The French were naturally elated at this, and Alençon at once sent off the great news to his brother, but the feeling amongst the courtiers was very different. Leicester and Hatton were in dismay; they had felt certain hitherto that the Queen was only play-acting, but surely matters were getting serious, and tears, lamentations, and reproaches, were the order of the day. But the Queen was playing her own game, and sage old Cecil was perhaps the only one of her advisers who really understood her move. He was ill in bed with the gout at the time, and was chatting with a couple of gossips when the message reached him. Instead of dismay he expressed great satisfaction, and placed the matter at once in its true light. “Thank God,” he said, “the Queen, for her part, has done all that she can; it is for the country now to take the matter in hand.” This meant that the Queen, ever evasive of responsibility, had shifted the onus upon Parliament, which had been summoned for the 6th of December. There was not the slightest need for Parliament to be consulted at all, but Elizabeth had been driven into a corner by Alençon’s presence and persistence and the immovable determination of his brother to stand aloof until the marriage had taken place. By taking the course she did, she artfully attained three objects which could have been compassed by no other way short of marriage: she secured further delay without offence to the King, she personally bound Alençon to her, come what might, and, most important of all, she sowed the germ of discord between him and his brother, who now appeared the principal obstacle to the marriage, as he refused the terms demanded by the English (which Parliament would be asked to insist upon) before the marriage could take place. Having the most secret correspondence before our eyes now, we are able to see clearly that this was the clever plan of the Queen herself; but her most intimate contemporaries were puzzled and disturbed at her apparent instability. The balance of opinion was that the Queen had been caught at last, and had pledged herself too deeply to draw back, although Leicester, after his first dismay was over, went about industriously spreading a contrary view. He and Hatton, however, were not so reassured as they would have had it appear. Hatton went to the Queen, and with many tears and sighs boldly told her that even if she wanted herself to marry, she ought to consider the grief she was bringing upon the country by doing so, not to mention what might happen to her personally if she married against the will of her people, upon whose affection the security of her throne depended. This almost seditious speech at another time would have aroused Elizabeth to fury, and consigned her “sheep” Hatton, to the Tower, but the Queen was quite confident in her game and only smiled and petted her future Lord Chancellor. Leicester, by right of his greater intimacy with his mistress, was blunter in his reproaches. He asked her point blank whether she was a maid or a married woman, to which she replied that she was a maid, as the conditions upon which she gave the marriage pledge would never be fulfilled. He told her that she had acted very unwisely in carrying the matter so far and so ostentatiously, and they put their heads together there and then to devise some scheme by which the Queen’s words might be minimised, probably solely at Leicester’s instance, and contrary to her own better judgment, as her plans were well laid. A message was therefore sent to Alençon, saying that the Queen had been pondering about the ring she had given him, and she felt sure that if she married him she would not have long to live. He might, she said, see that for himself, as he was a witness of the dissatisfaction of the English people at her attachment to him, which attachment she hoped he did not wish to be fatal to her. She prayed him therefore to let the matter rest for the present, and there was nothing in her country she would refuse him. She would be more attached to him as a friend, even than if he were her husband. Walsingham took this message, and whilst he was with the Prince the latter remained calm. All he had said and done, he protested, was solely to please the Queen, whose death, very far from desiring, he would imperil his own life to avert and to give her pleasure, as, indeed, he was doing now to save her from annoyance by refraining from pressing his suit with less ardour at her request.[146] But as soon as Walsingham was gone the young Prince lost all control over himself. He saw now how he had been tricked; it was too late to prevent the coming of the commissioners whom his brother had despatched to England to finally settle the conditions, and in his rage he cursed the inconstancy of woman, tore the ring from his finger and cast it upon the ground.