 CHAPTER VI. A SESSION TO THE THRONE. Over with the story of Mary, instead of that of Elizabeth that we were following, we should have now to pause and draw a very melancholy picture of the scenes which darkened the close of the Queen's unfortunate and unhappy history. Mary loved her husband, but she could not secure his love in return. He treated her with supercilious coldness and neglect, and advanced from time to time a degree of interest in other ladies, which awakened her jealousy and anger. Of all the terrible convulsions to which the human soul is subject, there is not one which agitates it more deeply than the tumult of feeling produced by the mingling of resentment and love. Such a mingling, or rather such a conflict, between passions apparently inconsistent with each other, is generally considered not possible by those who have never experienced it. But it is possible. It is possible to be stung with the sense of the ingratitude and selfishness and cruelty of an object, which, after all, the heart will persist in clinging to with a fondest affection, vexation and anger, a burning sense of injury and desire for revenge on the one hand, and the feelings of love resistless and uncontrollable and bearing in their turn all before them, alternately get possession of the soul, harrowing and devastating it in their awful conflict, and even sometimes reigning over it for a time in a temporary but dreadful calm, like that of two wrestlers who pause a moment, exhausted in a mortal combat, but grappling each other with deadly energy all the time, while they are taking breath for a renewal of the conflict. Queen Mary, in one of these paroxysms, seized a portrait of her husband and tore it into shreds. The reader, who has his or her experience and affairs of the heart yet to come, will say, perhaps, her love for him then must have been all gone. No, it was at its height. We do not tear the portraits of those who are indifferent to us. At the beginning of her reign, and in fact during all the previous periods of her life, Mary had been an honest and conscientious Catholic. She undoubtedly truly believed that the Christian church ought to be banded together in one great communion with the Pope of Rome as its spiritual head, and that her father had broken away from this communion, which was, in fact, strictly true, merely to obtain a pretext for getting released from her mother, how natural under such circumstances, that she should have desired to return. She commenced immediately on her accession a course of measures to bring the nation back to the Roman Catholic communion. She managed very prudently and cautiously at first, especially while the affair of her marriage was pending, seemingly very desirous of doing nothing to exasperate those who were of the Protestant faith, or even to awaken their opposition. After she was married, however, her desire to please her Catholic husband and his widely extended and influential circle of Catholic friends on the continent made her more eager to press forward the work of putting down the Reformation in England. And as her marriage was now effected, she was less concerned about the consequences of any opposition which she might excite. Then besides, her temper, never very sweet, was sadly soured by her husband's treatment of her. She vented her ill will upon those who would not yield to her wishes in respect to their religious faith. She caused more and more severe laws to be passed and enforced them by more and more severe penalties. The more she pressed these violent measures, the more the fortitude and resolution of those who suffered from them were aroused. And on the other hand, the more they resisted, the more determined she became that she would compel them to submit. She went on from one mode of coercion to another, until she reached the last possible point and inflicted the most dreadful physical suffering which it is possible for man to inflict upon his fellow man. The worst and most terrible injury is to burn the living victim in a fire. That a woman could ever order this to be done would seem to be incredible. Queen Mary, however, and her government, were so determined to put down at all hazards all open disaffection to the Catholic cause that they did not give up the contest until they had burned nearly three hundred persons by fire, of whom more than fifty were women and four were children. This horrible persecution was, however, of no avail. Dissidents increased faster than they could be burned, and such dreadful punishments became at last so intolerably odious to the nation that they were obliged to desist. And then the various ministers of state concerned in them attempted to throw off the blame upon each other. The English nation have never forgiven Mary for these atrocities. They gave her the name of Bloody Mary at the time, and she has retained it to the present day. In one of the ancient tones of the realm at the head of the chapter devoted to Mary there is placed as an appropriate emblem of the character of her reign the picture of a man riding helplessly at a stake, with flames curling around him, and a ferocious-looking soldier standing by, stirring up the fire. The various disappointments, fixations, and trials which Mary endured towards the close of her life had one good effect. They softened the animosity which she had felt towards Elizabeth, and in the end something like a friendship seemed to spring up between the sisters, abandoned by her husband, and looked upon with dislike or hatred by her subjects, and disappointed in all her plans she seemed to turn at last to Elizabeth for companionship and comfort. The sisters visited each other. First Elizabeth went to London to visit the queen, and was received with great ceremony and parade. Then the queen went to Hatfield to visit the princess, attended by a large company of ladies and gentlemen of the court, and several days were spent there in festivities and rejoicings. There were plays in the palace, and a bear baiting in the courtyard, and hunting in the park, and many other schemes of pleasure. This renewal of friendly intercourse between the queen and the princess brought the latter gradually out of her retirement. Now that the queen began to evince a friendly spirit toward her, it was safe for others to show her kindness and to pay her attention. The disposition to do this increased rapidly as Mary's health gradually declined, and it began to be understood that she would not live long, and that consequently Elizabeth would soon be called to the throne. The war which Mary had been drawn into with France by Philip's threat that he would never see her again proved very disastrous. The town of Calais, which is opposite to Dover, across the Straits, and, of course, on the French side of the channel, had been in the possession of the English for two hundred years. It was very gratifying to English pride to hold possession of such a stronghold on the French shore. But now everything seemed to go against Mary. Calais was defended by a citadel nearly as large as the town itself, and was deemed impregnable. In addition to this, an enormous English force was concentrated there. The French general, however, contrived partly by stratagem and partly by overpowering numbers of troops and ships and batteries of cannon to get possession of the whole. The English nation were indignant at this result. Their queen and her government so energetic in imprisoning and burning her own subjects at home were powerless, it seemed, in coping with their enemies abroad. Mermers of dissatisfaction were heard everywhere, and Mary sank down upon her sick bed, overwhelmed with disappointment, vexation, and chagrin. She said that she should die, and that if after her death they examined her body they would find Calais like a load upon her heart. In the meantime it must have been Elizabeth's secret wish that she would die, since her death would release the princess from all the embarrassments and restraints of her position, and raise her at once to the highest pinnacle of honour and power. She remained, however, quietly at Hatfield, acting in all things in a very discreet and cautious manner. At one time she received proposals from the King of Sweden that she would accept of his son as her husband. She asked the ambassador if he had communicated the affair to Mary. Upon his replying that he had not, Elizabeth said that she could not entertain at all any such question, unless her sister were first consulted, and should give her approbation. She acted on the same principles in everything, being very cautious to give Mary and her government no cause of complaint against her, and willing to wait patiently until her own time should come. Though Mary's disappointments and losses filled her mind with anguish and suffering, they did not soften her heart. She seemed to grow more cruel and vindictive the more her plans and projects failed. Adversity vexed and irritated, instead of calming and subduing her. She revived her persecutions of the Protestants. She fitted out a fleet of a hundred and twenty ships to make a descent upon the French coast, and attempt to retrieve her fallen fortunes there. She called Parliament together and asked for more supplies. All this time she was confined to her sick chamber, but not considered in danger. The Parliament were debating the question of supplies. Her privy council were holding daily meetings to carry out the plans and schemes which she still continued to form, and all was excitement and bustle in and around the court, when one day the council was thunderstruck by an announcement that she was dying. They knew very well that her death would be a terrible blow to them. They were Catholics, and had been Mary's instruments in the terrible persecutions with which she had oppressed the Protestant faith. With Mary's death, of course, they would fall. A Protestant princess was ready at Hatfield to ascend the throne. Everything would be changed, and there was even danger that they might, in their turn, be sent to the stake in retaliation for the cruelties which they had caused others to suffer. They made arrangements to have Mary's death whenever it should take place, concealed for a few hours, till they could consider what they should do. There was nothing that they could do. There was now no other considerable claimant to the throne but Elizabeth, except Mary Queen of Scots, who was far away in France. She was a Catholic, it was true. But to bring her into the country and place her upon the throne seemed to be a hopeless undertaking. Queen Mary's councillors soon found that they must give up their cause in despair. Any attempt to resist Elizabeth's claims would be high treason, and of course, if unsuccessful, would bring the heads of all concerned in it to the bloc. Besides, it was not certain that Elizabeth would act decidedly as a Protestant. She had been very prudent and cautious during Mary's reign, and had been very careful never to manifest any hostility to the Catholics. She never had acted as Mary had done on the occasion of her brother's funeral, when she refused, even to countenance with her presence, the National Service, because it was under Protestant forms. Elizabeth had always accompanied Mary to mass whenever occasion required. She had always spoken respectfully of the Catholic faith, and once