In order to ascertain whether anything was being arranged between the French and the Spaniards the Queen took the opportunity, on the night of the 21st of January, as she was walking in the gallery at Whitehall with Alençon, to say that she had decided to come to terms with Philip. Poor Alençon was thunderstruck at this specious piece of news, and told Marchaumont afterwards that he could only suppose the Queen meant to leave him floundering in the morass into which she had led him. But this was not her only shot at the same interview. She had already fully primed Simier, who was still lingering here, with similar intelligence, and had arranged that he should enter the gallery by a private door, of which he had the key, as soon as she had fired her shot. Directly he entered she discreetly said it would not become her to stand between master and servant, and retired, leaving Alençon and the “ape” together. The Prince turned upon his former favourite, and sneeringly asked why he was still staying in England. Was he afraid that he, Alençon, would have him killed if he went to France? “No,” said Simier, “I do not think you would have me killed, but I do fear that I should be murdered by some of my enemies.” Then Alençon opened the floodgates of his anger and piled reproach upon reproach on the devoted head of poor Simier. He had sold and betrayed his master, he told him; it was through him alone that the marriage had fallen through, and he had been the means of frustrating his hopes of intervening in the Netherlands. As soon as he could get in a word, Simier asked the Prince to tell him what he had done to cause all this. “You have discredited and defamed the best friend I have in England, the Earl of Leicester,” replied the irate Prince, “and he has consequently been unable to influence the Queen in my favour as he would otherwise have done.”
Simier was not long in conveying this to the Queen, and took care to have another fling at his enemy, Leicester, at the same time. He was surprised, he said, as all the world was, that she should still favour a man who had deceived her as Leicester had done by telling her he was not married when he was. But Elizabeth’s object was not to quarrel with Leicester, but to learn by the hasty words of Alençon whether he was intriguing with the King of Spain, and she turned the subject by saying that Leicester was too powerful to be disgraced all at once. The consideration of the King of France’s reply was undertaken the next day by the Council, but no decision was arrived at, as the Queen and Cecil alone really knew what her plans were. Cecil said something to the Queen before the Council about three masses being celebrated every morning in London now, i.e., those of Alençon, the Dauphin, and Marchaumont, whereas by the marriage treaty one only could take place even after the marriage. She told him to have a little patience and leave it to her. They and their masses would soon be across the sea. The same night at her customary walk in the gallery with Alençon she opened her batteries. She pointed out to him that it would be much better to abandon the Netherlands enterprise; nothing but danger and trouble could come to him from it. If she did not marry him she was sure the King of France would not help him, and she alone was unable to sustain the whole cost, particularly now that the States themselves were exhausted and wavering; whereas, on the other hand, if she did marry him, it was equally certain that her ministers and people would not consent to be brought into conflict with so powerful a state as Spain. She was more inclined at present to come to terms and bring about peace. He might see by this, she said, that he was not likely to benefit whether he married her or not. Alençon quite broke down at this, and as soon as he could get away flew to his false friend Leicester to ask him what was the meaning of it. It was all, said Leicester, the fault of Sussex, who had continued to advise the Queen to make friends with the King of Spain. So the next morning after dinner the young Prince made a formal complaint against Sussex, who he said had accepted Spanish bribes to frustrate the marriage—which was not true—and not only that, but he had undertaken to serve Philip even against his own mistress, as he was informed by the French ambassador in Madrid. Elizabeth stoutly defended honest Sussex against this calumny, but she took care to repeat it all to him as soon as Alençon was gone, and told him that she would never trust the Prince again after he had so defamed in this way those who were his oldest and best friends. Sussex, for his part, could only swear with tears in his eyes to be avenged upon the authors of such a falsehood. Everything that Alençon did and said, therefore, was turned to his disadvantage. At last, after all this preparation, the Queen gave him her final reply. Calais and Havre must both be garrisoned with Englishmen as a security for her that the King of France would fulfil all his promises. Alençon could hardly believe his ears. Was she in earnest, he asked, and was this the final reply? Certainly, replied the Queen, and she could give no other: and Alençon, thunderstruck, flung out of the room in a rage, now thoroughly undeceived. He at once called a council of his friends, and told them how he had been betrayed. His honour must be avenged at all costs, but for the present he must dissemble with the Queen, as her help was necessary to enable him first to wreak his vengeance upon the prime author of his downfall, his false brother the King, who had sent Simier hither, knowing he could do as he liked with the Queen, in order to frustrate the marriage. The sinister tyrant his brother, and his evil-minded