CHAPTER XX

FADING GLORIES

His own household and many of his tenants were faithful to the Earl Marshal. Fortunately he had not at the moment much leisure for private broodings. The Babington conspiracy had churned up the old alarms about Mary, the Royal Commission for her trial was being appointed, and, though he was fortunately able to plead illness as an excuse for once more repairing to London to take his seat in this important meeting of the Council, he was obliged by letter to Burghley to assert his willingness to add his name to the decree of the Privy Council in regard to Mary’s sentence, at the same time enclosing his seal and giving the Lord Treasurer full authority to sign for him. Did he at the moment of writing recall that broidered motto which must have flashed at him many times from the dais which his prisoner contrived for herself in her imprisonment: “En ma fin est mon commencement”? If so, the pride and pathos of it must have struck home terribly. For he too was nearing his end. He too had naught but sorrow in his heir, and though Gilbert, Edward, and Henry Talbot still lived to carry on his name, it could not be in a very hopeful spirit that he thought upon the continuance of his line so long as he apprehended the renewal of family strife and could not forgive or love again his high-handed lady.

Many things had happened to Mary since they parted, notably the failure of the last great conspiracy for her freedom. Of all these he was fully informed, and sums up her affairs in a single phrase in the ensuing letter:—

“_To the Right Honourable my verie good Lord the Lord Burghley, Lord Thresorer of England._

“My noble good Lord,

“I have received your Lordship’s letters both of the 12th November and the 14th of the same, whereby I find myself greatly beholden unto your Lordship for your good remembrance of me, with the proceeding of the foul matters of the Scots Queen; sentence whereof, I understand by your Lordship, is given and confirmed, and for execution to be had accordingly. I perceive it now resteth in her Majesty’s hands; for my own part I pray that God may so inspire her heart to take that course as may be for her Majesty’s own safety; the which I trust her Majesty’s grave wisdom will wisely foresee; which in my consent cannot be without speedy execution.

“And thus wishing to your good Lordship as to myself, do bid you right heartily farewell. Your Lordship’s assuredly,

“SHREWSBURY.

“Orton Longville, this 17th November, 1586.”

In spite of illness, Shrewsbury could not escape the wretched responsibility of assisting at the tragedy of Fotheringay. There he was forced, on February 8th, 1587, to stand upon the high stage, seven feet square and five feet high, to receive Mary as she mounted it to her death. “At the two upper corners were two stools set,” runs the record,[82] “one for the Earl of Shrewsbury, another for the Earl of Kent; directly between the said stools was placed a block one foot high, covered with black, and before that stood a little cushioned stool for the Queen to sit on while her apparel was taken off.... Being come into the hall, she stayed and with a smiling countenance asked Shrewsbury why none of her own servants were suffered to be present. He answered that the Queen, his mistress, had so commanded. ‘Alas,’ quoth she, ‘far meaner persons than myself have not been denied so small a favour, and I hope the Queen’s Majesty will not deal so hardly with me.’ ‘Madam,’ quoth Shrewsbury, ‘it is so appointed to avoid two inconveniences: the one that it is likely your people will shriek and make some fearful noise in the time of your execution, and so both trouble you and us, or else press with some disorder to get of your blood and keep it for a relic, and minister offence that way.’ ‘My Lord,’ she answered, ‘I pray you for my better quietness of mind let me have some of my servants about me, and I will give you my word that they shall not offend in any sort.’ Upon which promise two of her women and five of her men were sent for, who coming into the hall and seeing the place of execution prepared and their sovereign mistress expecting death, they began to cry out in most woeful and pitiful sort; wherewith she held up her hand, willing them for her sake to forbear and be silent, ‘for,’ quoth she, ‘I have passed my word to these lords that you shall be quiet and not offend them.’ And presently there appeared in them a wonderful show of subjection and loyal obedience as to their natural prince, whom even at the instant of death they honoured with all reverence and duty. For though their breasts were seen to rise and swell as if their wounded hearts would have burst in sunder, yet did they, to their double grief, forbear their outward plaints to accomplish her pleasure.