[147] He told Elizabeth he would leave at once, hinted at revenge for his and his country’s slighted honour, and again brought matters to a crisis. Then Elizabeth saw that her complaisancy to Leicester had led her into a false position, and once more resumed her original plan. She mollified and lulled the Duke into a fool’s paradise again with: “nouvelles démonstrations accompagnées de baisers, privautés, caresses, et mignardises ordinaries aux amants.” She received the King’s envoy, Secretary Pinart, with new protestations of her desire to marry, and appointed a committee of the Council, consisting of the Lord Chancellor, Cecil, Sussex, and Leicester to discuss the pourparlers with him. She asked them first to report their opinion to her, as, desirous as she was of the marriage, she would not entertain it if she was not satisfied that it was for the benefit of her country; but they knew she was playing her own game, of which most of them did not see the drift, and were determined to avoid giving any opinion which might offend and hamper her. In the meanwhile Leicester, through his agents, was stirring up the Protestants to distrust and hatred of the match, whilst the host of Catholic sympathisers in the interests of Spain were equally working against it on the ground that Alençon had not raised a finger to save the lives of his co-religionists who had been martyred whilst he had been in England. Matters therefore did not look particularly promising when the Council met Pinart early in December, although Alençon himself had been petted into hopefulness. The English began by advancing claims for all sorts of impossible conditions and assurances, and after succeeding in making the marriage appear impracticable they proposed that in lieu of marriage they should give Alençon a regular subsidy for his Netherlands projects if the King of France would also support his brother. This had been proposed and refused in different forms time after time, and Pinart, who was an old diplomatist, at once retorted that he had come to settle the marriage and nothing else; if the marriage was not to take place all negotiations must cease, and he must go back. Catharine was equally disillusioned, and told Priuli, the Venetian ambassador in France, that although Alençon had given the Queen’s ring back again, she attached no importance to it, as the gift of a ring did not constitute a binding engagement. “Queen Elizabeth, she said, is very artful, and my son is very young. He has allowed himself to be drawn by her into this adventure, in spite of all our arguments and advice; he is being overwhelmed with entertainments, and he has just written to me that he still has hope.”[148]
François de Valois, Duke of Alençon.
The next day there was a meeting of the Council, where it was proposed to settle matters by granting to Alençon a pension of 10,000 marks a year, the King of France a subsidy of £100,000, and the States £80,000 on condition of a similar amount being contributed by the King for the purpose of making war upon Spain in the Netherlands under the leadership of Alençon. If the King of France refused this it was proposed to make an immediate grant of £200,000 to Alençon, in consideration of the relief of Cambrai, and that the marriage negotiations be dropped. This was Leicester’s plan, who undertook to answer for Alençon’s acquiescence and the raising of the money by privy-seal loans and exchequer bills, but when they sent the proposal to the Queen as the result of their deliberation she was furious. Her plans were working as she intended them to work, and she could throw the whole blame for the failure of her marriage upon the King of France, whilst raising enmity between him and his brother, and pledging Alençon to her hard and fast without marriage. And yet these dense councillors of hers, and jealous, shallow Leicester, would keep thwarting her with their officious interference. Cecil was the only one who refused to do so, and always had a diplomatic attack of gout at critical times. Crofts gave an account to Mendoza of the way in which the Queen received the proposal of her Council. “She made, he says, a great show of anger and annoyance, saying that her councillors only thought of their own profit, wasting the substance of the country without reflection, and buying, under cover of her authority, that which suited them best. As Alençon thought fit to forget her in exchange for her money, she would neither marry him nor give him any money, and he might do the best he could.” Then she sent for Alençon and angrily told him the same, and a quarrel between them ensued. When she had thus upset the results of her Council’s officiousness, she began her own game again. Pinart had made clear to her that her demands for the restitution of Calais, a rupture with Spain, and the cessation of the old alliance between France and Scotland were unreasonable, and that if the marriage were broken off in consequence of such preposterous conditions the responsibility would be cast upon her and not upon his master. So she harked back to somewhat more moderate-sounding claims, which she knew would be also refused. She said that she had given the ring and pledge to Alençon on condition that he should make war on Spain in the Netherlands at the expense of the King of France, whilst she sent assistance from England in form of men. She said she had distinctly understood that this was to be the condition of the marriage; but of course if the French King could not fulfil it, there was the end of the matter. She was extremely sorry, but it was not her fault if there was a misunderstanding, or the French failed to carry out the condition, and she urged that Marchaumont, her devoted “monk,” whose letters are only a degree less loving than those of Simier, should be sent to Paris to urge this view upon the King and his mother.
