Page:Cassell's Illustrated History of England vol 2.djvu/487

A.D. 1571.] thought that so long as she could amuse the French Court with the project, she should be safe from any movement on its part for the Queen of Scots. Yet this could only be temporary, for assuredly Elizabeth never seriously contemplated marrying; but a flirtation, either public or private, was to her always an irresistible fascination. Besides Leicester, she had now another favourite, Christopher Hatton, who, having casually appeared at the palace amongst the gentlemen of the Inns of Court at a masque, so charmed the queen by his fine form and fine dancing, that she at once placed him on her band of pensioners, the tallest and handsomest men in England. Soon after she dined with Sir Thomas Gresham she made Cecil Lord of Burleigh; his uncle, Lord William Howard, lord privy seal; the Earl of Sussex chamberlain—that office being vacated by Lord William Sir Thomas Smith, principal secretary of state; and Hatton, who was a lawyer, captain of the guard: rising, however, in Elizabeth's regard, she afterwards made him vice-chamberlain, and finally lord chancellor. Gray, the poet, has humorously alluded to the fortunes of Lord Chancellor Hatton, and their cause, in his "Long Story:"—

So rapid and extravagant grew Elizabeth's passion for the handsome and capering Hatton, that Leicester could not avoid attempting to ridicule his rival by offering to introduce to her a dancing-master who excelled Hatton in all the dances which he so much charmed her in. But his project was not lucky. Elizabeth, after hearing him, exclaimed, "Pish! I will not see your man: it is his trade." She gave way to the most ridiculous fondness for her new favourite. They corresponded together in the most fond and foolish style, of which the shelves of the State Paper Office bear heaps of proof. Nothing could be too much or too good to bestow upon him. He fell in love with the house and gardens of the Bishop of Ely, on Holborn Hill, then open, and celebrated for its pleasantness and flowers, and Elizabeth called on the bishop to give them up. He was not at all inclined to do so, on which the love-sick queen wrote to him in a style rather different to that in which she addressed Hatton:—

The bishop lost no time in resigning his pleasant palace and gardens, with the gatehouse of his palace, on Holborn Hill—and several acres of land are since called Hatton Garden—only reserving a right of way through the gatehouse, of walking in the garden, and of gathering annually twenty bushels of roses.

The royal lover who was now proposed by his mother, Catherine de Medicis, to supplant the two private lovers, was a youth of sixteen, whilst Elizabeth had arrived at the age of thirty-eight. His figure was diminutive, his features excessively ugly; he had a remarkably large nose, and his face was dreadfully scarred with the small-pox. His mind was as deformed as his body—and this was the suitor at this moment recommended to Elizabeth by Catherine! This was not, in fact, the Duke of Anjou, but of Alençon, his younger brother. Long negotiations had taken place for the match with Anjou, but every one of Elizabeth's ministers had opposed it; and, finally, the youth had declined it himself. Cecil used all his influence against the match. He declared that not only Anjou, but the whole Royal family of France, were so bigotedly Papist, that the proposal was perilous to the Protestant religion. When he could not prevail on that argument, he even endeavoured to persuade her to marry Leicester, who, he declared, would be far more acceptable to the whole realm. But Elizabeth was now bent on carrying on this courtship, at least for a time, and complained to the Ladies Clinton and Cobham of the opposition of her ministers. Lady Cobham spoke in favour of Anjou, only she observed that it was a pity he was so young. Elizabeth said the difference was only ten years, though it was really nearly twenty. But, unfortunately for Elizabeth's vanity, the young Anjou, who was one of the handsomest princes in Europe, positively refused to have her, declaring that he would not marry "an ugly old creature who had a sore leg." This news of the sore leg he had learned from Fenelon, who had informed his Court that, like her royal father, she had been laid up with a sore leg all the summer.

From Norris, her ambassador at Paris, Elizabeth obtained so flattering an account of the beauty and grace of Anjou, that she asked Leicester to contrive that he should make a pleasure cruise on the Kentish coast, where she would betake herself, "and so that they could see each other as by accident: but even this the ungallant prince bluntly refused, for he did not wish to see her at all.

Early in April, however, of this year, Guido Cavalcanti arrived in England with a joint letter from Charles IX. of France and Catherine de Medicis, making a formal offer of the Duke of Anjou's hand. Elizabeth appeared to receive the proposal with so much satisfaction, that the French ambassador really thought her this time sincere. She ran over, in great self-complacence, all the list of her royal and noble lovers, including the Kings of Spain and Sweden, the Prince of Denmark, and the son of the emperor; and, after all, professed to like the idea of the handsome Anjou best. But the ambassador made demands, in case of marriage, which, had Elizabeth been ever so sincere, would have effectually stopped the way. First and foremost, he was to enjoy free exercise of his religion: that Elizabeth determined nobody should exercise. Next, he was to enjoy joint power with her; Elizabeth would never let go a particle of her power. Either of these items was enough to defeat the whole scheme. Besides, Elizabeth had heard of the prince's making jests at her expense, and she took care to let the ambassador know it. She told him "that it had been said in France that monsieur would do well to marry an old creature who had had, for the last year, the evil in her leg, which was not yet healed, and never could be cured; and that, under pretext of a remedy, they would send her a potion from France of such a nature that he would find himself a widower in six mouths, and then