“As soon as she was upon the stage there came to her a heretic called Doctor Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and told her how the Queen his sovereign, moved with an unspeakable care of her soul, had sent him to instruct and comfort her in the true words of God. At which she somewhat turned her face towards him, saying, ‘Mr. Doctor, I will have nothing to do with you nor your doctrine’; and forthwith kneeled down before the block and began her meditations in most godly manner. Then the doctor entered also into a form of new-fashioned prayers; but the better to prevent the hearing of him, she raised her voice, and prayed so loud, as he could not be understood. The Earl of Shrewsbury then spoke to her and told her that he would pray with her and for her. ‘My Lord,’ quoth she, ‘if you will pray for me I thank you; but, in so doing, pray secretly by yourself, for we will not pray together.’ Her meditations ended, she arose up and kissed her two gentlewomen, and bowed her body towards her men, and charged them to remember her to her sweet son, to whom she sent her blessing, with promise to pray for him in heaven; and lastly to salute her friends, and so took her last farewell of her poor servants.

“The executioners then began, after their rough and rude manner, to disrobe her, and while they were so doing, she looked upon the noblemen, and smilingly said, ‘Now truly, my Lords, I never had two such grooms waiting on me before!’ Then, being ready for the block, one of her women took forth a handkerchief of cambric—all wrought over with gold needlework—and tied it about her face; which done, Fletcher willed her to die in the true faith of Christ. Quoth she: ‘I believe firmly to be saved by the passion and blood of Jesus Christ, and therein also I believe according to the faith of the Ancient Catholic Church of Rome, and therefore I shed my blood.’”

After this the Earl went home, evidently to Sheffield, with time enough to brood once more upon his sickness and his troubles. In 1587 he was certainly at Wingfield with his wife—at least for a brief space—for he wrote to inform Burghley of the fact in obedience to her Majesty’s request. But he was still thoroughly suspicious and distrustful of her attitude. On one occasion, as it seems by the following letter from Nicholas Kynnersley, my Lady had just left Wingfield when my Lord sent his man Gilbert Dickenson to enquire her movements. The letter which puts the magnificent pair in such a pitiful light is relieved by a gracious allusion to little Arabella, left behind at Wingfield, apparently in Kynnersley’s charge:—

“The night after John was come with my letter Elizabeth told me that Gilbert Dickenson came to her in the [bakehouse] and asked if your Ho. were here; and she answered ‘No.’ And he asked when you went away, and she said ‘Yesterday.’ He asked when you would come again; she answered ‘Shortly as she thought.’ And late at night there came a boy from Sheffield in a green coat, and talked with them in the stable, and said he must go very early in the morning to Sheffield again. What the meaning of these questions and the lackey coming so late and going so early in the morning, I know not, except it be to bring me Lo. words of your absence here, and so that he might come upon you sudden and find you away. So I leave it to your Ho. wisdom to consider of it as you think best; but I think good you were there. Mr. Knifton rode by to-day to Sheffield as I was told, and called not as I ... told which I marvel of. My La. Arbella at eight of the clock this night was merry, and eats her meat well; but she went not to the school these six days; therefore I would be glad of your La. coming, if there were no other matter but that. So I beseech the Almighty preserve your La. in health, and send you soon a good and comfortable end of all your great troubles and griefs.

“Wingfield, this Tuesday, the 5th of November, at 8 of the clock at night, 1588.

“Your Ho. most dutyful bound obedient servant, “NICHOLAS KINNSLAY.

“To the right Ho. my singular good La. and Mistress the Countess of Salop give this with speed.”[83]

While this “singular good lady” was still busy trying to induce the Earl to live with her “in house,” he had sundry official business to transact. In 1588 he was hard at work “routing recusants,” egging on the Sheffield Commissioners appointed to that duty, and certifying himself and the Queen of the military efficiency of the counties under his lieutenancy—for the Spanish fleet hovered ever round the English coast. More “seminary priests” did he rout, and used his energy in inducing folk to go to the Established Church, offering his old “lame body” for the Queen’s service, since “her quarrel should make him young again.” Within a few months of his death he is mentioned in State records as having successfully pounced upon a certain papistical Lady Foljambe and committed her to polite imprisonment in the house of her relative.

