Arrival of Alençon in the Netherlands--His investure as
Duke of Brabant--Leicester’s suspicion and intrigues--
Alençon’s ceaseless demands for money--Henry III. refuses
aid to his brother--The Queen’s attempts to revive the
marriage negotiations--Universal distrust of her--
Attempted assassination of William of Orange--Danger
of Alençon---Elizabeth’s fear of a French and Spanish
understanding--To prevent it she again declares she will
marry Alençon--Her renewed efforts to pledge the King of
France before the marriage--She threatens France that she
will make friends with Spain unless her terms are granted.
On February 10, 1582, Alençon’s fleet of fifteen ships anchored before
Flushing, where the Princes of Orange and Epinay, with the members of
the States, were already assembled to welcome the new sovereign of
Brabant. He entered the town in great pomp with William the Silent on
one side of him and Leicester on the other, and followed by Hunsdon,
Willoughby, Philip Sidney, Sir John Norris who was in command of the
English auxiliaries, and many other Englishmen. The bells rang, the
guns thundered their welcome, and the crowds acclaimed their new ruler;
but as Orange in his speech to the States clearly indicated, it was not
the feeble Prince, a Frenchman, and a Catholic, they were greeting so
much as the strong Protestant Queen of England, under whose auspices
and protection he came. Wherever Frenchmen alone appeared they were
looked at askance: at Middleburg the townspeople stoutly refused to
admit even their new Duke’s French bodyguard until Leicester himself
besought them to do so on his guarantee. All the citadels were open to
Englishmen, but not a Frenchman, except Alençon, was allowed to enter
them. Alençon wrote to Marchaumont almost as soon as he arrived that
Orange and Leicester were arranging everything over his head, and he
saw clearly that after all he was to play second fiddle. After some
delay and misgiving, and a dispute for precedence between Brussels and
Antwerp, the already disillusioned Prince made his state entry into the
latter city, and received the oath of allegiance as Duke of Brabant.
Everything that pomp could do was done to invest the ceremony with
solemnity. When Orange clasped around the new Duke his ermine-bordered
mantle he whispered to him, “I will fasten it firmly, Monseigneur, so
that no one shall deprive you of it.” Garbed in his ducal panoply he
passed through the city on horseback to the palace of St. Michael, sums
of money in coins stamped with his effigy were flung to the crowd, and
in appearance at least his longing for sovereignty was satisfied. But
in appearance alone, for the States and Orange were urged by Leicester
never to let the power out of their hands--and they never did.
In the meanwhile Elizabeth in England was still playing her part of the
comedy. When she had parted from her lover at Canterbury she prayed
him to address her in his letters as his wife, and daily epistles full
of lovesick nonsense continued to pass between them. She openly said
that she would willingly give a million for her dear “frog” to be
disporting himself in the clear waters of the Thames rather than in the
sluggish ponds of the Netherlands, and again asserted her intention
of marrying her suitor if his brother would fulfil his promises.
All this made Leicester in Flanders and Hatton in London somewhat
distrustful. The former thought that perhaps after all he might be
duped, and that Alençon might detain him against his will. The Queen,
moreover, in Hatton’s hearing had made some remark about men never
knowing how fortunate they were until fortune had left them, which
he applied to Leicester, and sent a special messenger to urge him to
return at once. Leicester needed no second bidding. The very day after
the investure of Alençon he suddenly left Antwerp at dinner-time and
hastened to England. He arrived in London on the 26th of February in
high glee, boasting of the good service he had done in leaving the
Queen’s troublesome suitor stuck fast in the bogs, like a wrecked hulk,
deserted by wind and tide. The oath of allegiance, he said, was only a
farce, and Alençon a laughing-stock. Pasquins and insulting placards
had been fixed to his chamber-door on the very first day of his stay
in Antwerp; the Queen of England, and she alone, was now arbitratress
of the peace of Europe. This was pleasant talk for Elizabeth, but was
soon conveyed to Marchaumont, who made a formal complaint to the Queen
of Leicester’s words. For this reason or from fear of Spain, she had
a great wrangle with Leicester the next night. She had never meant to
sanction the formal investure, she said, and had not been informed of
it. Leicester, for his own ostentation, had implied by his presence
at the ceremony her authority for it, and had drawn her into an act
of open hostility to the King of Spain. He was a knave and a traitor,
she said, and much else of the same sort. It was all a planned thing
between him and that tyrannical Orange, so that the latter might have
his own way in all things. She then turned on Walsingham, and called
him a scamp for persuading Alençon to go to the Netherlands at all.
