in earnest she would
have taken fright at this; but she only smiled and passed it over.
Both she and Leicester, however, were now ostentatiously in favour of
the match, as also were Leicester’s enemies, with a very different
end in view. Great preparations were made at Court for the Prince’s
coming; new clothes as fine as money could buy them were brought
from far and near. Leicester himself wrote to his “cousin,” Davison,
in Flanders, to send him 4,000 crowns’ worth of crimson, black, and
coloured velvet, satin, and silk, and £400 worth of gold and silver
tissue “or such-like pretty stuffs”[105]; but Philip II. was still
incredulous, and continued to assure his ambassador that it was “a
mere invention.” During the billing and cooing personally with Simier,
and in writing with his master, an occasional cloud of distrust passed
over. Once, late in April, 1579, news came of a possible French naval
expedition to Scotland in the interest of Mary, and the dispatch of a
papal expedition from Spain to the Catholic insurgents in Ireland; and
the Queen was in a panic for a day or two and even turned her back on
Simier. On such occasions as these bribes found their way from Mendoza
to the Queen’s ministers to large amounts, to induce them to impede
the marriage; Burleigh, Sussex, Crofts, Leicester, and Hatton, all got
their share, but seem to have given very little value for it, for they
were just as heavily bribed by the French on the other side.
The new conditions demanded by Simier and Rochetaillé in the interest
of Alençon were, first his coronation immediately after marriage,
secondly the association of him with the Queen in the government, and
thirdly the granting to him of a life pension of £60,000 per annum.
These new demands had been strenuously resisted by Cecil and Sussex
and the other councillors, but at length Simier began to get restive
and threatened to leave unless a decided reply were given within two
days. Representations were being made to the Queen from all quarters,
and especially from the Spanish ambassador and his creatures as to the
danger she would incur if the match were effected, but, says Mendoza,
“she expresses to Simier such a strong desire to marry that not a
councillor, whatever his real opinion may be, dares to say a word
against it.” At length she could procrastinate no longer, and started
for a short stay at Leicester’s house at Wanstead, in the last days of
April, taking Simier and Castelnau with her for the purpose of giving
them an answer. As usual she desired to free herself from personal
blame, and ordered each member of her Council to give her his opinion
on the match in writing. This they all refused to do, and confined
themselves to stating the arguments on both sides, leaving her to draw
the conclusion. During the stay at Wanstead, almost day and night,
Sussex, Leicester, Burleigh, and Walsingham remained in conference, but
could come to no conclusion; and the Court had to return with the Queen
to London still without an answer being given. At Whitehall on the 3rd
of May, a full meeting of the Council was held to finally discuss the
conditions, and Simier was invited to be present. The second demand
of the association of Alençon with the Queen in the government and
distribution of offices was at once declared to be impossible, and was
abandoned by Simier after some demur; but the other two conditions were
insisted upon by him. Simier then retired to an adjoining room whilst
the Council discussed these points. The first councillor to speak was
the new Lord Chancellor Bromley, who set forth the danger of the match,
in admitting Frenchmen, their traditional enemies, into the country,
its unpopularity and the improbability of there being any issue, and
ended by declaring uncompromisingly against the marriage. In the end
the whole of the Council except Sussex agreed with him, and word was
privately sent to the Queen that the Council was well-nigh unanimously
unfavourable. Then Simier was called in and told that his new
demands were such as had never been made before, and were absolutely
inadmissible. The Frenchman’s suavity suddenly left him, and he flew
into a great rage, flinging out of the room before Sussex could reach
him, banged the door after him in a fury, and went straight to the
Queen, who was in the garden.[106] She professed great sorrow at her
Council’s decision, swore to Simier that she would marry in spite of
them all, assumed an appearance of settled melancholy in his presence,
and sent a loving letter to the Prince by his secretary, de Vray, who
was despatched the same night to his master with the Council’s reply.
But Alençon was not lightly put off. Rochetaillé was already on his
way back to England with handsome presents for Leicester and the rest
of them, and de Vray returned at the end of May with his master’s
answer. He would, he said, marry her on her own terms, and only timidly
stipulated that he should be allowed the private exercise of the mass
in his own apartments, concluding by announcing his approaching visit
to the Queen to press his suit in person. This was by no means welcome
news to Elizabeth, who at the time certainly had no intention of
marrying him, and who feared the visit might either force her hand or
throw upon her personally the responsibility of breaking off the match.