This next letter from Gilbert and Mary Talbot to their mother shows entire devotion to her at this difficult period, and is happily free from the old tale-bearing and espionage of previous years:—

“Our bounden duty most humbly remembered. In like humbleness we render your La. thanks for your letter; the last though not the least of your infinite goodnesses towards us and ours. We are safely come hither to Dunstable (we thank God) this Shrove Monday at night; and for that the foul way is past, we think best to return your La. letter again from hence.

“Such news as on the Queen’s highways we have met with, your La. shall now understand. First that her Majesty (royally in person) was at the parliament house the first day of this parliament; where Serjeant Snagge was admitted for the Speaker of the lower house. My Lord of Derby is Lord Steward during this session. That yesterday one told a man of mine that as yet nothing of any moment hath been touched in the lower house, neither any expectation that any great matters will be handled, but it will shortly end. That a day or two before the parliament began, the Lord Chancellor and the Lord Treasurer, with one or two more of the privy council, and Mr. Attorney and Mr. Solicitor were with the Earl of Arundel in the Tower; since which time there hath been no such speech of his arraignment, as there was before. This is all the Queen’s highways hath afforded us of news. Yet further we hear that all your Ladyship’s ...[84] are very well. And thus in haste, most humbly beseeching your La. blessing to us and all ours who pray evermore to the most highest to grant unto your La. all contentment with long life, we humbly cease, till our next letter, which shall not be long.

“Your La. most humble and obedient loving children,

“GILB. TALBOTT. MARY TALBOTT.

“We have desired your La. letter men to bring a letter to your La. from Beskewood, where Mrs. Markham’s earnest entreaty made us to leave her till the return thereof. I beseech the Almighty to send your La. my La. Arball and the rest of your La.’s a most happy long life.

“To my Lady.”

The date of this is 1589. Shrewsbury by this time has lapsed into retirement. He falls finally into old age. Elizabeth’s boasting promise that she would give him still greater proof of her trust he would be justified in receiving with a sardonic grunt. Of what use were her favours to him now? She, well into her fifties, could dance, sing, ride, pester her ladies, and flirt with her gentlemen. “The Queen,” writes a friend of the Talbots in 1589, “is so well as I assure you: six or seven gallyards in a morning, besides music and singing, is her ordinary exercise.” This is just a year after the death of her adored Leicester, immediately upon his return from his governorship of the Netherlands, which he had so hated. The days of his departure for that task were the days of Elizabeth’s disfavour. “My Lord,” he wrote pathetically to Shrewsbury in 1585, “no man feeleth comfort but they that have cause of griefe, and no men have so much neede of reliefe and comfort as those that go in these doubtful services. I pray you, my Lord, help us to be kept in comfort, for that we wyll hazard our lyfe for it.” Shrewsbury and his Countess could echo that cry from the depths of their hearts, for they too were of the company of those “that go in ... doubtful services.”

Thus Leicester, the splendid lover, was dead—of a fever caught on his way home to Kenilworth. Elizabeth still danced, still had zest and appetite for masque and ceremonial. But Shrewsbury and Burghley, after they had written their stately condolences to the Queen, corresponded with one another about health matters. In 1589 the former sends a pathetic old man’s gift to his friend of ointment for his joints and “a small rug” to wrap about his legs “at times convenient,” while a flask of fine “oyle of roses” was in these days more necessary than ale to the once stalwart Earl Marshal of England.

From time to time Burghley sends to his friend the State news, with suppressed allusions here and there to his illnesses and sorrows. Lady Burghley was dead, and though her husband was able to write in his old dignified fashion of affairs at Court, he avoids all its recreations. “The Queen is at Barn Elms, but this night I will attend her at Westminster, for I am no man meet for feastings,” runs a pathetic postscript from him.