Probably all this extraordinary talk, and the Queen and Cecil’s sudden
attempt to gain the goodwill and friendship of Spain, were caused by
the intelligence sent by her ambassador, Cobham, in France, that the
King had stoutly refused to countenance his brother’s attempt, and
had declared traitors all those who helped him. Henry’s hand then was
not to be forced, and after all she might find herself alone face to
face with all the Catholic powers united. The fear of this always
brought her to her knees, and she insisted upon Cecil’s leaving a
sick bed to come and advise her what to do. He urged her emphatically
either to marry Alençon at once or make terms with the King of Spain,
as things had now come to a crisis which could not be prolonged. She
was peevish and quarrelsome with all about her, and perplexed to the
last degree. Cecil urged her one way, Walsingham another, and Sussex
a third. Alençon was clamouring through Marchaumount for money, more
money, for not a penny could he get elsewhere. His new subjects were
bitterly distrustful of him, and hated his Frenchmen almost as much
as they did their Spanish oppressors; and the poor Queen had nearly
come to the end of her clever serpentine devices. First she decided to
write, pressing Alençon to come over at once and marry her--anything
to relieve herself of the sole and open responsibility of the war--
she solemnly swore to Castelnau that this time she was in earnest, and
would really marry the Prince if he came. But Castelnau was incredulous
and irresponsive, Walsingham and Leicester were inimical, and it is
very doubtful whether the letter to Alençon was really sent. Certain
it is that the Queen wrote a letter with her own hand, and handed it
the same day (March 5th) to Marchaumont to send to Alençon, urging him
not to trust the Flemish mob overmuch, or to venture further in the
business than the support he was sure of would warrant. As his brother
would not help him he must not expect her to quarrel with the King
of Spain alone. She thus coolly left him in the lurch. The very day
after this letter left, one of Pinart’s secretaries brought important
letters from the King of France, his mother, and from Cobham to the
Queen, which once more entirely changed the aspect of affairs. The
King assured her that under no circumstances would he help his brother
or break with Spain, whilst Cobham detailed a long conversation he
had had with the King, in which the latter had expressed the greatest
anger and indignation at the way in which a vain and fickle woman had
befooled a prince of the blood royal of France for her own ends. Thank
God! he said, he was not such a fool as his brother, and if the latter
had only listened to him he would have safely and surely raised him to
a better place than the Queen of England could do. In vain Cobham had
sought to mollify the King. The Queen might try her cleverness upon
others, said Henry, but if she was not straightforward with him she
should suffer for it. He had already conceded too much to her, and
would go no further. In future all responsibility must rest on the
Queen of England. Elizabeth did not wait even to consult the Council,
but at once sent a special courier to Cobham, ordering him to assure
the King that there was nothing she desired more than to marry if he
would fulfil the conditions. Then she summoned Sussex, and told him to
arrange with Marchaumont to renew the arrangements for the marriage.
But Sussex was sick of the whole business; he felt he was a mere
catspaw, and yet he was being blamed by all parties; so he declined
to interfere, on the ground that the Queen had so often expressed
her natural repugnance to marriage that he was sure she would never
bring herself to it, and she had better try to excuse the slights she
had offered to the French royal house than commence a new series of
them. Besides, he said, however fit Alençon might be personally, his
present position in the Netherlands made it most dangerous for her to
marry him now, as it might bring her country face to face with Spain.
He should not be doing his duty, said Sussex, did he not advise her,
if she decided to marry the Duke, only to do so in case he left the
Netherlands and surrendered the title of Duke of Brabant. She assured
Sussex in reply that if she did marry she would make the Duke abandon
the Netherlands enterprise. She then went to visit Cecil, who was ill
with gout, and told him she had overcome her last scruple, and had
decided to marry; but he was just as cool as Sussex, and would have
nothing to do with it, and warned her to take care what she was about,
or ill would come of it. Marchaumont was next taken in hand, and told
by the Queen that at last she had decided to marry in real earnest.