The Council, however, decided unanimously that the Duke should not be
affronted by a refusal to receive him, and that the Queen could not
decently draw back now without at all events seeing her suitor. So it
was settled with Simier that his master should come to England in the
middle of August, and the Queen’s ships and safe-conduct should await
him at Calais. When this was decided the Queen desired to be left alone
with Simier, and Leicester was obliged, however unwillingly, to take
Castelnau out hunting. When they returned three hours afterwards Simier
and the Queen were still together, and whilst Castelnau supped with
Leicester Simier took his evening repast at the Queen’s table.
Castelnau, writing an account of affairs to the Queen-mother,[107] says
that all was now going as smoothly as ever: “Not a day passes that she
fails to send for him (Simier). On one occasion she came in her barge
to my lodging to fetch him before he had read his despatches, and when
he was not dressed. He was obliged to come out to see her with only his
doublet on, and she took him with her. Those who are against it are
cursing him, and declare that Simier will cheat her, and has bewitched
her.” Castelnau now quite believed in the marriage. The Queen told him
she really was convinced that the Duke was seeking her for herself
alone, and not for her crown, but she feared that, however much he
might esteem her, he would only love her for a year or two. She would,
however, promise before God that if he was a good husband to her she
would be the best wife in the world.
It is probable that by this time the Queen’s feelings were really
getting the better of her judgment, and that the satisfied vanity of
having a young prince at her feet was carrying all before it. The
whole country was ringing with the strange news of her close intimacy
with Simier, who had, it was said, bewitched her with a love philtre;
and afterwards Mary Stuart, in her prison, imprudently made herself
the echo of the scandal by writing to the Queen the outrageous letter
published by Labanoff, accusing her of immorality with both Simier and
Alençon. The murmurs were industriously fostered (and paid for) by the
Spanish ambassador, who did his best to stir up trouble and make the
match unpopular. He writes to his King at the end of June: “Although
there is no binding undertaking about the marriage, the Queen gives
every sign of being most anxious for it, and affirms that she will
never marry a man whom she has not previously seen. She is burning
with impatience for his (Alençon’s) coming, although her councillors
have laid before her the difficulties which may arise, the other
side having her support, has carried the day. She herself is largely
influenced by the idea that it should be known that her talents and
beauty are so great that they have sufficed to cause him to come and
visit her without any assurance that he will be her husband.”[108]
Leicester, who knew her better than any one, was quick to see whither
she was drifting, and became violently jealous. When the time came for
signing the passport for Alençon, at the end of June, he made a fervent
appeal to the Queen not to sign it; but Simier was too strong for him,
and the passport was sent, whereupon Leicester went and sulked at
Wanstead, feigning illness, and refused to be comforted, although the
Queen herself went there secretly and stayed two days to console him.
Shortly afterwards a desperate attempt was made by one of the Queen’s
guard to assassinate Simier, and it was at once concluded, doubtless
correctly, that it had been done at the instance of Leicester and
Hatton. The Queen was in a red-hot rage, and so was Simier himself,
who determined to strike a blow at his rival, which no other had yet
dared to do. Leicester had been secretly married some time before to
the widowed Countess of Essex, the daughter of Elizabeth’s cousin, and
Vice-Chamberlain Sir Francis Knollys: it was a _secret de polichinelle_
to every one but the Queen, but no one had ventured to tell her until
Simier, choosing the propitious moment, did so. Her fury passed
all bounds of decency and decorum; she raged and swore against the
“she-wolf,” as she called her cousin, who had thus been instrumental
in wounding her vanity; but Simier was victorious, for she became more
inseparable from him than ever, and for a time kept Leicester under
lock and key in a fort in Greenwich Park. Soon afterwards another
attempt was made upon Simier’s life, this time by a shot whilst he was
on the river with the Queen. He had previously lived with Castelnau at
the French embassy, but now, in order to avoid the risk of his going
backwards and forwards daily by water, the Queen brought him to her
palace at Greenwich, and there lodged him, to the dismay and disgust of
the English courtiers.