she asked Mary to lend her some Catholic books in order that she might inform herself more fully on the subject of the principles of the Roman faith. It is true, she acted thus not because there was any real leaning in her mind toward the Catholic religion. It was all merely a wise and sagacious policy. Surrounded by difficulties and dangers as she was during Mary's reign, her only hope of safety was in passing as quietly as possible along, and managing warily so as to keep the hostility which was burning secretly against her from breaking out into an open flame. This was her object in retiring so much from the court, and from all participation in public affairs, in avoiding all religions and political contests, and spending her time in the study of Greek and Latin and philosophy. The consequence was that when Mary died, nobody knew certainly what course Elizabeth would pursue. Nobody had any strong motive for opposing her succession. The Council, therefore, after a short consultation, concluded to do nothing but simply to send a message to the House of Lords announcing to them the unexpected death of the Queen. The House of Lords, in receiving this intelligence, sent for the commons to come into their hall as is usual when any important communication is to be made to them, either by the Lords themselves or by the Sovereign. The Chancellor, who was the highest civil officer of the kingdom in respect to rank, and who presides in the House of Lords, clothed in a magnificent antique costume, then rose and announced to the commons, standing before him, the death of the Sovereign. There was a moment's solemn pause, such as propriety on the occasion of an announcement like this required. All thoughts being, too, for a moment turned to the chamber where the body of the departed Queen was lying. But the sovereignty was no longer there. The mysterious principle had fled with the parting breath, and Elizabeth, the wholly unconscious of it, had been for several hours the Queen. The thoughts, therefore, of the Auguste and solemn assembly lingered but for a moment in the royal palace, which had now lost all its glory. They soon turned spontaneously and with eager haste to the new Sovereign at Hatfield, and the lofty arches of Parliament Hall rung with loud acclamations. God save Queen Elizabeth, and grant her a long and happy reign. The members of the Parliament went forth immediately to proclaim the new Queen. There are two principal places where it was then customary to proclaim the English Sovereigns. One of these was before the royal palace at Westminster, and the other in the City of London at a very public place called the Great Cross at Cheepside. The people assembled in great crowds at these points to witness the ceremony, and received the announcement which the heralds made with the most ardent expressions of joy. The bells were everywhere rung, tables were spread in the streets and booths erected, bonfires and illuminations were prepared for the evening, and everything indicated a deep and universal joy. In fact, this joy was so strongly expressed as to be even in some degree disrespectful to the memory of the departed Queen. There is a famous ancient Latin hymn, which has long been sung in England and on the continent of Europe on occasions of great public rejoicing. It is called the Tideum, or sometimes the Tideum Lodimus. These last are the three Latin words with which the hymn commences, and mean, the God we praise. They sung the Tideum in the Churches of London on the Sunday after Mary died. In the meantime, messengers from the Council proceeded with all speed to Hatfield to announce to Elizabeth the death of her sister and her own accession to the sovereign power. The tidings, of course, filled Elizabeth's mind with the deepest emotions. The oppressive sense of constraint and danger which she had endured as her daily burden for so many years was lifted suddenly from her soul. She could not but rejoice, though she was too much upon her guard to express her joy. She was overwhelmed with a profound agitation, and kneeling down she exclaimed in Latin, It is the Lord's doing, and it is wonderful in our eyes. Several of the members of Mary's Privy Council repaired immediately to Hatfield. The Queen summoned them to attend her, and in their presence appointed her Chief Secretary of State. His name was Sir William Cecil. He was a man of great learning and ability, and he remained in office under Elizabeth for forty years. He became her Chief Advisor and Instrument, an able, faithful, and indefeatable servant and friend during almost a whole of her reign. His name is accordingly indissolubly connected with that of Elizabeth in all the political events which occurred while she continued upon the throne, and it will, in consequence, very frequently occur in the sequel of this history. He was now about forty years of age. Elizabeth was twenty-five. Elizabeth had known Cecil long before. He had been a faithful and true friend to her in her adversity. He had been, in many cases, a confidential advisor, and had maintained a secret correspondence with her in certain trying periods of her life. She had resolved doubtless to make him her Chief Secretary of State so soon as she should succeed to the throne. And now that the time had arrived, she instated him solemnly in his office. In doing so, she pronounced in the hearing of other members of the Council the following charge, I give you this charge that you shall be of my privy Council, and content yourself to take pains for me and my realm. This judgment I have of you, that you will not be corrupted with any gift, and that you will be faithful to the State, and that without respect of my private will, you will give me that Council that you think best, and that, if you shall know of anything necessary to be declared to me of secrecy, you shall show it to myself only, and assure yourself I will not fail to keep maternity therein, and therefore herewith I charge you. It was about a week after the death of Mary before the arrangements were completed for Elizabeth's journey to London to take possession of the castles and palaces which pertain there to the English sovereigns. She was followed on this journey by a train of about a thousand attendants, all nobles or personages of high rank, both gentlemen and ladies. She went first to a palace called the Charter House, near London, where she stopped until preparations could be made for her formal and public entrance into the Tower, not as before through the Trader's Gate, a prisoner, but openly through the Grand Entrance, in the midst of acclamations as the proud and applauded sovereign of the mighty realm whose capital the ancient fortress was stationed to defend. The streets through which the gorgeous procession was to pass were spread with fine smooth gravel. Bands of musicians were stationed at intervals, and decorated arches and banners and flags, with countless devices of loyalty and welcome, and waving handkerchiefs greeted her all the way. Haralds and other great officers, magnificently dressed and mounted on horses, richly comparisoned, rode before her, forcing her approach with trumpets and proclamations, while she followed in the train, mounted upon a beautiful horse, the object of universal homage. Thus Elizabeth entered the Tower, and in as much as forgetting her friends as a fault with which she cannot justly be charged, we may hope, at least, that one of the first acts which she performed, after getting established in the royal apartments, was to send for and reward the kindhearted child who had been reprimanded for bringing her the flowers. The coronation when the time arrived for it was very splendid. The Queen went in state, in assumptions chariot, preceded by trumpeters and heralds in armor, and accompanied by a long train of noblemen, barons, and gentlemen, and also of ladies, almost richly dressed in crimson velvet, the trappings of the horses being of the same material. The people of London thronged all the streets through which she was to pass, and made the air resound with shouts and acclamations. There were triumphal arches erected here and there on the way, with a great variety of odd and quaint devices, and a child stationed upon each who explained the devices to Elizabeth as she passed, in English verse written for the occasion. One of these pageants was entitled, The Seat of Worthy Governance. There was a throne supported by figures which represented the cardinal virtues, such as piety, wisdom, temperance, industry, truth, and beneath their feet were the opposite vices, superstition, ignorance, intemperance, idleness, and falsehood. These the virtues were trampling upon. On the throne was a representation of Elizabeth. At one place were eight personages dressed to represent the eight beatitudes pronounced by our Saviour in his Sermon on the Mount, the Meek, the Merciful, etc. Each of these qualities was ingeniously ascribed to Elizabeth. This could be done with much more propriety then than in subsequent years. In another place an ancient figure representing time came out of a cave which had been artificially constructed with great ingenuity, leading his daughter, whose name was Truth. Truth had an English Bible in her hands which she presented to Elizabeth as she passed. This had a great deal of meaning, for the Catholic government of Mary had discouraged the circulation of the scriptures in the vernacular tongue. When the procession arrived in the middle of the city, some officers of the city approached the Queen's chariot and delivered to her a present of a very large and heavy purse filled with gold. The Queen had to employ both hands in lifting it. It contained an amount equal in value to two or three thousand dollars. The Queen was very affable and gracious to all the people on the way. Poor women would come up to her carriage and offer her flowers, which she would very condescendingly accept. Several times she stopped her carriage when she saw that anyone wished to speak with her or had something to offer. And so great was the exultation of a Queen in those days, in the estimation of mankind, that these acts were considered by all the humble citizens of London as acts of very extraordinary affability, and they awakened universal enthusiasm. There was one branch of rosemary given to the Queen by a poor woman in Fleet Street. The Queen put it up conspicuously in the carriage, where it remained all the way, watched by ten thousand eyes till it got to Westminster. The coronation took place at Westminster on the following day. The crown was placed upon the young maiden's head in the midst of a great throng of ladies and gentlemen, who were all superbly dressed, and who made the vast edifice in which the service was performed ring with their acclamations and their shouts of, Long Live the Queen! During the ceremonies Elizabeth placed a wedding-ring upon her finger with great formality, to denote that she considered the occasion as a celebration of her at Espousal to the realm of England. She was that day a bride, and should never have, she said, any other husband. She kept this, the only wedding-ring she ever wore, upon her finger without once removing it for more than forty years. CHAPTER VII The War in Scotland. Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen of Scots, are strongly associated together in the minds of all readers of English history. They were co-temporary sovereigns, reigning at the same time over sister kingdoms. They were cousins, and yet precisely on account of the family relationship which existed between them they became implacable foes. The rivalry and hostility, sometimes open and sometimes concealed, was always in action, and after a contest of more than twenty years Elizabeth triumphed. She made Mary her prisoner, kept her many years a captive, and at last closed the contest by commanding, or at least allowing, her fallen rival to be beheaded. Thus Elizabeth had it all her own way while the scenes of her life and of Mary's were transpiring, but since that time mankind have generally sympathized most strongly with the conquered one and condemned the conqueror. There are several reasons for this, and among them is the vast influence exerted by the difference in the personal character of the parties. Mary was beautiful, feminine in spirit and lovely. Elizabeth was talented, masculine and plain. Mary was artless, unaffected and gentle. Elizabeth was heartless, intriguing and insincere. With Mary, though her ruling principle was ambition, her ruling passion was love. Her love led her to great transgressions and into many sorrows, but mankind pardoned the sins and pitied the sufferings which are caused by love more readily than those of any other origin. With Elizabeth, ambition was the ruling principle and the ruling passion too. Love with her was only a pastime. Her transgressions were the cool, deliberate, well-considered acts of selfishness and desire of power. During her lifetime her success secured her the applause of the world. The world is always ready to glorify the greatness which rises visibly before it, and to forget sufferings which are meekly and patiently born in seclusion and solitude. Women praised and honored Elizabeth, therefore, while she lived, and neglected Mary. But since the halo and the fascination of the visible greatness and glory have passed away, they have found a far greater charm in Mary's beauty and misfortune than in her great rival's pride and power. There is often thus a great difference in the comparative interests we take in persons or scenes, when, on the one hand, they are realities before our eyes, and when on the other, they are only imaginings which are brought to our minds by pictures or descriptions. The hardships, which it was very disagreeable or painful to bear, afford often great amusement or pleasure in the recollection. The old broken gate, which a gentleman would not tolerate an hour upon his grounds, is a great beauty in the picture which hangs in his parlor. We shun poverty and distress while they are actually existing. Nothing is more disagreeable to us, and we gaze upon prosperity and wealth with never ceasing pleasure. But when they are gone, and we have only the tale to hear, it is the story of sorrow and suffering which possesses the charm. Thus it happened that when the two queens were living realities, Elizabeth was the center of attraction and the object of universal homage, but when they came to be themes of history, all eyes and hearts began soon to turn instinctively to Mary. It was London, and Westminster, and Kenilworth that possessed the interest while Elizabeth lived, but it is Holy Road and Locklevin now. It results from these causes that Mary's story is read far more frequently than Elizabeth's, and this operates still further to the advantage of the former, for we are always prone to take sides with the heroine of the tale we are reading. All these considerations, which have had so much influence on the judgmentmen form, or rather on the feeling to which they incline in this famous contest, have, it must be confessed, very little to do with the true merits of the case. And if we make a serious attempt to lay all such consideration aside and to look into the controversy with cool and rigid impartiality, we shall find it very difficult to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. There are two questions to be decided. In advancing their conflicting claims to the English crown, was it Elizabeth or Mary that was in the right? If Elizabeth was right, were the measures which she resorted to to secure her own rights and to counteract Mary's pretensions politically justifiable? We do not propose to add our own to the hundred decisions which various writers have given to this question, but only to narrate the facts, and leave each reader to come to his own conclusions. The foundation of the long and dreadful quarrel between these royal cousins was, as has been already remarked, their consequently, which made them both competitors for the same throne, and as that throne was, in some respects, the highest and most powerful in the world, it is not surprising that two such ambitious women should be eager and persevering in their contest for it. By turning to the genealogical table, where a view is presented of the royal family of England in the time of Elizabeth, the reader will see once more what was the precise relationship by which the two queens bore to each other and to the succession. By this table it is very evident that Elizabeth was the true inheritor of the crown, provided it were admitted that she was the lawful daughter and heir of King Henry VIII, and this depended on the question of the validity of her father's marriage with his first wife, Catherine of Aragon. For, as has been said before, he was married to Ann Bolin before obtaining anything like a divorce from Catherine. Consequently the marriage with Elizabeth's mother could not be legally valid, unless that with Catherine had been void from the beginning. The friends of Mary, Queen of Scots, maintained that it was not thus void, and that consequently the marriage with Ann Bolin was null, that Elizabeth therefore the descendant of the marriage was not, legally and technically, a daughter of Henry VIII, and consequently not entitled to inherit his crown, and that the crown of right ought to descend to the next heir, that is, to marry Queen of Scots herself. Queen Elizabeth's friends and partisans maintained, on the other hand, that the marriage of King Henry with Catherine was null and void from the beginning, because Catherine had been before the wife of his brother. The circumstances of this marriage were very curious and peculiar. It was his father's work, and not his own. His father was King Henry VII. Henry VII had several children, and among them were his two oldest sons, Arthur and Henry. When Arthur was about sixteen years old, his father, being very much in want of money, conceived the plan of replenishing his coffers by marrying his son to a rich wife. He accordingly contracted a marriage between him and Catherine of Aragon, Catherine's father agreeing to pay him two hundred thousand crowns as her dowry. The juvenile bridegroom enjoyed the honors and pleasures of married life for a few months, and then died. This event was a great domestic calamity to the king, not because he mourned the loss of his son, but that he could not bear the idea of the loss of the dowry. By the law and usage in such cases, he was bound not only to forego the payment of the other half of the dowry, but he had himself no right to retain the half he had already received. While his son lived, being a minor, the father might, not improperly, not impold the money in his son's name, but when he died this right ceased, and as Arthur left no child, Henry perceived that he should be obliged to pay back the money. To avoid this unpleasant necessity, the king conceived the plan of marrying the youthful widow again to his second boy, Henry, who was about a year younger than Arthur, and he made proposals to this effect to the king of Aragon. The king of Aragon made no objection to this proposal, except that it was a thing unheard of among Christian nations, or heard of only to be condemned, for a man or even a boy to marry his brother's widow. All laws, human and divine, were clear and absolute against this. Still, if the dispensation of the pope could be obtained, he would make no objection. Catherine might espouse the second boy, and he would allow the one hundred thousand crowns already paid to stand, and would also pay the other hundred thousand. The dispensation was accordingly obtained, and everything made ready for the marriage. Very soon after this, however, and before the new marriage was carried into effect, King Henry VII died, and this second boy, now the oldest son, though only about seventeen years of age, ended the throne as King Henry VIII. There was great discussion and debate, soon after his accession, whether the marriage which his father had arranged should proceed. Some argued that no papal dispensation could authorize or justify such a marriage. Others maintained that a papal dispensation could legalize anything, for it is a doctrine of the Catholic Church that the pope has certain discretionary power over all laws, human and divine, under the authority given to his great predecessor, the Apostle Peter, by the words of Christ. Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. Henry seems not to have pained his head at all with the legal question. He wanted to have the young widow for his wife, and he settled the affair on that ground alone. They were married. Catherine was a faithful and dutiful spouse, but when at last Henry fell in love with Anne Boleyn, he made these old difficulties a pretext for discarding her. He endeavored, as has been already related, to induce the papal authorities to annul their dispensation. Because they would not do it, he espoused the Protestant cause, and England as a nation seceded from the Catholic Communion. The ecclesiastical and parliamentary authorities of his own realm then, being made Protestant, annulled the marriage, and thus Anne Boleyn, to whom he had previously been married by a private ceremony, became legally and technically his wife. If this annulling of his first marriage were valid, then Elizabeth was his heir, otherwise not, for if the pope's dispensation was to stand, then Catherine was a wife. Anne Boleyn would, in that case, of course, have been only a companion, and Elizabeth, claiming through her, a usurper. The question thus was very complicated. It branched into extensive ramifications which opened a wide field of debate, and led to endless controversies. It is not probable, however, that Mary, Queen of Scots, or her friends, gave themselves much trouble about the legal points at issue. She and they were all Catholics, and it was sufficient for them to know that the Holy Father at Rome had sanctioned the marriage of Catherine, and that that marriage, if allowed to stand, made her the Queen of England. She was at this time in France. She had been sent there at a very early period of her life to escape the troubles of her native land, and also to be educated. She was a gentle and beautiful child, and as she grew up amid the gay scenes and festivities of Paris, she became a very great favorite, being universally beloved. She married at length, though while she was still quite young, the son of the French king. Her young husband became king himself soon afterward, on account of his father's being killed, in a very remarkable manner at a tournament, and thus Mary, Queen of Scots before, became also