Marchaumont had long been tiring of his task in England, and had not ceased to entreat his master to give him active employment, and especially to bestow a stray abbey or two upon him instead of giving everything to Fervaques and de Quincy. He assures Elizabeth that he has received nothing in consequence of his attachment to her, which had aroused the jealousy of his fellows, and he left England breathing vows and protestations of his eternal devotion to her.[149]
Ever since Simier left England he had maintained a copious cipher correspondence with Elizabeth, which is now at Hatfield, containing the most minute details of Alençon’s movements and intentions, interspersed with curious marks which presumably stand for kisses, twin hearts, transfixed with Cupid’s darts and other lover-like devices. But amongst his frantic, not to say impious, professions of adoration for the Queen he continued to complain of the machinations of Fervaques, the Queen of Navarre, and his other enemies who had brought about his disgrace and ruin. Elizabeth, for her part, was for ever urging Alençon through Marchaumont, and by her own letters to reinstate Simier in his good graces. Sometimes more or less vague promises of acquiescence were sent, sometimes the Prince told her that if she knew all she would not be so warm in Simier’s defence, and sometimes the revenues and favours now enjoyed by her favourite were detailed to prove that he had quite as much as he could expect, but the net result was that Simier remained in disgrace and Fervaques ruffled it more bravely than ever. At last Simier appears to have got tired of obscurity and entreaty, and finding he could get no more by serving Alençon, bethought him that he might employ his great influence with the Queen in the service of Henry III. The offers of such an instrument to mould events to the liking of the King were eagerly accepted, and at first an attempt was made by Henry and Catharine to induce Alençon to discard Fervaques and de Quincy and take Simier back again. But, as Simier writes to the Queen, this only made Alençon love them the more, for Queen Margaret’s influence on her brother was too strong to be overcome. So when Fervaques, Champvallon, Queen Margaret’s lover, and the rest of the crew, came over with their master to England, Simier, with the King’s connivance, followed them in order ostensibly to challenge his foe, but really to watch Alençon’s negotiations from his point of vantage near the Queen, and, if necessary, frustrate them in the King’s interest. With him he took a second, another fire-eater named Baron de Viteau, and when the challenge was sent to Fervaques, the latter, true to Gascon character, would only accept a pitched battle with six on each side. This was obviously impossible, as Simier had not six partisans in England, but it gave Fervaques time to arrange with Leicester, who hated Simier more bitterly than any one, to have the poor “ape” assassinated in cold blood. Simier was attacked on the London 'Change by hired cut-throats, but fortunately once more escaped. He again complained to his protectress, whose rage knew no bounds. Calling Leicester to her, she called him a murderous poltroon who was only fit for the gallows and warned him and Alençon’s courtiers that if anything happened to her “ape” in England they should suffer for it. Fervaques, rightly or wrongly, thought that Simier had been warned of the plot by a certain Lafin, with whom he consequently picked a quarrel in the palace itself. Lafin fled, pursued by Fervaques with a drawn dagger, into the presence of the Queen, who broke out into one of her uncontrollable rages at such disrespect for her, and cried out that if Fervaques were one of her subjects, she would soon have his head off. There were ample materials, therefore for dissensions, and by the middle of December Alençon had lost heart again. He earnestly pressed the Queen for an answer, and a pledge that she would marry him if the King acceded to her last demands. But she then advanced another claim which had hitherto not been mentioned, namely, the suppression of the English Jesuit seminary at Rheims. Alençon, anxious to make an end, asked her whether if he obtained this concession she would bind herself to marry him; but she still held back. Even in such case, she said, she would have to consider very deeply whether it would be advisable for her to change her state. This was mere trifling, and Alençon in despair begged her to send an envoy to discuss these conditions with his brother, but she replied that the King of France had better send one to her. Pinart was still in England, although waiting and ready to depart, and he was consequently delayed to discuss these new pretensions. In the meanwhile news arrived of the fall of Tournai, and the States, at the end of their wits and resources, sent a deputation to Alençon offering to invest him at once, if he would come over, with the dukedom of Brabant, which he had coveted from the first. This suited the Queen excellently, as nothing was more likely to bring about a rupture between France and Spain, but it would never do to let the future sovereign of the Netherlands leave her in dudgeon, or the control might slip through her fingers after all. So she at once changed her tone. Ships were made ready with furious haste, money, munitions, and men were promised in his aid, and every inducement was offered for him to accept the States’ invitation; whilst at the same time the Queen, with sighs and feigned tears, entreated her lover not to leave her, but if he must go to promise her faithfully soon to come back again. Alençon replied that he would not return unless she now gave an unconditional promise to marry him. But this was no part of the Queen’s programme, and she evaded the question with her usual dexterity.
