Bess of Hardwick and Her Circle

by Maud Stepney Rawson

The first is a denunciation of Gilbert’s extravagant wife:—

“Son Gilbert,

“I thank you for your pains taken in certifying me of those your sundry news, being the very same in effect that I heard of the day before I received your letter. For answer thereto, you shall understand my meaning towards you is as good as it was at that our departure you put me in mind of; but for any help about the payment of your debts I do advise you altogether to rely on yourself, and the best discharge you shall be able to make thereof, than any ways upon me; who, least my silence in that behalf, and at this time, might breathe some hope agreeable to your conceived opinion, do in sadness, as you did in jest, return you a short answer for your long warning; willing you either to provide for yourself, as you may, or else be disappointed; for during my life, I would not have you to expect any more at my hands than I have already allowed you, whereof I know you might live well, and clear from danger of any, as I did, if you had that governance over your wife, as her pomp and court-like manner of life were some deal assuaged. And, for mine own part, and your good, I do wish you had but half so much to relieve your necessities as she and her mother have spent in seeking, through malice, mine overthrow and dishonour, and I in defending my just cause against them: by means of whose evil dealings, together with other bargains wherein I have entangled myself of late, I am not able either to help you, or store myself for any other purpose I shall take in hand these twelve months. Thus praying God to bless you, I bid you farewell.

“Sheffield Lodge, the 17th of June, 1587.

“Your loving father,

“G. Shrewsbury.”

The next is from the newest mediator between Talbot and Cavendish, Sir Henry Lee, a long-winded but delightful personage of romantic and fantastic temperament. Lodge assures us that he was “bred from infancy in Courts and camps,” and that this induced him not only to take a leading part in tilts and tournaments, but led to his assumption of the “self-created title of Champion of the Queen,” and that he made a vow to present himself in the tiltyard in that character on the 27th of November in every year, till disabled by age. This vow he kept, and upon his retirement at the age of sixty installed as his successor the Earl of Cumberland in the presence of Queen and Court, “offering his armour at her Majesty’s feet, and clothing himself in a black velvet coat and cap.”

Sir Henry Lee to Lord Talbot.

“Sir,

“On Monday last I received your letter; on Thursday I went to Sheffield, my Lord, your father’s, where I found him much amended, after his physic, of the gout, which took him at Brierly, and troubled him until then. My being there made him much better disposed, of whom I received many sundry kindnesses and more favours than I have or ever may deserve. Acknowledgment is small requital, but that I do and will, to him, yourself, and yours, in as sundry ways as by my wit, will, and fortune I may. Dinner done, and all rising saving his Lordship and my poor self, I told him I had written to you, according to his liberty given me upon such talk as his Lordship had last with me at Worksop; that I received an answer which then I presented unto him. I left him alone; Mr. Henry Talbot, Roger Portington, your very good friend, with myself, standing at the window, where I, that knew the sundry contents of the letter, might see any alteration in himself, as they that stood by imagined by his sighs, guessed according to their humours. Your letter perused (and well marked, as it did well appear unto me by his speeches immediately after), rising from the board, with more colour in his cheeks than ordinary, he led me by the hand into his withdrawing chamber, where he told me he did well perceive the contents of your letter; that you had been long a disobedient child to him; that you joined and practiced against him, and with such as sought his overthrow, and consequently your own undoing, and the espials and parties you had in his house did show your care to be more for that he had himself; but, withal, he knew you had many good parts, but those overruled by others that should be better governed by yourself. More regard, he says, to your old father, would do well; who has been ever loving unto you and must be requited with more love and obedience, or else (by his divination) your credit will slowly increase. He is glad, as he says, that you live in those parts (but he speaks ironia) where some good may be learned, but more to be shunned; yet all well where grace is, so you are able to go through withal; but for the feeding of such vain time and superfluous excess as should do best for yourself to diminish, he is not able, he says, and I fear will never be willing, to maintain. He reckoned how many had been in hand with him for the payment of your debts; my Lord Treasurer and others. His answer was that, through the wilfulness of him, who shunned his advice, and the imperfections of others, his undoing should not grow, that they themselves might have cause to pity him in his age, through his folly and their persuasions. There, my Lord, he told that three thousand pounds nearly went out of his living to his children, and many other sums to small purpose to remember. He confessed he sent you such a letter as you write of, and written by a man of his, but altogether by his direction. But he was old, lame of the gout, and now no more able to write himself. He spake much of your inconstancy in your friendships, and especially to my Lord of Leicester; sometimes, as you favoured, there was not such; and laboured himself to rely more upon him, altogether misliking such humours as favoured and disfavoured in such sort, and in so short a time; but, for himself, he would fly such variety, and perform his friendship and faith. Truly, my Lord, he used many of these speeches before I interrupted him, and good reason I had to forbear, for he spoke not without grief, as I guess, and passion, I am sure; therefore [I] thought best to stay until the storm was somewhat overblown. At the last I besought him to tell me whether these old grievances were not remitted upon conference between yourselves; and whether your abode there was not with his good allowance, that you should procure yourself to be joined with him in his offices; further, that you should, by good means, procure some honourable office for your better understanding. All this he did not deny, but, touching his discourse, I think not fit to set it down, my messenger is so uncertain, and my meaning to do good, if I may, but no hurt. He is old and unwieldy and deceived by such he trusteth, and you shun to assist him, and therefore will let out all; but that I believe not. I found one thing in your letter: I said that I feared, and made me sorry; that your favouring so much your own credit, and finding so small means to answer your creditors, you might fall into some hard course; and, before these words were all out of my mouth, he said, ‘Yea, marry, some desperation.’ Therefore I took hold: ‘Good my Lord, license me to speak with your favour, that speak nothing by practice again, but through a dutiful mind to you, now in years, and for yours, by course of nature likely to succeed you. If he should, as you have termed it, take any desperate way, pass into those parts which this doubtful time brings, to many dangers, and especially to our nation, were not this peril great, and, by presumption, not to be recovered? You cannot be ignorant, for all your mislike, what a son you have; esteemed of the highest, favoured of the best, and the best judgments, and how much he differs from other men’s sons of your own conditions; so much your love, care, and regard should be the more by how much your loss were more (to be balanced by reason) than all the rest put together. Your country may and will challenge a part and party in him, as a wise man, fit and able to serve it. You yet find not what a Lord Talbot you have; but if he should by any extraordinary accident be taken from you, and not to be recovered, yourself, with your grief, would accompany your white hair to your end with a grave full of cares; and who doth sooner enter into desperation than great wits accompanied with mighty and honourable hearts, which hardly can away with want, but never with discredit?’ This, my Lord, sunk somewhat into him. He confessed much of this. He mused long, and spake little: he stayed, standing long, without complaining of his legs (by reason he was earnest) one hour and a half at the least before we parted. So, in many doubts, I left him, minding to send such letters as you required, to Welbeck and thence to be sent to you: wherewith I took my leave.