She urged him to persuade his master on this assurance, to retire from
the Netherlands until she had arranged with his brother to break with
Spain jointly with her. Marchaumont had long been begging for money,
and seized the opportunity of suggesting that he should himself go to
Flanders and bring Alençon round to her views, taking with him the
gold she had promised him from Drake’s plunder. The Council would not
consent to Marchaumont’s going, but they sent the £15,000 with the
letter the next night. This was early in March, 1582, and on the 18th
of the same month Alençon was giving an entertainment to celebrate
his birthday at the palace of St. Michael, in Antwerp, when a young
Biscayner discharged a pistol in the face of the Prince of Orange and
wounded him in a way that kept him hovering between life and death
for weeks to come. At the first news of the treacherous shot at the
national hero, the hatred of the stout Dutchmen for the French flared
out. It ran like wildfire from town to town that this was another
plot of the false brood of Valois and Medici, and for a day Alençon’s
own life was in danger. But for the courage and presence of mind of
Orange himself in his own apparently mortal strait every Frenchman
in Flanders would probably have been massacred, and Alençon amongst
them. The moment the Queen of England heard the news all the ports
were closed, and one of her Gentlemen of the Chamber was instructed to
hasten to Antwerp and tell Alençon to leave the States instantly. When
Walsingham learnt this he solemnly warned his mistress to take care
what she did. If Alençon came again she must marry him or bring all
Catholic Christendom against her. She therefore, but very unwillingly,
took another course--namely, to send for Castelnau, the French
ambassador, and assure him on her word of honour as a Queen that she
would marry Alençon. This and other things she desired that he would
convey to the King officially; but really the trick was getting too
stale. Castelnau replied that she had at various times made him write
so many things which she had no intention of fulfilling that he must
decline to do so any more. After much persuasion, however, he consented
to write, although he made no secret of his derision of the whole
affair.
If Mendoza is to be believed, the Queen was playing a doubly false game
on the present occasion. She was trying to prevent the King of France
from joining a coalition against her by again professing willingness
to become his sister-in-law, she was beguiling Alençon with renewed
ideas of marriage and help, to prevent him in his despair from making
terms with Parma, she was sending messages urging him to retire from
the Netherlands for his safety’s sake in order to relieve herself of
the responsibility of helping him, whilst, by the very same messenger,
she was instructing Orange and the Protestants on no account to let
him go, so that she might not be plagued again by his appearance
in England as a pressing suitor. All through March and April news
continued to arrive of the Prince of Orange’s desperate condition.
For days he was only kept alive by the repression of the severed
artery by the fingers of relays of attendants night and day. Several
times apparently well-founded intelligence came of his death, and
Elizabeth and her councillors had to consider the new aspect of affairs
which such an event would produce. Leicester, Hatton, and Walsingham
were in favour of the Queen herself taking the protectorate of the
Netherlands, as she could then, if necessary, make better terms with
Spain; whilst if Alençon and the French once got their grip on the
country it would be ruinous to England. Sussex and Cecil, on the other
hand, were for making an arrangement with Spain at once. When they
submitted their diverse opinions to the Queen she angrily complained
that the death of a single person made all her councillors tremble and
deprived her subjects of their courage. But she took her own tortuous
course whatever her councillors’ opinions might be. First she publicly
declared on every occasion her fixed intention of marrying Alençon;
then she sent for Sussex and begged him to write to the Duke that when
he had made terms with Spain or had otherwise arranged to relieve her
of the need for contributing to the war, she would marry him at once;
and to this she would pledge her word as a Queen and her oath as a
Christian. But Sussex refused this time to be the instrument for still
further injuring her reputation, as he said. He had innocently done so
before, but he knew that marriage was repugnant to her, and he would
have no more to do with it.[156] Finding that Sussex was obdurate, the
Queen, not to be baulked, sent her message by a gentleman of Alençon’s
named Pruneaux, who was then in London.