Queen of France now. All these events, passed over thus very summarily here, are narrated in full detail in the history of Mary, Queen of Scots, pertaining to this series. While Mary was thus residing in France as the wife of the king, she was surrounded by a very large and influential circle, who were Catholics like herself, and who were also enemies of Elizabeth and of England, and glad to find any pretext for disturbing her reign. These persons brought forward Mary's claim. They persuaded Mary that she was fairly entitled to the English crown. They awakened her youthful ambition, and excited strong desires in her heart to attain the high elevation of Queen of England. Mary at length assumed the title in some of her official acts, and combined the arms of England with those of Scotland in the ascensions with which her furniture and her plate were emblazoned. When Queen Elizabeth learned that Mary was advancing such pretensions to her crown, she was made very uneasy by it. There was perhaps no immediate danger, but then there was a very large Catholic party in England, and they would naturally espouse Mary's cause, and they might at some future time gather strength so as to make Elizabeth a great deal of trouble. She accordingly sent over to France to remonstrate against Mary's advancing these pretensions. But she could get no satisfactory reply. Mary would not disavow her claim to Elizabeth's crown, nor would she directly assert it. Elizabeth then, knowing that all her danger lay in the power and influence of her own Catholic subjects, went to work, very cautiously and warily, but in a very extended and efficient way, to establish the Reformation and to undermine and destroy all traces of Catholic power. She proceeded in this work with great circumspection, so as not to excite opposition or alarm. In the meantime the Protestant cause was making progress in Scotland, too, by its own inherent energies, and against the influence of the government. Finally, the Scotch Protestant organized themselves and commenced an open rebellion against the regent whom Mary had left in power while she was away. They sent to Elizabeth to come and aid them. Mary and her friends in France sent French troops to assist the government. Elizabeth hesitated very much whether to comply with the request of the rebels. It is very dangerous for a sovereign to countenance rebellion in any way. Then she shrunk too from the expense which she foresaw that such an attempt would involve. To fit out a fleet, and to levy and equip an army, and to continue the forces thus raised in action during a long and uncertain campaign would cost a large sum of money, and Elizabeth was constitutionally economical and frugal. But then, on the other hand, as she deliberated upon the affair long and anxiously, both alone and with her council, she thought that, if she should so far succeed as to get the government of Scotland into her power, she could compel Mary to renounce forever all claims to the English crown by threatening her if she would not do it with the loss of her own. Finally, she decided on making the attempt. Cecil, her wise and prudent counselor, strongly advised it. He said it was far better to carry on the contest with Mary and the French in one of their countries than in her own. She began to make preparations. Mary and the French government, on learning this, were alarmed in their turn. They sent word to Elizabeth that for her to render countenance and aid to rebels in arms against their sovereign in a sister kingdom was wholly unjustifiable and they remonstrated most earnestly against it. Besides making this remonstrance, they offered as an inducement of another kind that if she would refrain from taking any part in the contest in Scotland, they would restore to her the great town and citadel of Calais, which her sister had been so much grieved to lose. To this Elizabeth replied that, so long as Mary adhered to her pretensions to the English crown, she should be compelled to take energetic measures to protect herself from them, and as to Calais, the possession of a fishing-town on a foreign coast was of no moment to her in comparison with the peace and security of her own realm. This answer did not tend to close the breach. Besides the bluntness of the refusal of their offer, the French were irritated and vexed to hear their famous seaport spoken of so contemptuously. Elizabeth accordingly fitted out a fleet and an army, and sent them northward. A French fleet, with reinforcements for Mary's adherence in this contest, set sail from France at about the same time. It was a very important question to be determined which of these two fleets should get first upon the stage of action. In the meantime, the Protestant party in Scotland, or the rebels, as Queen Mary and her government called them, had had very hard work to maintain their ground. There was a large French force already there, and their cooperation and aid made the government too strong for the insurgents to resist. But when Elizabeth's English army crossed the frontier, the face of affairs was changed. The French forces retreated in their turn. The English army advanced. The Scotch Protestants came forth from the recesses of the Highlands to which they had retreated, and drawing closer and closer around the French and the government forces, they hemmed them in more and more narrowly, and at last shut them up in the ancient town of Leith, to which they retreated in search of a temporary shelter until the French fleet with reinforcements should arrive. The town of Leith is on the shore of the Firth of Forth, not far from Edinburgh. It is the porter landing-place of Edinburgh, in approaching it from the sea. It is on the southern shore of the Firth, and Edinburgh stands on higher land about two miles south of it. Leith was strongly fortified in those days, and the French army felt very secure there, though yet anxiously awaiting the arrival of the fleet which was to release them. The English army advanced in the meantime, eager to get possession of the city before the expected suckers should arrive. The English made an assault upon the walls. The French, with desperate bravery, repelled it. The French made a sortie, that is, they rushed out of a sudden and attacked the English lines. The English concentrated their forces at the point attacked, and drove them back again. These struggles continued, both sides very eager for victory, and both watching all the time for the appearance of a fleet in the offing. At length one day a cloud of white sails appeared, rounding the point of land which forms the southern boundary of the Firth, and the French were thrown at once into the highest state of exultation and excitement. But this pleasure was soon turned into disappointment and chagrin by finding that it was Elizabeth's fleet and not theirs which was coming into view. This ended the contest. The French fleet never arrived. It was dispersed and destroyed by a storm. The besieged army sent out a flag of truce, proposing to suspend hostilities until the terms of a treaty could be agreed upon. The truce was granted. Commissioners were appointed on each side. These commissioners met at Edinburgh and agreed upon the terms of a permanent peace. The treaty, which is called in history the Treaty of Edinburgh, was solemnly signed by the commissioners appointed to make it, and then transmitted to England and to France to be ratified by the respective queens. Queen Elizabeth's forces and the French forces were then both, as the treaty provided, immediately withdrawn. The dispute, too, between the Protestants and the Catholics in Scotland, was also settled, though it is not necessary for our purpose in this narrative to explain particularly in what way. There was one point, however, in the stipulations of this treaty which is of essential importance in this narrative, and that is, that it was agreed that Mary should relinquish all claims whatever to the English crown so long as Elizabeth lived. This, in fact, was the essential point in the whole transaction. Mary, it is true, was not present to agree to it, but the commissioners agreed to it in her name, and it was stipulated that Mary should solemnly ratify the treaty as soon as it could be sent to her. But Mary would not ratify it, at least so far as this last article was concerned. She said that she had no intention of doing anything to molest Elizabeth in her possession of the throne, but that as to herself whatever rights might legally and justly belong to her she could not consent to sign them away. The other articles of the treaty had, however, in the meantime brought the war to a close, and both the French and English armies were withdrawn. Neither party had any inclination to renew the conflict, but yet, so far as the great question between Mary and Elizabeth was concerned, the difficulty was as far from being settled as ever. In fact it was in a worse position than before, for in addition to her other grounds of complaint against Mary Elizabeth now charged her with dishonorably refusing to be bound by a compact which had been solemnly made in her name by agents whom she had fully authorized to make it. It was about this time that Mary's husband, the King of France, died, and after enduring various trials and troubles in France, Mary concluded to return to her own realm. She sent to Elizabeth to get a safe conduct, a sort of permission allowing her to pass unmolested through the English seas. Elizabeth refused to grant it unless Mary would first ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh. This Mary would not do, but undertook rather to get home without the permission. Elizabeth sent ships to intercept her, but Mary's little squadron, when they approached the shore, were hidden by a fog, and so she got safe to land. After this there was quiet between Mary and Elizabeth for many years, but no peace. CHAPTER VIII Elizabeth was now securely established upon her throne. It is true that Mary Queen of Scots had not renounced her pretensions, but there was no immediate prospect of her making any attempt to realize them, and very little hope for her that she would be successful if she were to undertake it. There were other claimants, it is true, but their claims were more remote and doubtful than Mary's. These conflicting pretensions were likely to make the country some trouble after Elizabeth's death, but there was very slight probability that they would sensibly molest Elizabeth's possession of the throne during her lifetime, though they caused her no little anxiety. The reign which Elizabeth thus commenced was one of the longest, most brilliant, and in many respects the most prosperous in the whole series presented to our view in the long succession of English sovereigns. Elizabeth continued a queen for forty-five years, during all which time she remained a single lady, and she died at last a venerable maiden, seventy years of age. It was not for want of lovers, or rather of admirers and suitors that Elizabeth lived single all her days. During the first twenty years of her reign, one half of her history is a history of matrimonial schemes and negotiations. It seemed as if all the marriageable princes and potentates of Europe were seized, one after another, with the desire to share her seat upon the English throne. They tried every possible means