Life of Elizabeth I (84 page)

For months after Essex's death, Elizabeth was weary and sad, suffering bouts of depression that drove her to seek sanctuary in her darkened bedchamber, where she would give way to fits of weeping. Drained of energy, she grew careless and forgetful when attending to state affairs. The last two years had broken her spirit, and there were few left of her generation to understand her terrible isolation. That summer, she confessed to the French ambassador that 'she was tired of life, for nothing now contented her or gave her any enjoyment'. She referred to Essex 'with sighs and almost with tears', but insisted that he had not heeded her warnings and had brought his own doom upon himself. 'Those who touch the sceptre of princes deserve no pity,' she declared.

In consequence of her mood, 'the court was very much neglected, and in effect the people were generally weary of an old woman's government'. After the fall of Essex, Elizabeth's popularity had declined, despite government efforts to set the record straight. 'To this day', wrote Camden in the next reign, 'there are but few that thought [Essex's] a capital crime.' The country was burdened by economic hardship, the war with Spain still dragged on interminably, and a need for change was making itself felt. Elizabeth was criticised, somewhat unfairly, for making savage cuts in her expenditure, by courtiers who could not meet the rising cost of living and looked to her successor to remedy matters. Bribery and corruption were now endemic at court, and the Queen was powerless to stamp them out. 'Now the wit of the fox is everywhere on foot, so as hardly a faithful or virtuous man may be found,' she complained.

In August, Elizabeth received the antiquary William Lambarde, Keeper of the Records in the Tower, who had come to present her with a copy of his catalogue of the documents in his care. Elizabeth showed great interest, reading some aloud and telling him 'that she would be a scholar in her age and thought it no scorn to learn during her life'. But when she turned to the papers documenting the reign of Richard II, it was obvious that Essex's rebellion was still on her mind, for she turned to Lambarde and said, 'I am Richard II; know ye not that? He that will forget God will also forget his benefactors. This tragedy was played forty 
times I open streets and houses.' Lambarde was in no doubt as to what she was referring. But she dismissed him graciously, saying, 'Farewell, good and honest Lambarde.' He died two weeks later.

The Queen's progress that summer took her to Reading and then into Hampshire, where she stayed with the Marquess of
Winchester at Basing before moving on to Lord Sandys's mansion, The Vyne, where she entertained Marshal Biron, the French ambassador, in whose honour she had the house adorned with plate and hangings brought from Hampton Court and the Tower. She was heard to boast that none of her predecessors had ever, during a progress and at a subject's house, 'royally entertained an ambassador'.

Biron's associate, the Due de Sully, was much impressed by Elizabeth's acute insight into matters of state:

I was convinced this great Queen was truly worthy of that high reputation she had acquired. She said many things which appeared to me so just and sensible that I was filled with astonishment and admiration. It is not unusual to behold princes form great designs, but to regulate the conduct of them, to foresee and guard against all obstacles in such a manner that, when they happen, nothing more will be necessary than to apply the remedies prepared long before - this is what few princes are capable of. I cannot bestow praises upon the Queen of England that would be equal to the merit which I discovered in her in this short time, both as to the qualities of the heart and the understanding.

It was during this progress that Elizabeth's courtiers, noticing that the handsome young Irish Earl of Clanricarde bore a passing resemblance to Essex, tried to bring him to the Queen's notice in order to revive her spirits, but she betrayed no interest whatsoever in him, anci made it clear that anything that reminded her of Essex only brought her pain.

On returning to London, she visited the Middle Temple, where, in the great hall, which had been built using timbers from the
Golden Hind,
she presided over a banquet at a table which is still there today, and watched a performance of Shakespeare's
Twelfth Night.

The thirteenth and last Parliament of Elizabeth's reign met in October in a surly mood, being determined to break the wretched system of monopolies that was causing such financial distress to many.* When the

*Monopolies were royal grants bestowing the sole right to make or sell consumer goods such as salt or starch, but these privileges were frequently and scandalously abused by their holders, and there was much ill feeling against the system. 