To Elizabeth, Shrewsbury had played the part which she assigned to one of her lovers, the Duke of Anjou, to whom she wrote apropos of his persistency that she should never cease to love and esteem him as the dog which, being often chastised, returns to its master: “comme le chien qui estant souvent batu retourne a son maitre.” To her lovers she could say such things with impunity, to her servants she only implied them. Her beaten yet steadfast hound, Shrewsbury, true to his family’s emblem of the faithful “Talbot dog,” lay chiefly in these days at his small manor of Handsworth pouring out his soul in letters. There seem to be none available from his wife during his last years, though she was to the end truly anxious to be on happier terms with him, and made every possible effort to achieve this. Once more Elizabeth used her good offices with the honest intent to restore him to happiness. In what was practically the last private letter she ever wrote him, despatched in December, 1589, she addressed him as “her very good old man,” was anxious for news of his health, particularly at this inclement season, sympathised with his gout, and begged him to permit his wife sometimes to have access to him according to her long-cherished wish. He seems to have brooded heavily, as of yore—to a conscience so tender the brooding nature is often a sorry twin brother—and to have discussed the matter without any happy result. About this time he wrote to his intimate friend the Bishop of Lichfield on the subject. The Bishop’s views are set forth in his reply. His view of the married estate is a highly morose one. Yet he begs the Earl, for decency’s sake, to patch up the quarrel finally.

_The Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry to the Earl of Shrewsbury._

“Right honourable, my singular good Lord,

“I am bold according to my promise, to put you in remembrance of some matters already passed between us in talk. It is an old saying, and as true as old, a thing well begun is half ended. It pleased your good Lordship, at my late being with you, to confer with me about divers points touching the good estate of this our shire, whereof yourself, next under her Majesty, is the chief governor; and I hope, as you then begun them in good time, so very shortly they will be brought to very good perfection.... Thus much for those common affairs we had in conference; now the chief and last matter that we talked of, and a matter indeed both in conscience chiefly to be regarded of you, and in duty still to be urged and called upon by me, was the good and godly reconciliation of you together, I mean my Lordship and my Lady your wife. I humbly thank your good Lordship you were content then to take my motion in good part, and to account it for a good piece of mine office and charge to travel in such cases, as indeed it is, and therefore, I trust you will be as willing now to see me write as you were then to hear me speak in that matter; and the more, because I speak and write as well of mere love and goodwill to yourself, as for any respect also of discharging my duty unto God; and yet, also, you must think chiefly and principally that I speak and write to discharge my duty to God, and must take all that I do to proceed, not as from a common friend and hanger-on, but as from a special ghostly father, stirred up of God purposely, as I hope, to do good unto you both by my ghostly advice. My honourable good Lord, I cannot see but that it must needs rest as a great clog to your conscience, if you consider the matter as it is, and will weigh the case according to the rule of God’s word: I say I cannot see but that it must needs rest and remain a great clog and burthen to your conscience to live asunder from the Countess your wife, without her own good liking and consent thereto; for, as I have told you heretofore, it is the plain doctrine of Saint Paul that the one should not defraud the other of due benevolence nor of mutual comfort and company, but with the agreement of both parties, and that also but for a time, and only to give yourselves to fasting and prayer. This is the doctrine of Saint Paul, and this doctrine Christ Himself confirmed in the Gospel when He forbiddeth all men to put away their wives unless for adultery, a thing never suspected in my Lady your wife. I could bring forth many authorities and examples both of the Holy Scriptures and other, profane writers, to prove that such kind of separations have always been holden unlawful and ungodly, not only among the people of God, but also among the heathen themselves that never knew God; and I could likewise show what fearful judgments of God have followed such unlawful separations, and what great plagues have fallen upon not only the offenders themselves, but also upon their houses and children, and all their posterity after them; but I shall not need to use any such discourse to your Lordship, because so wise, so grave, so well disposed as indeed you are of yourself if other evil counsellors did not draw you to the contrary; who also shall not want their part in the play, for, as the proverb saith, so experience proveth the same to be true, _consilium malum consultori pessimum_, evil counsel falleth out worst to the counsel giver.