to win her consent. They dispatched ambassadors. They opened long negotiations. They sent her shiploads of the most expensive presents. Some of the nobles of high rank in her own realm expended their vast estates, and reduced themselves to poverty in vain attempts to please her. Elizabeth, like any other woman, loved these attentions. They pleased her vanity, and gratified those instinctive impulses of the female heart by which woman is fitted for happiness and love. Elizabeth encouraged the hopes of those who addressed her sufficiently to keep them from giving up in despair and abandoning her. And in one or two cases she seemed to come very near yielding, but it always happened that when the time arrived in which a final decision must be made, ambition and desire of power proved stronger than love, and she preferred continuing to occupy her lofty position by herself alone. Philip of Spain, the husband of her sister Mary, was the first of these suitors. He had seen Elizabeth a good deal in England during his residence there, and had even taken her part in her difficulties with Mary, and had exerted his influence to have her released from her confinement. As soon as Mary died, and Elizabeth was proclaimed, one of her first acts was, as was very proper, to send an ambassador to Flanders to inform the bereaved husband of his loss. It is a curious illustration of the degree and kind of affection that Philip had borne for his departed wife, that immediately on receiving intelligence of her death by Elizabeth's ambassador, he sent a special dispatch to his own ambassador in London to make a proposal to Elizabeth to take him for her husband. Elizabeth decided very soon to decline this proposal. She had ostensible reasons and real reasons for this. The chief ostensible reason was that Philip was so inveterally hated by all the English people, and Elizabeth was extremely desirous of being popular. She relied solely on the loyalty and faithfulness of her Protestant subjects to maintain her rights to the secession, and she knew that if she displeased them by such an unpopular Catholic marriage, her reliance upon them must be very much weakened. They might even abandon her entirely. The reason, therefore, that she assigned publicly was that Philip was a Catholic, and that the connection could not, on that account, be agreeable to the English people. Among the real reasons was one of a very peculiar nature. It happened that there was an objection to her marriage with Philip, similar to the one urged against that of Henry with Catherine of Aragon. Catherine had been the wife of Henry's brother. Philip had been the husband of Elizabeth's sister. Now Philip had offered to procure the pope's dispensation, by which means this difficulty would be surmounted. But then all the world would say that if this dispensation could legalize the latter marriage, the former must have been legalized by it. And this would destroy the marriage of Anne Boleyn, and with it all Elizabeth's claims to the secession. She could not then marry Philip without by the very act effectually undermining all her own rights to the throne. She was far too subtle and wary to stumble into such a pitfall as that. Elizabeth rejected this and some other offers, and one or two years passed away. In the meantime the people of the country, though they had no wish to have her marry such a stern and heartless tyrant as Philip of Spain, were very uneasy at the idea of her not being married at all. Her life would, of course, in due time come to an end. And it was of immense importance to the peace and happiness of the realm that after her death there should be no doubt about the secession. If she were to be married and leave children, they would secede to the throne without question. But if she were to die single and childless, the result would be, they feared, that the Catholics would espouse the cause of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Protestants that of some Protestant descendant of Henry VII, and thus the country be involved in all the horrors of a protracted civil war. The House of Commons in those days was a very humble council, convened to discuss and settle near internal and domestic affairs, and standing at a vast distance from the splendor and power of royalty to which it looked up with the profoundest reverence in all. The Commons, at the close of one of their sessions, ventured in a very timid and cautious manner to send a petition to the Queen, urging her to consent for the sake of the future peace of the realm and the welfare of her subjects to accept of a husband. Few single persons are offended at a recommendation of marriage, if properly offered, from whatever quarter it may come. The Queen in this instance returned what was called a very gracious reply. She, however, very decidedly refused the request. She said that, as they had been very respectful in the form of their petition, and as they had confined it to general terms without presuming to suggest either a person or a time, she would not take offense at their well-intended suggestion, but that she had no design of ever being married. At her coronation, she was married, she said, to her people, and the wedding ring was upon her fingers still. Her people were the objects of all her affection and regard. She should never have any other spouse. She said she should be well contented to have it engraved upon her tombstone. Here lies a Queen who lived and died a virgin. This answers silence the commons, but it did not settle the question in the public mind. Cases often occur of ladies saying very positively that they shall never consent to be married, and yet afterward altering their minds. And many ladies, knowing how frequently this takes place, sagaciously conclude that whatever secret resolutions they may form, they will be silent about them, lest they get into a position from which it will be afterward awkward to retreat. The princes of the continent and the nobles of England paid no regard to Elizabeth's declaration, but continued to do all in their power to obtain her hand. One or two years afterward, Elizabeth was attacked with the smallpox, and for a time was dangerously sick. In fact, for some days her life was disparate of, and the country was thrown into a great state of confusion and dismay. Parties began to form. The Catholics for Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Protestants for the family of Jane Gray. Everything portended a dreadful contest. Elizabeth, however, recovered. But the country had been so much alarmed at their narrow escape that Parliament ventured once more to address the Queen on the subject of her marriage. They begged that she would either consent to that measure, or, if she was finally determined not to do that, that she would cause a law to be passed, or an edict to be promulgated, deciding beforehand who was really to secede to the throne in the event of her decease. Elizabeth would not do either. Historians have speculated a great deal upon her motives. All that is certain is the fact she would not do either. But though Elizabeth thus resisted all the plans formed for giving her a husband, she had, in her own court, a famous personal favorite, who has always been considered, as in some sense, her lover. His name was originally Robert Dudley, though she made him Earl of Leicester, and he is commonly designated in history by this latter name. He was the son of the Duke of Northumberland, who was the leader of the plot for placing Lady Jane Gray upon the throne in the time of Mary. He was a very elegant and accomplished man, and young, though already married. Elizabeth advanced him to high offices and honors very early in her reign, and kept him much at court. She made him her master of horse. But she did not bestow upon him much real power. Cecil was her great counselor and minister of state. He was a cool, sagacious, wary man, entirely devoted to Elizabeth's interests, and to the glory and prosperity of the realm. He was, at this time, as has already been stated, 40 years of age, 13 or 14 years older than Elizabeth. Elizabeth showed great sagacity in selecting such a minister, and great wisdom in keeping him in tower so long. He remained in her service all his life, and died, at last, only a few years before Elizabeth, when he was nearly 80 years of age. Dudley, on the other hand, was just about Elizabeth's own age. In fact, it is said by some of the chronicles of the times that he was born on the same day and hour with her. However this may be, he became a great personal favorite, and Elizabeth evinced a degree and kind of attachment to him, which subjected her to a great deal of censure and reproach. She could not be thinking of him for her husband, it would seem, for he was already married. Just about this time, however, a mysterious circumstance occurred which produced a great deal of excitement, and has ever since marked a very important era in the history of Lester and Elizabeth's attachment. It was the sudden and very singular death of Lester's wife. Lester had, among his other estates, a lonely mansion in Berkshire, about fifty miles west of London. It was called Cum Norhouse. Lester's wife was sent there, no one knew why. She went under the charge of a gentleman who was one of Lester's dependents, and entirely devoted to his will. The house, too, was occupied by a man who had the character of being ready for any deed which might be required of him by his master. The name of Lester's wife was Amy Robozart. In a short time, news came to London that the unhappy woman was killed by a fall downstairs. The instantaneous suspicion darted at once into everyone's mind that she had been murdered. Rumors circulated all around the place where the death had occurred that she had been murdered. A conscientious clergyman of the neighborhood sent an account of the case to London, to the Queen's ministers, stating the facts and urging the Queen to order an investigation of the affair, but nothing was ever done. It has accordingly been the general belief of mankind since that time that the unprincipled courtier destroyed his wife in the vain hope of becoming afterward the husband of the Queen. The people of England were greatly incensed at this transaction. They had hated Lester before, and they hated him now more inveterately still. Favorites are very generally hated. Royal favorites always. He, however, grew more and more intimate with the Queen, and everybody feared that he was going to be her husband. Their conduct was watched very closely by all the great world, and, as is usual in such cases, a thousand circumstances and occurrences were reported busily from tongue to tongue, which the actors in them doubtless supposed past, unobserved, or were forgotten. One night, for instance, Queen Elizabeth, having stopped with Dudley, was going home in her chair, lighted by church-bearers. At the present day, all London is lighted brilliantly at midnight with gas, and ladies go home from their convivial and pleasure-assemblies and luxurious carriages, in which they are rocked gently along through the broad and magnificent avenues, as bright almost as day. Then, however, it was very different. The lady was born slowly along through narrow and dingy and dangerous streets, with a train of torches before and behind her, dispelling the darkness a moment