The way seemed now clear. The King of France and his mother had been
convinced by Simier and Castelnau that Alençon had only to appear
before the Queen for her to marry him, and they were willing to run
the risk of his going secretly on the chance, in order, if possible,
to get rid of so troublesome an element as Alençon was in France.
In England the match was looked upon as settled; but still gloomy,
patient Philip, in his cell, was incredulous. “Whatever may be said,”
he wrote to Mendoza, early in August, “I do not believe the marriage
will take place, as there can be on either side no great desire for
it, but a large amount of pretence.” The only thing he left out of the
calculation was Elizabeth’s passion and vanity, which for a time were
overmastering her judgment.
Alençon started from Paris on the 2nd of August, sending a confidential
messenger ahead of him to announce his coming to the Queen and Simier.
The latter had previously lodged in apartments adjoining those of
the Queen, to which he had a key giving him private access, but now,
for the sake of appearances, he was transferred to a pavilion in the
garden at Greenwich, where rooms were also prepared for the Prince.
Various attempts at mystification were made to prevent the knowledge
of his arrival becoming public and to throw people off the scent, but
as he was delayed by bad weather at Boulogne for some days, the news
spread and his arrival was after all an open secret. The Queen coyly
told the Spanish ambassador that her lover had not come, but her hints
and her simpers clearly implied that he had. The courtiers, to keep
up an appearance of innocence, stayed away as much as possible, and
they were prudent in doing so, for the Countess of Derby and the Earl
of Bedford’s daughter, who were caught gossiping about the Prince’s
arrival, were incontinently placed under arrest until after he had gone.
From a letter from Simier to the Queen[109] it would appear that the
Prince’s approach was first made known to her early in the morning, and
that she instantly sent word to Simier, who was in bed. Simier says
that as her messenger left his room the Prince himself entered it so
effectively disguised that he hardly knew him. He had, he said, been
met in the street by many persons, but had not been recognised. He
was, says Simier, tired to death, but notwithstanding that, entreated
Simier to go at once to the Queen and beg her to let him go and salute
her, all travel-stained and weary as he was. “But I showed him how
impossible this was, as he would have to pass through a dozen chambers
before he got to yours, and that you were still asleep. At last I
persuaded him to take some rest, and soon got him between the sheets,
and I wish to God you were with him there, as he could then with
greater facility convey his thoughts to you, for I well know that 'mal
si riposa chi non la contentezza.’”
Leicester in the meanwhile was furious, and the Spanish ambassador
was missing no opportunity of fanning the flame of discontent against
the marriage. The Queen dined alone with Alençon in Simier’s room on
the 17th of August, the day after his arrival, and although the young
Prince was no beauty, with his swart, pocked-marked face, Elizabeth at
once fell in love with him. He became from the first day her “frog”
(grenouille), and the little endearments of the two young lovers went
on ceaselessly all day, and often far into the night. “The Queen,”
writes Mendoza on the 25th of August, “is delighted with Alençon, and
he with her, as she has let out to some of her courtiers, saying that
she was pleased to have known him, was much taken with his good parts,
and admired him more than any man. She says that for her part she will
not stand in the way of his being her husband.”[110] Castelnau, the
French ambassador, writing at the same time, says to the Queen-mother:
“These loving conferences have lasted eight days. The lady has with
difficulty been able to entertain the Duke, being captivated, overcome
with love: she told me she had never found a man whose nature and
actions suited her better. She begs me to write to your Majesty asking
you not to punish him too much for the great folly of risking so much
in coming to see a woman so unworthy as she is.” The young Prince had
been brought up in a Court where love-making was the great business
of life, and flattered and languished as successfully as La Mole and
Simier had done, and Elizabeth’s overweening vanity had probably never
been so satisfied before. She gave a ball on Sunday, the 23rd of
August, 1579, at Greenwich, Alençon, being only half hidden behind the
arras. The Queen danced and posed even more than usual, and ever and
anon made signals to her guest, of whose presence all the courtiers
pretended to be ignorant. On the same night news came to the Duke
that his staunch friend, Bussy d’Amboise, had at last been killed in
a duel, and on the 27th Alençon started by coach to Dover to take the
ship which was awaiting to carry him to Calais. Castelnau said after he
went that he wrote letters “ardent enough to set fire to water,” and
to judge from the curious letters sent by him and Simier from Dover
before he embarked, the ambassador was not very wide of the mark. These
letters are in the Hatfield collection, and are worth transcribing as a
specimen of the love-letters of the time, although that of the Prince
seems to our eyes a perfect burlesque, considering that it was written
by a lover of twenty-four to a mature beauty of nearly double his age.