Queen went in state to open Parliament, few offered the customary greeting, 'God save Your Majesty'. There was momentary alarm when, as she addressed the assembly, weighted down in her heavy robes and crown, she suddenly swayed, prompting several gentlemen to rush forward and catch her before she sank to the ground. She recovered, however, and the ceremony proceeded as planned.

After she had left the Parliament house, the antechamber was so full there was 'little room to pass, [and] she moved her hand to have more room, whereupon one of the gentlemen ushers said, "Back, masters, make room." And one answered stoutly behind, "If you will hang us we can make no more room," which the Queen seemed not to hear, though she lifted up her head and looked that way towards him that spoke.'

To add to the problems of dearth and famine, the population of England had increased considerably during Elizabeth's reign. The practice of enclosing common land only added to the burgeoning numbers of the destitute, who would once have been cared for by monks and nuns, but the Dissolution of the Monasteries in the 1530s had dispossessed many in the religious life, placing an added burden upon the state. By the end of Elizabeth's reign, beggars had become a serious problem.

In 1598, Parliament had passed the famous Poor Law Act, which was published in November 1601, consigning beggars to the care of their native parishes, who were bound by law to provide relief for them. Each city or corporate town was to have its poor house - later known as the workhouse - and the system was to be paid for by local taxation.

The Commons, determined to end the abuse of monopolies, were resolved to block a subsidy Bill until the Queen had agreed to the passing of an Act limiting her powers to grant them. Before they could do so, and in order to avoid a dispute over the royal prerogative, Elizabeth issued a proclamation announcing that she would put an end to the present system immediately. There was a jubilant response to this in the House, with members weeping with emotion and fervently echoing 'Amen!' when the Speaker, John Croke, offered up a prayer for Her Majesty's preservation.

Parliament decided to send a deputation to the Queen to express her subjects' deepest gratitude and joy. When it came to choosing which MPs were to go, there were cries of'All! All! All!', prompting Elizabeth to send word that although space was limited, she would be pleased to see them all. 1 50 members accepted her invitation.

On 30 November, she received them enthroned in the Council Chamber at Whitehall, where she proved that the old magic could still have its effect by making what would ever afterwards be known as her 
'golden speech', and would, in effect, be her farewell words to her beloved people. The MPs knelt before her and the Speaker, who headed the delegation, began to express their gratitude, but the Queen was determined to have her say. 'Mr Speaker,' she said,

we perceive your coming is to present thanks unto us. Know that I accept them with no less joy than your loves can have desired to offer such a present. I do assure you, there is no prince that loves his subjects better. There is no jewel, be it of never so rich a price, which I set before this jewel: I mean your love. For I do more esteem it than any treasure or riches, for those we know how to prize; but loyalty, love and thanks - I account them invaluable; and though God hath raised me high, yet this I account the glory of my crown, that I have reigned with your loves. This makes me that I do not so much rejoice that God hath made me to be a queen, as to be a queen over so thankful a people and to be the means under God to conserve you in safety and to preserve you from danger.

Bidding them rise, for she had more to say to them, she thanked them for making her aware
of
her people's resentment of the system
of
monopolies.

Mr Speaker, you give me thanks, but I am more to thank you, and I charge you, thank them of the Lower House from me that I take it exceeding grateful that the knowledge of these things have come unto me from them; for, had I not received knowledge from you, I might have fallen into the lapse of an error, only for want of true information. That my grants shall be made grievances to my people, and oppressions be privileged under colour of our patents, our princely dignity shall not suffer. Yea, when I heard it, I could give no rest unto my thoughts until I had reformed it, and those abusers of my bounty shall know I will not suffer it.