with their glare, and then leaving it more deep and somber than ever. On the night of which we are speaking, Elizabeth, feeling in good humor, began to talk with some of the torch-bearers on the way. They were Dudley's men, and Elizabeth began to praise their master. She said to one of them, among other things, that she was going to raise him to a higher position than any of his name had ever borne before. Now, as Dudley's father was a duke, which title denotes the highest rank of the English nobility, the man inferred that the queen's meaning was that she intended to marry him, and thus make him a sort of king. The man told the story boastingly to one of the servants of Lord Arendelle, who was also a suitor of the queens. The servants, each taking the part of his master in a rivalry quarreled. Lord Arendelle's men said that he wished that Dudley had been hung with his father, or else that somebody would shoot him in the street with a dagger. A dagger was, in the language of those days, the name for a pistol. Time moved on, and though Lester seemed to become more and more a favorite, the plan of his being married to Elizabeth, if any such were entertained by either party, appeared to come no nearer to an accomplishment. Elizabeth lived in great state and splendor, sometimes residing in her palaces in or near London, and sometimes making royal progresses about her dominions. Dudley, together with the other prominent members of her court, accompanied her on these excursions, and obviously enjoyed a very high degree of personal favor. She encouraged, at the same time, her other suitors, so that on all the great public occasions of state, at the tilts and tournaments, at the place, which by the way in those days were performed in the churches, on all the royal progresses and grand receptions at cities, castles, and universities, the Lady Queen was surrounded always by royal or noble beau, who made her presence, and paid her a thousand compliments, and offered her gallant attentions without number, all prompted by ambition in the guise of love. They smiled upon the Queen with a perpetual psychofancy, and gnashed their teeth secretly upon each other with a hatred which, unlike the pretended love, was at least honest and sincere. Lester was the gayest, most accomplished, and most favorite of them all, and the rest accordingly combined and agreed in hating him more than they did each other. Queen Elizabeth, however, never really admitted that she had any design of making Lester or Dudley, as he is indiscriminately called, her husband. In fact, at one time she recommended him to marry Queen of Scots for husband. After Mary returned to Scotland the two Queens were, for a time, on good terms, as professed friends, though they were, in fact, all the time most inveterate and implacable foes, but each knowing how much injury the other might do her wish to avoid exciting any unnecessary hostility. Mary particularly, as she found she could not get possession of English throne during Elizabeth's lifetime, concluded to try to conciliate her in hopes to persuade her to acknowledge, by act of parliament, her right to the secession after her death. So she used to confer with Elizabeth on the subject of her own marriage, and to ask her advice about it. Elizabeth did not wish to have Mary married at all, and so she always proposed somebody who she knew would be out of the question. She at one time proposed Lester, and for a time seemed quite in earnest about it, especially so long as Mary seemed adverse to it. At length, however, when Mary, in order to test her sincerity, seemed inclined to yield, Elizabeth retreated in her turn, and withdrew her proposals. Mary then gave up the hope of satisfying Elizabeth in any way, and married Lord Darnley without her consent. Elizabeth's regard for Dudley, however, still continued. She made him Earl of Lester, and granted him the magnificent castle of Kenilworth, with a large state adjoining and surrounding it, the rents of the lands giving him a princely income, and enabling him to live in almost royal state. Queen Elizabeth visited him frequently in this castle. One of these visits is very minutely described by the chroniclers of the times. The Earl made the most expensive and extraordinary preparations for the reception and entertainment of the Queen and her retinue on this occasion. The moat, which is a broad canal filled with water surrounding the castle, had a floating island upon it, with a fictitious personage whom they called the Lady of the Lake upon the island, who sung a song in praise of Elizabeth as she passed the bridge. There was also an artificial dolphin swimming upon the water, with a band of musicians within it. As the Queen advanced across the park, men and women in strange disguises came out to meet her, and to offer her salutations and praises. One was dressed as a symbol, another like an American savage, and a third, who was concealed, represented an echo. This visit was continued for nineteen days, and the stories of the splendid entertainment provided for the company, the place, the bear-baitings, the fireworks, the huntings, the mock fights, the feastings, and revelries filled all Europe at the time, and have been celebrated by historians and storytellers ever since. The Castle of Kenilworth is now a very magnificent heap of ruins, and is explored every year by thousands of visitors from every quarter of the globe. Lester, if he ever really entertained any serious designs of being Elizabeth's husband, at last gave up his hopes and married another woman. This lady had been the wife of the Earl of Essex. Her husband died very suddenly and mysteriously, just before Lester married her. Lester kept the marriage secret for some time, and when it came at last to the Queen's knowledge she was exceedingly angry. She had him arrested and sent to prison. However, she gradually recovered from her fit of resentment, and by degrees restored him to her favor again. Twenty years of Elizabeth's reign thus passed away, and no one of all her suitors had succeeded in obtaining her hand. All this time her government had been administered with much efficiency and power. All Europe had been in great commotion during almost the whole period on account of the terrible conflicts which were raging between the Catholics and the Protestants, each party having been doing its utmost to exterminate and destroy the other. Elizabeth and her government took part very frequently in these contests, sometimes by negotiations, and sometimes by fleets and armies, but always sagaciously and cautiously, generally with great effect. In the meantime, however, the Queen, being now forty-five years of age, was rapidly approaching the time when questions of marriage could no longer be entertained. Her lovers, or rather her suitors, had one after another given up the pursuit and disappeared from the field. One only seemed at length to remain on the decision of whose fate the final result of the great question of the Queen's marriage seemed to be pending. It was the Duke of Anjou. He was a French prince. His brother, who had been the Duke of Anjou before him, was now King Henry III of France. His own name was Francis. He was twenty-five years younger than Elizabeth, and he was only seventeen years of age when it was first proposed that he should marry her. He was then the Duke of Alencon. It was his mother's plan. She was the great Catherine de Medici, Queen of France, and one of the most extraordinary women for her talents, her management, and her power, that ever lived. Having one son upon the throne of France, she wanted the throne of England for the other. The negotiation had been pending fruitlessly for many years, and now, in fifteen eighty-one, it was vigorously renewed. The Duke himself, who was at this time a young man of twenty-four or five, began to be impatient and earnest in his suit. There was, in fact, one good reason why he should be so. Elizabeth was forty-eight, and unless the match were soon concluded, the time for effecting it would be obviously forever gone by. He had never had an interview with the Queen. He had seen pictures of her, however, and he sent an ambassador over to England to urch his suit, and to convince Elizabeth how much he was in love with her charms. The name of this agent was Simeon. He was a very polite and accomplished man, and soon learned the art of winning his way to Elizabeth's favour. Lester was very jealous of his success. The two favourites soon imbibed a terrible enmity for each other. They filled the court with their quarrels. The progress of the negotiation, however, went on. The people taking sides very violently, some for and some against the projected marriage. The animosities became exceedingly virulent, until at length Simeon's life seemed to be in danger. He said that Lester had hired one of the guards to assassinate him, and it is a fact that one day, as he and the Queen with other attendants were making an excursion upon the river, a shot was fired from the shore into the barge. The shot did no injury except to wound one of the oarsmen, and frighten all the party pretty thoroughly. Some thought the shot was aimed at Simeon, and others at the Queen herself. It was afterward proved, or supposed to be proved, that this shot was the accidental discharge of a gun without any evil intention whatever. In the meantime, Elizabeth grew more and more interested in the idea of having the young Duke for her husband, and it seemed as if the maidenly resolutions which had stood their ground so firmly for twenty years were to be conquered at last. The more, however, she seemed to approach toward a consent and a measure, the more did all the officers of her government and the nation at large oppose it. There were, in their minds, two insuperable objections to the match. The candidate was a Frenchman, and he was a Papist. The Council interceded, friends remonstrated. The nation murmured and threatened. A book was published entitled, The Discovery of a Gaping Gulf, where in England is like to be swallowed up by another French marriage, unless the Lord forbid the bands by letting her see the sin and punishment thereof. The author of it had his right hand cut off for his punishment. At length, after a series of most extraordinary discussions, negotiations and occurrences, which kept the whole country in a state of great excitement for a long time, the affair was at last all settled. The marriage articles, both political and personal, were all arranged. The nuptials were to be celebrated in six weeks. The duke came over in great state, and was received with all possible pomp and parade. Festivals and banquets were arranged without number, and in the most magnificent style, to do him and his attendants honour. At one of them, the Queen took off her ring from her finger and put it upon his, in the presence of a great assembly, which was the first announcement to the public that the affair was finally settled. The news spread everywhere with great rapidity. It produced in England great consternation and distress. But on the continent it was welcomed with joy, and the great English alliance, now so obviously approaching, was celebrated with ringing of bells, bonfires, and grand illuminations. And yet, notwithstanding all this, as soon as the obstacles were all removed, and there was no longer opposition to stimulate the determination of the Queen, her heart failed her at last, and she finally concluded that she would not be married after all. She sent for the duke one morning to come and see her. What takes place precisely between ladies and gentlemen when they break off their engagements is not generally very publicly known. But the duke came out from his interview in a fit of great vexation and anger. He pulled off the Queen's ring and threw it from him, muttering curses upon the fickleness and faithlessness of women. Still, Elizabeth would not admit that the match was broken off. She continued to treat the duke with civility and to pay him many honors. He decided, however, to return to the continent. She accompanied him a part of the way to the coast, and took leave of him many professions of sorrow at the parting, begged him to come back soon. This he promised to do, but he never returned. He lived some time afterward in comparative neglect and obscurity, and mankind considered the question of the marriage of Elizabeth as now at last settled forever. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Queen Elizabeth. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Queen Elizabeth by Jacob Abbott. Chapter 9. Personal Character. Mankind have always been very much divided in opinion in respect to personal character of Queen Elizabeth. But in one point all have agreed. And that is that in the management of public affairs, she was a woman of extraordinary talent and surrogacy, combining, in a very remarkable degree, a certain cautious good sense and prudence with the most determined resolution and energy. She reigned about 40 years, and during almost all that time, the whole Western part of the continent of Europe was convulsed with the most terrible conflicts between the Protestant and the Catholic parties. The predominance of power was with the Catholics, and was, of course, hostile to Elizabeth. She had moreover in the field a very prominent competitor for a throne in Mary Queen of Scots. The foreign Protestant powers were ready to aid this climate, and there was, besides, in her own dominions, a very powerful interest in her favor. The great divisions of sentiment in England, and the energy with which each party struggled against its opponents, produced at all times a prodigious pressure of opposing forces which bore heavily upon the safety of the state and of Elizabeth's government, and threatened them with continual danger. The administration of public affairs moved on, during all this time, trembling continually under the heavy shocks it was constantly receiving, like a ship staggering on in a storm. It's safety depending on the nice equilibrium between the shocks of the seas, the pressure of the wind upon the sails, and the weight and the steadiness of the ballast below. During all this 40 years, it is admitted that Elizabeth and her wise and sagacious ministers managed very admirably. They maintained the position and honor of England as a Protestant power with great success, and the country during the whole period made great progress in the arts, in commerce, and in improvements of every kind. Elizabeth's greatest danger and her greatest source of solicitude during her whole reign was from the claims of Mary Queen of Scots. We have already described the energetic measures which she took at the commencement of her reign to counteract and head off at the outset these dangerous pretensions. Though these efforts were triumphantly successful at the time, still the victory was not final. It postponed but did not destroy the danger. Mary continued to claim the English throne. Innumerable pots were beginning to be formed among the Catholics in Elizabeth's own dominions for making her queen. Foreign potenance and powers were watching an opportunity to assist in these plans. At last Mary, on account of internal difficulties in her own land, fled across the frontier into England to save her life, and Elizabeth made her prisoner. In England, to plan or design the dethronement of a monarch is, in a subject high treason. Mary had undoubtedly designed the dethronement of Elizabeth and was waiting only an opportunity to accomplish it. Elizabeth consequently condemned her as guilty of treason in effect, and Mary's sole defence against this charge was that she was not a subject. Elizabeth yielded to this plea when she first found Mary in her power so far as not to take her life, but she consigned her to a long and weary captivity. This, however, only made the matter worse. It stimulated the enthusiasm and zeal of all the Catholics in England to have their leader, and as they believed, their rightful queen, a captive in the midst of them, and they formed continually the most extensive and most dangerous plots. These plots were discovered and suppressed, one after another, each one producing more anxiety and alarm than the preceding. For a time Mary suffered no evil consequences from these discoveries further than an increase of the rigours of her confinement. At last the patience of the queen and of her government was exhausted. A law was passed against treason, expressed in such terms as to include Mary in the liability for its dreadful penalties, although she was not a subject in case of any new transgression. And when the next case occurred, they brought her to trial and condemned her to death. The sentence was executed in the gloomy castle of Fatheringale, where she was then confined. As to the question whether Mary or Elizabeth had the rightful title to the English crown, it has not only never been settled, but from its very nature it cannot be settled. It is one of those cases in which a peculiar contingency occur, which runs beyond the scope and reach of all the ordinary principles by which analogue's cases are tried, and leads to questions which cannot be decided. As long as a hereditary succession goes smoothly on, like a river keeping within its banks, we can decide subordinate and incidental questions which may arise. But when a case occurs in which we have the omnipotence of parliament to set off against the infallibility of the Pope, the sacred obligations of the will against the equally sacred principles of hereditary succession, and when we have, at last, two contradictory actions of the same ultimate umpire, we find all technical grounds of coming to a conclusion gone. We then, abandoning these, seek for some higher and more universal principles, essential in the nature of things, and thus independent of the will and action of man, to see if they will throw any light on the subject. But we soon find ourselves as much perplexed and confounded in this inquiry as we were before. We ask, in beginning the investigation, what is the ground and nature of the right by which any king or queen succeeds to the power possessed by his ancestors? And we give up, in despair, not being able to answer even this first preliminary inquiry. Mankind have not, in their estimate of Elizabeth's character, condemned so decidedly the substantial acts which she performed, as the duplicity, the false heartiness, and the false pretensions which she manifested in performing them. Had she said frankly and openly to Mary before the world, if these schemes for revolutionizing England and placing yourself upon the throne continue, your life must be forfeited. My own safety and the safety of the realm absolutely demanded. And then, had fairly and openly and honestly executed her threat, Mankind would have been silent on the subject if they had not been satisfied. But if she had really acted thus, she would not have been Elizabeth. She, in fact, pursued a very different course. She maneuvered, schemed, and planned. She pretended to be full of the warmest affection for her cousin. She contrived plot after plot, and scheme after scheme, to ensnare her, and when, at last, the execution took place in obedience to her own formal and written authority, she pretended to great astonishment and rage. She never meant that the sentence should take effect. She filled England, France, and Scotland with the loud expressions of her regret, and she punished the agents who had executed her will. This management was to prevent the friends of Mary from forming planes of revenge. This was her character in all things. She was famous for her false pretensions and double dealings, and yet, with all her talents and sagacity, the disguise she assumed was sometimes so thin and transparent that her assuming it was simply ridiculous. Maiden ladies who spend their lives in some respects alone often become deeply imbued with a kind and benevolent spirit, which seeks its gratification in relieving the pains and promoting the happiness of all around them. Conscience that the circumstances which have caused them to lead a single life would secure for them the sincere sympathy and the increased esteem of all who know them. If delicacy and propriety allowed them to be expressed, they feel a strong degree of self-respect. They live happily and are a continual means of comfort and joy to all around them. This was not so, however, with Elizabeth. She was jealous, petulant, irritable. She envied others, the love and the domestic enjoyments which ambition forbade her to share, and she seemed to take great pleasure in thoughting and interfering with plans of others for securing this happiness. One remarkable instance of this kind occurred. It seems she was sometimes accustomed to ask the young ladies of the court, her maids of honour, if they ever thought about being married, and they being cunning enough to know what sort of an answer would please the Queen always promptly denied that they did so. Oh, no, they never thought about being married at all. There was one young lady, however, artless and sincere, who, when questioned in this way, answered in her simplicity that she often thought of it, and that she should like to be married very much, if her father would only consent to her union with a certain gentleman whom she loved. Ah, said the Princess, well, I will speak to your father about it and see what I can do, not long after this the father of the young lady named to court and the Queen proposed the subject to him. The father said that he had not been aware that his daughter had formed such an attachment, but that he should certainly give his consent without any hesitation to any arrangement of that kind which the Queen desired and advised. That's all then, said the Queen, I will do the rest. So she called the young lady into her presence and told her that her father had given his free consent. The maiden's heart bounded with joy and she began to express her happiness and her gratitude to the Queen, promising to do everything in her power to please her. When Elizabeth interrupted her, saying, Yes, you will act so as to please me, I have no doubt, but you are not going to be a fool and get married. Your father has given his consent to me and not to you, and you may rely upon it, you will never get it out of my possession. You were pretty bold to acknowledge your foolishness to me so readily. Elizabeth was very irritable and could never bear any contradiction, in the case even of La Cesta, who had such an unbounded influence over her, if he presumed a little too much, he would meet sometimes a very severe rebuke, such as nobody but a courtier would endure. The