The reason for this was that in case the amicable settlement she feared
was arrived at by Alençon and his brother after Orange’s death, she
should not be left out of the arrangement, which she certainly would
not be if Alençon still hoped to be accepted as her husband. She was
indeed in greater fear of the French now than ever; Henry III. had
become more and more complaisant with his brother as the danger of
Orange increased, and notwithstanding all her diplomacy she could not
extract even the smallest conditional promise to break with Spain,
even, as she put it, as a matter of form. The coast of Flanders and
Holland in the hands of the French would mean ruin to England, and, as
usual, she railed at Walsingham for his innocent share in promoting
Alençon’s going thither. “You knave!” she greeted him with one day,
“you ought to have your head off your shoulders for persuading the
Duke to go to Antwerp. He is trying now to get hold of the ports, but
they will see whether I will put up with that coolly;” whereupon the
secretary answered not a word. She wrote again to Alençon, telling
him she would marry him if he came, and would not stand in the way
of his Netherlands plans if she were not expected to contribute to
the cost; but if he continued the war without marrying her she would
be his mortal foe and would expend her last man and her last shot
in preventing him from obtaining uncontrolled possession of the
Netherlands. The £15,000 she had sent him, she said, was a mark of
affection rather than a subsidy for the war, and indeed at this time--
the end of April, 1582--it is clear that her most pressing fear was
lest the death of Orange should allow the French to obtain the control
of the country over her head, to make their own terms with Philip,
and leave her and the Protestants in the lurch. She left no effort
untried to persuade the French that she really would marry Alençon,
but Castelnau, as well as his master and the Queen-mother, were not
very credulous by this time, and were inclined rather to make a joke of
her newly-revived ardour. On one occasion when she was setting forth
in detail to Castelnau the various reasons which she said made her
marriage with Alençon now necessary, he told her that she had forgotten
the most important reason of all, namely, that people were saying
that she had already given him the privileges of a husband. This was
expressed in words that would in our day be considered unpardonably
coarse and insulting if applied to the humblest woman, but the Queen
only answered that she would soon stop the rumour. The ambassador
told her that she might perhaps do so in her own realm, but it would
be impossible in other countries where it was public talk. Excited
and angry at this the Queen exclaimed that her conscience was clear
and innocent, and she therefore feared nothing; she would stifle such
calumnies everywhere by her marriage.[157]
Very anxiously she awaited the replies from the King and Alençon to
her new approaches. After some delay the former very coolly sent word
that he could go no further than the terms which had been conveyed
by Pinart; but day after day passed without the arrival of an answer
from Alençon, and the Queen, in the interim, hardly sought to hide
her trepidation from her councillors, especially from Sussex. In
the meanwhile Leicester and his friends were busy again stirring up
Protestant fears against the match, and Cecil and Sussex were urging
an arrangement with Spain. At last, on the 2nd of May, Bacqueville
arrived with a letter from Alençon to the Queen full of extravagant
professions of love and rejoicing. He had, he said, ceased to mention
the marriage for the last two months as he had despaired of it, she
having told him herself that the mountains would move ere she would
willingly wed. Now, however, that she had changed her mind, he would
not trust to letters, but would himself take flight like a swallow and
nest in England. This was his final resolution, and he entreated her to
send him word immediately when he might come and consummate his joy.
This letter plunged the Queen once more in the midst of the intrigue,
and she confidently resumed her masterly handling of the tangled skein.
She openly expressed her pleasure at her approaching union, she scolded
poor Walsingham as if he were a pickpocket, because, she said, he had
caused dissension between her and her lover, and then she sent for
Castelnau and Marchaumont. She conveyed to them Alençon’s determination
to come, and swore solemnly that since she had given him the ring she
had never wavered for a moment in her intention of becoming Alençon’s
wife, if the King of France would fulfil the conditions. Having thus
demonstrated her sincerity with regard to the marriage itself, her
next move was to dissociate herself from Alençon’s projects in the
Netherlands. She turned upon Marchaumont like a fury, told him he
was a sordid, venal fellow who had never ceased to importune her for
money since his master left, as if they both of them only cared for
her to administer to his ambition, and his only object was to torment
the old woman until they had drained her purse.[158] She then formally
requested the ambassador to inform the King--first, that Alençon
was coming to marry her as soon as word was sent to him; second, that
she herself was of the same mind; and third, that the final word now
rested with the King. She had demanded that he should defray half of
the expenses of the war in the Netherlands, not because she desired
war with Spain--quite the contrary. She desired universal peace
and good-will, but as Alençon, for his own ends, had entered into
the affair she did not want her subjects to say that she had broken
their long peace and prosperity and wasted their treasure for the sake
of marriage; and she therefore wished the King to promise to defray
half the cost of the war _before_ the marriage. It was of the utmost
importance, she repeated, that the King should hand the money over
_before the ceremony_, and she did not see how she could marry unless
he did so. She urged the ambassador to impress upon the King how very
straightforwardly she had acted in the matter, and to request him to
send a person of sufficiently high rank fully empowered to settle;
and she would then summon Alençon and marry him without further ado.
Castelnau demurred at this. She had deceived him, he said, so often,
that his master had reproved him for his credulity. How could he
believe her word, he asked. “These are not words alone,” replied the
Queen, “these are the solemn oaths of a Queen and a Christian woman,”
and she called God’s vengeance down upon herself if she broke them.
Then she began to hector. If the King did not accede to so reasonable
a demand, she said, she would know that he had been tricking her all
along, and she would be his and his brother’s mortal foe for life. Her
last man and her last penny should be sacrificed, she swore, before
she would permit the French to gain a footing in the Netherlands. She
had plenty of powerful friends, the King of Spain was seeking her, and
if the King of France did not make haste and consent to her terms, she
should consider his action as a negative, and immediately throw him
over and join the King of Spain.[159]
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