He is, he says, envious of his letter which will reach her hand. He
dare not commit himself to a long discourse, knowing well that he is
not himself, as he is continually occupied in stanching the tears which
flow from his eyes without intermission. He swears that his affection
for her will last for ever, and that he is and will remain the most
faithful and affectionate slave who can exist on earth. “As such,” he
says, “on the brink of this troublesome sea I kiss your feet.”
This was accompanied by a letter from Simier in the quaint French of
the time, which the reader may well be spared. It runs as follows:
“Madame: I must tell you how little rest your frog had last night, he
having done nothing but sigh and weep. At eight o’clock he made me get
up to discourse to him of your divine beauty and of his great grief
at leaving your Majesty, the jailor of his heart, the mistress of
his liberty. Only his hope that he will soon see you again gives him
some consolation. He has sworn to me a thousand times, but for that
he would not wish to live another quarter of an hour. Do not then be
cruel to him as he desires only to preserve his life so long as you
are kind. Before he was out of bed he seized the pen and has ordered
me to send off Captain Bourg with this, pending my own return to you,
which will be as soon as I see him (Alençon) at sea with his sails
spread. The weather is beautiful and the sea calm and I expect he will
have a fair passage unless he swell the waves with the abundance of
his tears. The monkey takes the liberty of humbly kissing your lovely
hands.”[111] These letters were sent on the 28th of August, and on
the two following days similar extravagant missives were sent by the
Prince, by Castelnau, and Simier; and then, on his arrival at Boulogne,
more lovelorn epistles followed, by the hands of Admiral Howard and
Edward Stafford, who had escorted the Prince so far. The Queen could
only talk of her ardent young lover, who, by the way, had scattered
liberally amongst the courtiers the rich jewels his mother had provided
for the occasion, the Queen herself receiving a splendid diamond ring
worth 10,000 crowns; and in conversation with the Spanish ambassador
she could find no words of praise strong enough for Catharine de
Medici, “whom she had formerly abominated.” The circumstances indeed
again rendered a close alliance between England and France desirable
either by marriage or otherwise. Catharine had managed to disarm Henry
of Navarre, and the signing of the treaty of Nerac in February, 1579,
had for a time brought harmony to France, and when France was united
it was always necessary for Elizabeth to be in cordial agreement with
that country or Spain. Her undisguised help to the revolted Flemings
and her depredations on Spanish shipping had alienated her more and
more from Philip, and now another circumstance had arisen which must
drive both her and Catharine de Medici into more pronounced antagonism
to Spain. The King of Portugal was old, ailing, and childless, and
intrigues were ripe as to the succession of the crown. The strongest
claimant was Philip himself, and it was felt that a further addition to
his power and the acquisition of so fine a seaboard as that of Portugal
would gravely prejudice the interest of France and England. Catharine
had a shadowy claim to the crown herself for form’s sake, but she and
Elizabeth were quite agreed that, whoever got the prize, they would
do their best to prevent Philip from gaining it, by stirring up war
elsewhere and aiding the other pretenders.