Of myself, I must say this: I never was any greedy, scraping grasper, nor a strict, fast-holding prince, nor yet a waster; my heart was never set upon any worldly goods, but only for my subjects' good. What you do bestow on me, I will not hoard up, but receive it to bestow on you again; yea, mine own properties I account yours, to be expended for your good, and your eyes shall see the bestowing of it.

She assured them that she did not 'desire to live longer days, than that I may see your prosperity, and that is my only desire. Since I was Queen, 
yet did I never put my pen to any grant, but that upon pretext or semblance made unto me that it was both good and beneficial to the subjects in general, though a private profit to some of my ancient servants who deserved well.' If they had abused the system, she prayed

God will not lay their offence to my charge. To be a king and wear a crown is more glorious to them that see it than it is a pleasure to them that bear it. And for my own part, were it not for conscience's sake to discharge the duty that God hath laid upon me, and to maintain His glory and keep you in safety, in mine own disposition I should be willing to resign the place I hold to any other, and glad to be free of the glory with the labours; for it is not my desire to live nor reign longer than my life and reign shall be for your good. And though you have had and may have many mightier and wiser princes sitting in this seat, yet you never had nor shall have any that will love you better.

I was never so much enticed with the glorious name of a king, or royal authority of a queen, as delighted that God hath made me His instrument to maintain His truth and glory, and to defend this kingdom from peril, dishonour, tyranny and oppression. I speak it to give God the praise, as a testimony before you, and not to attribute anything to myself; for I - O Lord, what am I? - O what can I do that I should speak for any glory? God forbid!

And thus concluding, she invited every delegate forward to kiss her hand, then rose from her throne and left the chamber to the sound of trumpets.

Her speech, it was unanimously agreed, had never been bettered; one MP said it was worthy to have been written in gold. Moreover, her magnanimous and prompt assent to Parliament's wishes restored her flagging popularity, enshrined her in her people's affections more than ever before, and inspired the Commons to vote her an unprecedented quadruple subsidy without one dissenting voice.

When Elizabeth dissolved Parliament on 19 December, the Speaker reminded the Lords and Commons that England, alone in Europe, had known stable government throughout the Queen's reign, and he thanked her on their behalf for 'the happy and quiet and most sweet and comfortable peace we have long enjoyed and, blessed be God and Your Majesty, do still enjoy.'

Elizabeth replied that they should go home and tell their people 'that your sovereign is more careful of your conservation than of herself, and will daily crave of God that they who wish you best may never wish in vain'.

It was an unusually quiet Christmas, with so few people at court that the guards 'were not troubled to keep the doors at plays and pastimes'. Yet there was to be cause for celebration, for on 24 December Mountjoy had achieved a great victory over Tyrone at Kinsale, leaving 1200 rebels dead on the field. Tyrone himself had escaped, but the commander of the Spanish army that had arrived the previous autumn to assist him had given up his cause for lost and sued for peace. On 2 January 1602, the Spaniards surrendered to Mountjoy and sailed back to Spain. The English were now in control of Ireland.

This was, wrote the Queen, 'one of the most acceptable incidents that hath befallen us'; she would have preferred the Spaniards to have been killed, but that was a minor detail. Mountjoy's offences had been forgotten; already, Elizabeth was writing regular and affectionate letters to him, signing herself 'Your loving sovereign'. Once, after he had complained she was treating him like a scullion, she responded with a lengthy and supportive letter in her own hand, but began with the greeting, 'Mistress Kitchen Maid . . .' Now, after his victory, she wrote, 'We have forgotten to praise your humility, that, after having been a queen's kitchen maid, you have not disdained to be a traitor's scullion. God bless you with perseverance.'

In June 1602, it seemed as if the great seafaring age of Drake was about to flourish once more, when a small fleet under Sir Richard Leveson captured a great Portuguese carrack, laden with treasure, despite its being protected by eleven galleys and 10,000 troops. But an expedition sent by the Queen to plunder the Spanish coast returned empty-handed. These were to be the last major maritime ventures of the reign.