mother had plotted against his welfare, and he would be even with them. His mother’s only object was to keep him under her thumb in France in order to hold his brother the better in her thraldom. There were two courses open to him, he said: first, to carry on the war in Flanders; and secondly, to raise civil war in France. The first he could not do without the English Queen’s help, which he probably could not get, as she was in treaty with the Spaniards, and he was certain his brother would not aid him; but the Queen would willingly support him in a Huguenot war in France, as she had promised the King of Navarre to do so. After much of this heated talk and denunciation of the proud Guises, in which Marchaumont and de Quincy added fuel to the fire, the Prince Dauphin, old beyond his years, who had hitherto remained silent, being urged by Alençon to give his opinion, turned a cold stream of good sense on the inflated balderdash of Alençon and his friends. He would have nothing to do with treason, he said, and warned them to take care they did not lose their heads for such talk. This fairly frightened them all, and Alençon took him apart in a window recess and prayed him earnestly not to desert him. But the Dauphin was obdurate; he would leave for France at once, and consort no more with the enemies of his King. He and the spies behind the arras soon told everything to cautious old Pinart, who had brought the King’s reply, and he flew to the Queen to urge her not to help Alençon against his brother. She had not heard a word about such a project, she truly said, but Pinart did not quite know whether to believe her, and warned her in almost threatening words of her danger if she listened to talk which would bring all Christendom down upon her. Then he went and rated Alençon soundly, who began to whimper, protesting that he did not mean anything wrong, and collapsed completely.
Elizabeth had now quite satisfied herself that there was no arrangement between Alençon, his brother, and Spain; and at the same time had brought the poor creature to a sufficiently chastened and humble frame of mind, so she could without misgiving send him off to the Netherlands on her own terms. Seeing him in his barge on the river, she ordered her own and joined him, and persuaded him that it was at all events his duty to keep his word and accede to the invitation of the States to go to Flanders, and when he had been there he might retire or stay as he thought best. She would give him £30,000 in cash for his expenses and a regular subsidy for the war, with some ships to take him to Flushing. Alençon was glum and tearful, but had no alternative. The ships were waiting for him, the money ready in the exchequer, and the deputation from the States with St. Aldegonde pressing for his departure. Events and Elizabeth were too strong for him, and he consented to sail next day for Protestant Zeeland, instead of first to Catholic Flanders, where he and his Frenchmen might have caused trouble to the Queen of England. All was settled for the Prince to sail on the next morning, the 25th of January. Sussex was sent to say that the Queen desired that all future correspondence between them should be carried on through Simier, but this Alençon refused point blank, said he would have no more to do with him, and complained to Sussex bitterly of the Queen’s demand for Calais and Havre, and of his brother for refusing them. But before the morning came another change occurred. A courier came post-haste to Pinart from France urging him, as he loved his King and country to keep Alençon in England at any cost rather than allow him to drag his brother into trouble with Spain by going to the Netherlands. Alençon thereupon feigned illness, and Pinart went to the Queen and threatened that if she were too exacting France might join with Spain and put Mary Stuart on the throne. Although the King could not give her Calais and Havre as security, he would send such hostages as should satisfy her. This thoroughly alarmed the Queen, who kept Lady Stafford awake all night with her lamentations, and was in a high fever in the morning. She was still in bed after dinner, when she sent for Sussex in great trouble, and told him she must marry Alençon after all. Pinart threatened her with all sorts of dangers, and besides that she must have a companion in the government to enable her to curb her insolent favourites, which she, a lone woman, could not do. She knew this was the way to appeal to Sussex, who hated Leicester with all his heart, but these changes from hour to hour had completely obfuscated him, and he could only beseech her to do as she thought best, and not to ask his opinion until he knew hers. She begged him at least to say what he thought about the proposal to give hostages, and he gave it as his opinion that she ought to insist upon her demand for the ports. Immediately afterwards a Council was called, when, the marriage now appearing again possible, Leicester and Hatton, who had been loaded with French bribes, showed in their true colours. They both opposed the match strenuously. It was a danger, they said, to England and to religion, and no words were strong enough to condemn it. Sussex, of course, was in favour of it, and he and Leicester were about to come to fisticuffs when Cecil stepped between them, and told them that the question of marriage or no marriage was in the hands of the Queen—all they had to consider was what security should be exacted if the marriage took place. They broke up in confusion, without coming to any decision, and Cecil alone remained afterwards in conclave with the Queen, the result of their conference being that the ships were again ordered to make ready to sail with Alençon.