Matters were therefore again ripe for an attempt to bring about a
binding offensive and defensive alliance between the two countries: and
as soon as the lovelorn swain had gone home, serious and exhaustive
discussions of the pros and cons of the projected match was undertaken
by the Council at Greenwich. They appear to have sat continuously from
the 2nd to the 8th of October, and the minutes of their proceedings in
great detail, written by Burleigh, exist in the Hatfield Papers.[112]
No phase or eventuality seems to have been lost sight of, and a
sort of debit and credit account of advantages and disadvantages is
carefully drawn up. The main result of the well-nigh interminable
discussions was that the possible dangers of the match outbalanced
the benefits, and an address to the Queen was drawn up and signed by
the whole Council, dated the 8th of October, 1579, which, however,
carefully avoided the expression of a decided opinion, and cast the
onus of the final resolution on to the Queen. They say that they “have
not proceeded to a full resolution as is usual in such consultations,
feeling that inasmuch as her Majesty’s own wishes and dispositions are
principally to be regarded, it was their duty first to offer to her
Majesty all their services and counsel to do what best shall please
her.” They beg her to show them the inclination of her mind, and if
she pleases each councillor will state his opinion to her and bear the
responsibility she might lay upon them.” This message was taken to her
by Burleigh, Leicester, Sussex, and Lincoln in the forenoon, and, as
may be supposed, did not please their mistress. She wept and railed at
them in no measured terms that their tedious disputations should seem
to imply a doubt as to the wisdom of her marrying and “having a child
of her own body to inherit and continue the line of Henry VIII.; and
condemned herself of simplicity in committing this matter to be argued
by them, for that she thought to have rather had a universal request
made to her to proceed in this marriage than to have made a doubt of
it, and being much troubled thereby she requested them to forbear her
till the afternoon.” When they went to her again they found her even
more indignant, “and shewed her mislike of such as she thought would
not proffer her marriage before any device of surety.” She complained
very bitterly that they should think so “slenderly” of her as to assume
that she would not be as careful to safeguard religion as they were,
and that they should begrudge her marriage and child-bearing for that
reason. We are told (in Burleigh’s own hand) that “her answers were
very sharp in reprehending all such as she thought would make argument
against her marriage, and though she thought it not meet to declare to
them whether she would marry or not, yet she looked from their hands
that they should with one accord have made special suit to her for the
same.”[113] This meant, of course, that the responsibility should rest
on other shoulders than her own whilst she had her way. Stubbs’s famous
book, “The discovery of a gaping gulf wherein England is like to be
swallowed by another French marriage,” had recently been published, and
a fierce proclamation had just been issued by the Queen denouncing such
publications as “lewde and seditious.” Stubbs himself had his right
hand chopped off and was exposed to public contumely, but with his left
hand he raised his bonnet the moment after the blow was struck, and
cried, “God save the Queen!” Nearly all London shared his opposition
to the match and his personal loyalty to the Queen; and Elizabeth, who
clung to her popularity above all things, was desirous of avoiding the
blame for the marriage and yet to bring it about. In the meanwhile
almost daily couriers sped backwards and forwards with exchanges of
presents and loving missives between the Queen and Alençon, who had had
another quarrel with his brother, and had retired to his own town of
Alençon. He cannot imagine, he says, how her people can ever gainsay
“une si bell royne qui les a tousjours tant bien gouvernés qu’il ne
se peut mieus en monarchie du monde“: and her Majesty was determined
they should not gainsay her if she could help it. Once Walsingham, in
conversation with her, expressed an unfavourable opinion, whereupon
she turned upon him in a fury, and told him to be gone for a shielder
of heretics; and when Sir Francis Knollys, presuming upon his
relationship, asked her how she could think of marrying a Catholic,
she threatened that he should suffer for his zeal. His was a fine way,
she said, of showing attachment to his sovereign. Why should not she
marry and have children like any other woman? Even her faithful “sheep”
Hatton had a squabble with her about it, and was rusticated for a
week.[114]
Philip Sidney’s bold and nobly-worded letter of remonstrance with
the Queen against the match was accepted in a better spirit. The
virtues and talents of the writer, coupled with the disinterested
patriotism which evidently inspired his protest, secured him against
the vituperation which Elizabeth lavished on Walsingham and other
Protestant champions who timidly ventured to offer not a tithe
of Sidney’s outspoken opinions. “These” (the Protestants), said
Sidney--“how will their hearts be galled, if not alienated, when they
shall see you take a husband, a Frenchman and a papist, in whom,
howsoever fine wits may find further dealings or painted excuses, the
very common people well know this: that he is the son of a Jezebel of
our age; that his brother made oblation of his sister’s marriage, the
easier to make massacres of our brethren in belief. That he himself,
contrary to his promise and all gratefulness, having his liberty and
principal estate by the Huguenot’s means did sack La Charité and
utterly spoil them with fire and sword! This I say, even at first sight
gives occasion to all truly religious to abhor such a master, and
consequently to diminish much of the hopeful love they long held to
you.” The Queen wept over this, as well she might, but to her credit it
may be said that she did not visit the writer with her displeasure as
she would have done in the case of a less high-minded adviser.
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