On the 20th of December all was ready for the Duke’s departure. The vessels were awaiting him, and some of his baggage and household had started; a grand farewell supper was laid for him and the Queen at Cobham House, near Gravesend, where he was to take leave of her, and he was about to embark in the barges which were to convey him from Greenwich, when a strong north-east gale sprang up and blew continuously for many days, and prevented his departure.
Mendoza says that although she displayed publicly great grief at his going, in the privacy of her own chamber she danced for very joy at getting rid of him. One day during his detention he reproached her for letting him go so easily. He saw now, he said, that she did not love him much, and that she was tired of him, as she was sending him away openly discarded. She protested with an abundance of sounding oaths that she had only been induced to let him go for his own gratification and not for hers, and that she was sorry he was going so soon. She did not mean it, of course, but it was enough for Alençon, who seized the opportunity at once. “No! no! Madame,” said he, “you are mine, as I can prove by letters and words you have written to me, confirmed by the gift of the ring, of which I sent intelligence to my brother, my mother, and the princes of France, and all those who were present at our interviews are ready to bear testimony. If I cannot get you for my wife by fair means and affection I must do so by force, for I will not leave this country without you.” The Queen was much perturbed at this, and exclaimed that she had never written anything which she could not justify. She did not care, she said, what interpretation people chose to put upon her letters, as she knew her own intentions better than any one else could; and as for the ring, it was only a pledge of perpetual friendship and of a conditional contract, dependent upon his brother the King acceding to her conditions, which she was quite sure he never would do. She repeated her repugnance to entering the married state, but softened the blow by saying that there was nothing she desired more than that he should stay in England as her brother, friend, and good companion, but not as her husband.[150] Alençon was deeply grieved at all this, but it ended in a promise that after the new year’s holidays she would see what help she could give him in his enterprise, and with this he was perforce to appear content. But withal, Alençon’s fresh talk of remaining in England disturbed her, especially as Cobham in Paris sent her news that the King was anxious to prolong negotiations in order to keep him there and prevent his going to Flanders. So she instructed Cecil to inflame his ambition for the great career there open to him, and at the same time sent for Simier to contrive with him how she best might get him gone. Simier had told her that if she really wished to avoid the marriage she need only stand fast to the conditions she had demanded from the King of France as a preliminary. She repeated to him her last demands, and said she was sure the King would not consent to break with Spain and bear the whole cost of the war without any contribution from her, and this would furnish her with the excuse she sought after, while she might make a show of approaching Spain, and this would ensure Alençon’s recall and the cessation of the marriage negotiations. Simier, after all, said he was not so sure of this. Alençon was such an evil weed that his brother might consent to anything to get rid of him from France. “Well,” replied the Queen, “I do not believe the King will grant such terms, but even if he do I shall find a way out of it.” And then she and Simier began to make merry at the fine gallant who would so readily give up his lady-love in consideration of a money payment. I offered him, she said, so much a month, and it has brightened him up to such an extent that you would not know him. But as soon as he is once across the sea I will tell him my Council will not agree to the arrangement, on the ground that my country cannot without unduly weakening itself provide so large a sum, and that the people would not allow it.[151] Both Elizabeth and Cecil were strongly of opinion that whilst she held large sums of money she would remain mistress of the situation, and whatever promises were held out to Alençon to induce him to embark in the enterprise, the intention always was to dole out the subsidies to him as sparingly as possible.