“But some will say in your Lordship’s behalf that the Countess is a sharp and bitter shrew, and therefore like enough to shorten your life if she should keep you company. Indeed, my good Lord, I have heard some say so, but if shrewdness or sharpness may be a just cause of separation between a man and wife, I think few men in England would keep their wives long; for it is a common jest, yet true in some sense, that there is but one shrew in all the world and every man hath her; and so every man might be rid of his wife that would be rid of a shrew. My honourable good Lord, I doubt not but your great wisdom and experience hath taught you to bear some time with the woman as with the weaker vessel; and yet, for the speeches I have had with her Ladyship in that behalf, I durst pawn all my credit unto your Lordship (and, if need be, also bind myself in any great bond), she will so bridle herself that way, beyond the course of other women, that she will rather bear with your Lordship, than look to be borne withal; and yet to be borne withal sometimes is not amiss for the best and wisest and patientest of us all. But peradventure some of your friends will object greater matter against her; as that she hath sought to overthrow your whole house; but those that say so I think are not your Lordship’s friends, but rather her Ladyship’s enemies, and their speech carrieth no resemblance of truth; for how can it be likely that she should seek or wish the overthrow of you or your house, when not only, being your wife, your prosperity must needs profit her very much, but also, having joined her house with your house in marriage, your long life and honourable state must needs glad her heart to the uttermost; if not for your own sake, yet for the issue of both your bodies, whom she loveth, I dare say, as her own life, and would not see by her goodwill to fall into any decay, either of honour or any other good state of life or livings; although, also, I dare say she wisheth all good unto you for your own sake, as well as theirs, or else she would not be so desirous of your life and company as she is. And therefore, I beseech your Lordship remove all such conceits far from you as are beaten into your head by evil counsellors, and rather think this unlawful separation to be a stain to your house, and a danger to your life; for that God, indeed, is not well pleased with it, Who will visit with death or sickness all that live not after His laws, as of late yourself had some little touch or taste given you of it by those or the nearest friends of those whom you most trusted about you. For my own part, I wish your Lordship all good, even from my heart; both long life and honourable state, with all increase of honour, and joy and comfort in the Lord to your own heart’s desire; but yet both I and you, and all of us that are God’s children, must think that such visitations are sent us of God to call us home, and if we despise them when they are sent, He will lay greater upon us. Thus I am bold, my good Lord, both in the fear of God and in goodwill towards yourself, to discharge the duty of your well-willing ghostly father, and if your Lordship accept it well, as I hope you will, I beseech you let me understand it by a line or two, that I may give God thanks for it; if not, I have done my part; the success I leave to God; and rest yours, notwithstanding, in what I may, and so I humbly take my leave of your good Lordship.

“From Eccleshall, the 12th of October, 1590.

“Your Lordship’s in all duty to command, “W. COVEN. AND LICH.”

It is not necessary to lay stress on the sheer fatuity and unwisdom of three-fourths of such a letter. But the gross injustice of it has never been fully appreciated by historians. In the first place, Bess of Hardwick was not a mere shrew—as has been amply set forth. She was a woman of great capabilities, and superabundant driving power which, insufficiently controlled, ended in a blindness to any point of view but her own, and so caused her to utter under provocation, stress, and disappointment hard and foolish things which the Earl could not forget. The estrangement had certainly gone too far for peace. The time for such things as a renewal of trust and love between the two was past. Within a month or two—in the January of 1591—the Earl died. Gossip—wise after the event—declared that with his last breath he groaned over the possibilities of disaster which would descend upon his family through his wife’s schemes for Arabella.

In the previous year the great Walsingham, worn out by stress of affairs and labour, succumbed also—to his “tympany and carnosity.”

And, since the world and his wife must be amused, and the Queen needed distraction from heavy cares of State, she went forth to be entertained at a public fête a day after the death of her much-enduring “good old man.”

To the last he could not forget the great slander. Even his tomb witnesses, in his own words, to his virtue. He must have brooded carefully over this epitaph and the memorial which bears it in Sheffield Church. All allusion to his second wife is omitted, and in regard to the scandal he urges the fact of his official presence at the execution of Mary as the surest proof of the innocence of his relations with her. All he asked of his posterity was that upon his death the date should be added to the tomb. This they omitted to do.