When Pinart found that his threats to Elizabeth had produced no permanent result, he fell back upon his alternative instructions, to threaten Alençon that if he went to the Netherlands under English auspices he and his followers should be treated as rebels and the enemies of France. This again alarmed the Queen, who next tried her cajoleries on Pinart. What were his final instructions, she asked, with all her battery of fascinations; but he said he would not tell her until he received her decided reply about the marriage, and only warned her to desist from helping Alençon in the Netherlands, or evil would come of it both to him and to her. She said she had not urged him to it, and had only helped him after he began, whilst she now thought it was better for him to retire and have done with the business. All this fickleness left poor Alençon in a chaotic condition of mind from day to day. First the Queen would give him £30,000, then a mere trifle of 20,000 crowns, then nothing, then £70,000, and so on, Cecil being strongly of opinion that no large sum should be furnished to him; but withal every effort was made to get him gone in a good humour. He was tardy and unwilling, afraid of Pinart’s threats, and full of sulky vows of vengeance against the Queen for sending him away unmarried. He was only dissembling, he told his friends; they should all see what he would do before he went. Poor creature! he could do nothing but impotently grumble and vapour, mere twig as he was on the torrent of events, borne hither and thither by stronger minds than his own.
The Queen on one occasion told him that he would only be away three weeks, and should then come back and marry her; the castle of Dover was already, she said, being prepared for his reception when he returned; and although he smiled at this, and feigned pleasure, he was no sooner alone with Marchaumont than he burst into an agony of tears, swore that he would only live to be revenged on her, if he had to make friends with his brother for the sake of doing it. But still from that day he hung back on one pretext or another. Marchaumont and most of his friends had been bribed by the Queen to persuade him to go, and they used every artifice with that object. How would he like, they asked him, to go back to France, and dance attendance on La Valette and d’Arques, his brother’s mignons? Better surely, they said, suffer any hardship in Flanders than put up with such an indignity as that! As soon as they had persuaded him, Pinart would come and threaten all manner of terrible things if he trusted to rebels and heretics. At last, on the 1st of February, on the arrival of a new deputation from the States, the Queen prevailed upon him to start for Dover with her by his side. Leicester, Hunsdon, and Howard were to accompany him, and the Queen told the Prince that if he did not like to stay he could come back with the Earl in three weeks, and she would then have decided about the marriage. Sussex took the opportunity of urging Alençon secretly to keep Leicester in Flanders when he arrived, but he was powerless to do anything, for the money, except 20,000 crowns for his expenses, was handed to Hunsdon and Leicester to be laid out for the benefit of the States; and it was well understood that the French prince was to be a mere figurehead to beguile the Catholic Flemings. Every demonstration the Queen could make was made. She went with him as far as Canterbury, weeping copiously all the way. On taking leave of him she cast herself about his neck and asked him not to go until they learnt whether there was any danger from the Spaniards at Antwerp as was reported. The Flushing deputation had urged him somewhat roughly to set out; and she flared up at their disrespect, called them heretical cobblers and tinkers to dare to talk like that to a prince. It was all make-believe of course, though she swore to her own ministers that she would not live an hour but for the hope of her lover’s prompt return, for she was determined to marry him in spite of everything.[155]
She gave him a personal present of £25,000 when she left him, and told him that a wound on his little finger would pierce her heart. Amongst all these blandishments the real object appears when we learn that she urged him above all things to obtain help from his brother. If she could only bring France and Spain to loggerheads she would be safe. Leicester, by means of Hatton, tried at the last moment to shirk the voyage, but the Queen threatened them both with all sorts of penalties if such disrespect were “shown to the person she loved best in the world,” but the real reason why she was so anxious for Leicester to go was that he bore secret instructions to Orange to detain Alençon in Holland at any cost, and never let him come back to England, notwithstanding that the Queen had given him her word at parting that if he would only return to her in six weeks she would marry him on the conditions that Pinart had propounded. The scales, however, were gradually falling from the Prince’s eyes, for before he went Marchaumont, who stayed in England, was instructed to make approaches for his marriage with the wealthy daughter of the Duke of Florence.