courtiers, haughty and arrogant as they are in their bearing towards inferiors, are generally fawning cyclophanes towards those above them, and they will submit to anything imaginable from the Queen. It was the custom in Elizabeth's days, as it is now among the great in European countries, to have a series of oarsweet of rooms, one beyond the other, the inner one being the prison's chamber, and the others being occupied by attendants and servants of various grades, to regulate and control the admission of company. Some of these officers were style gentlemen of the Black Rod, that name being derived from a peculiar badge of authority which they were accustomed to carry. It happened one day that a certain gay captain, a follower of Lassester's, and a sort of favourite of his, was stopped in the antechamber by one of the gentlemen of the Black Rod, named Bower, the Queen having ordered him to be more careful and particular in respect to the admission of company. The captain who was proud of the favour which he enjoyed with Lassester resented this affront, and threatened the officer, and he was engaged in an altercation with him on the subject when Lassester came in. Lassester took his favourites part, and told the gentlemanusher that he was a naïve, and that he would have him turned out of office. Lassester was accustomed to feel so much confidence in his power over Elizabeth, that his mannered ward all beneath him had become exceedingly haughty and overbearing. He supposed probably that the officer would humble himself at once before his rebukes. The officer, however, instead of this, stepped directly in before Lassester, who was then going in himself to the presence of the Queen, kneeled before Her Majesty, related the facts of the case, and humbly asked what it was her pleasure that he should do. He had obeyed Her Majesty's orders, he said, and had been called imperiously to account for it, and threatened violently by Lassester, and he wished now to know whether Lassester was king or Her Majesty Queen. Elizabeth was very much displeased with the conduct of her favourite. She turned to him, and beginning with a sword of oath, which she was accustomed to use when irritated and angry, she addressed him in invectives and reproaches the most severe. She gave him in a word what would be called a scolding, were it not that scolding is a term not sufficiently dignified for history, even for such humble history as this. She told him that she had indeed shown him favour, but her favour was not so fixed and settled upon him that nobody else was to have any share, and that if he imagined that he could lord it over her household, she would contrive away very soon to convince him of his mistake. There was one mistress to rule there, she said, but no master. She then dismissed Bower, telling Lassester that, if any evil happened to him, she should hold him, that is, Lassester, to a strict account for it, as she should be convinced it would have come through this means. Lassester was exceedingly chagrined at this result of the difficulty. Of course he dared not defend himself or reply. All the other couriers enjoyed his confusion very highly, and one of them, in giving an account of the affair, said in conclusion that the Queen's word so quilled him that for some time after his famed humility was one of his best virtues. Queen Elizabeth very evidently possessed that peculiar combination of quickness of intellect and redness of tongue, which enabled those who possess it to say very sharp and biting things when vexed or out of humour. It is a brilliant talent, though it always makes those who possess it hated and feared. Elizabeth was often wantonly cruel in the exercise of this satirical power, considering very little, as is usually the case with such persons, the justice of her invectives, but obeying blindly the impulses of the ill nature which prompted her to utter them. We have already said that she seemed always to have a special feeling of ill will against marriage and everything that pertained to it, and she had particularly a theory that the bishops and the clergy ought not to be married. She could not absolutely prohibit their marrying, but she did issue an injunction forbidding any of the heads of the colleges or cathedrals to take their wives into the same or any of their precincts. At one time in one of their royal progresses through the country and very magnificently and hospitably entertained by the Archbishop of Canterbury at his palace, the Archbishop's wife exerted herself very particularly to please the Queen and to do her honor. Elizabeth evinced her gratitude by turning to her as she was about to take her leave and saying that she could not call her the Archbishop's wife and did not like to call her his mistress, and so she did not know what to call her. But that, at all events, she was very much obliged to her for her hospitality. Elizabeth's highest officers of state were continually exposed to her sharp and sudden reproaches, and they often incurred them by sincere and honest efforts to gratify and serve her. She had made an arrangement one day to go into the city of London to St Paul's Church to hear the Dean of Christ Church, a distinguished clergyman preach. The Dean procured a copy of the pre-book and had it splendidly bound with a great number of beautiful and costly prints interleaved in it. These prints were all of religious character, being representations of sacred history or of scenes in the lives of the saints. The volume, thus prepared, was very beautiful, and it was placed when the Sabbath morning arrived upon the Queen's cushion at the church, ready for her use. The Queen entered in great state and took her seat in the midst of all the parade and ceremony customary on such occasions as soon, however, as she opened the book and saw the pictures, she frowned and seemed to be much displeased. She shut the book and put it away and called for her own and, after the service, she sent for the Dean and asked him who brought that book there. He replied in a very humble and submissive manner that he had procured it himself, having intended it as a present for Her Majesty. This only produced fresh expressions of displeasure. She proceeded to rebuke him severely for countenancing such a poppish practice as the introduction of pictures in the churches. All this time Elizabeth had herself a crucifix in her own private chapel, and the Dean himself on the other hand was a firm and consistent Protestant entirely opposed to the Catholic system of images and pictures, as Elizabeth very well knew. This sort of roughness was a somewhat masculine trait of character for a lady. It must be acknowledged and not a very agreeable one, even in a man, but with some of the bad qualities of the other sex. Elizabeth possessed also some that were good. She was courageous and she invents her courage sometimes in a very noble manner. At one time when political excitement ran very high her friends thought that there was serious danger in her appearing openly in public, and they urged her not to do it, but to confine herself within her palaces for a time, until the excitement should pass away. But no, the representations made to her produced no effect. She said she would continue to go out just as freely as ever. She did not think that there was really any danger, and besides if there was she did not care. She would rather take her chance of being killed than to be kept shut up like a prisoner. At the time too when the shot was fired at the barge in which she was going down the Thames, many of her ministers thought it was aimed at her. They endeavored to convince her of this and urged her not to expose herself to such dangers. She replied that she did not believe that the shot was aimed at her, and that in fact she would not believe anything of her subjects, which her father would not be willing to believe of his own children. So she went on sailing in her barge just as before. Elizabeth was very vain over beauty, though unfortunately she had very little beauty to be vain of. Nothing pleased her so much as compliments. She sometimes almost exacted them, at one time when a distinguished ambassador from Mary Queen of Scots was at her court. She insisted on instilling her whether she or Mary was the most beautiful. When we consider that Elizabeth was at this time over 30 years of age, and Mary only 22, and that the flame of Mary's loveliness had filled the world, it must be admitted that this question indicated a considerable degree of self-complacency. The ambassador had the prudence to attempt to evade the inquiry. He said at first that they were both beautiful enough, but Elizabeth wanted to know, she said, which was most beautiful. The ambassador then said that his queen was the most beautiful queen in Scotland, and Elizabeth in England. Elizabeth was not satisfied with this, but insisted on a definite answer to her question, and the ambassador said at last that Elizabeth had the fairest complexion, though Mary was considered a very lovely woman. Elizabeth then wanted to know which was the tallest of the two. The ambassador said that Mary was, then said Elizabeth, she's too tall for I am just of the right height myself. At one time during Elizabeth's reign, the people took a fancy to engrave and print portraits of her, which being perhaps tolerable faithful to the original were not very alluring. The queen was much fixed at the circulation of these prints, and finally she caused a grave and formal proclamation to be issued against them. In this proclamation it was stated that it was the intention of the queen at some future time to have a proper artist employed to execute a correct and true portrait of herself, which should then be published, and in the meantime all persons were forbidden to make or sell any representations of her whatever. Elizabeth was extremely fond of pomp and parade, the magnificent and splendor of the celebrations and festivities which characterised her reign have scarcely ever been surpassed in any country or in any age. She once went to attend church on a particular occasion, so accompanied by a thousand men in full armour of steel and 10 pieces of cannon with drums and trumpet sounding. She received her foreign ambassadors with military spectacles and shows and with banquets and parties of pleasure, which for many days kept all London in a fever of excitement. Sometimes she made excursions on the river with whole fleets of boats and barges in her train, the shores on such occasions swarming with spectators and waving with flags and banners. Sometimes she would make grand progresses through her dominions, followed by an army of attendants, lords and ladies dressed and mounted in the most costly manner and putting the nobles who seats she visited to a vast expense in entertaining such a crowd of visitors. Being very saving of her own means she generally contrived to bring the expense of this magnificence upon others. The honour was a sufficient equivalent or if it was not nobody dead to complain. To sum up all Elizabeth was very great and she was at the same time very little. Littleness and greatness mingled in her character in a manner which has scarcely ever been parallel except by the equally singular mixture of admiration and contempt with which mankind have always regarded her. End of chapter nine