Queen of This Realm

He took the dish from me but his hands were shaking too much for him to lift the spoon to his mouth, so I took it and fed it to him.

“There,” I said, as though talking to a child, “take every drop.”

And he did so, smiling almost sheepishly. “Your Majesty should not so humble herself.”

“Humble myself!” I cried. “You are one of my men, and I love my men. They are to me the husband and the sons I never had.”

I saw the tears on his cheeks. He was very moved.

I bent over him and kissed his brow, and I said to him: “You must obey your Queen, Chancellor, and she orders you to get well.”

This was one of the occasions when Christopher Hatton did not obey me.

I felt his loss deeply… more than I had imagined possible. There were few of my own generation left now. New men were appearing on the horizon and I wondered whether I should get the same unswerving devotion from them as I had had from those who had brightened my youth. They were a different breed: Essex, Raleigh, Mountjoy… No, the days were passing. Life would never be quite so wonderful again.

Hatton's death was a loss to the country as well as a personal one. Because he had been so handsome and such a good dancer, people had been apt to underestimate him. He had been an excellent Vice Chamberlain before he had become Lord Chancellor and had organized celebrations and festivities with a masterly hand—which was another reason why he had not been taken seriously by some. But I knew that he had been an able politician and had seen as clearly as I did that one of the dangers in our country was that of religious conflict, which had brought civil war to others—as in the case of France. We wanted none of that in England. We had to take a stand between Puritans and Papists, and I did not know which sect I disliked most. Hatton had agreed with me that there must be no war over religion, which was a matter of an individual's conscience. In fact, he had been suspected of being a secret Catholic because of his leniency toward Catholics. This was not so. He felt as I did and we had been completely at one on this point.

Hatton had wanted to avoid excesses from both extremes, a view with which I heartily agreed. He had been a fine orator. True, he had liked rewards. Who does not? He had been very eager to acquire the London estate of the Bishop of Ely, and I had thought he should have it for he had need of a splendid home so that he could entertain visitors from abroad when necessary—and his Queen, of course. The lands were said to be some of the richest in England and comprised several acres of vineyard and arable land besides a house and chapel.

I had been delighted when this was passed to Hatton. He had been such a good servant and loyal courtier, and I had a specially fond feeling for him because he had remained unmarried. He had always said that he could love only one woman—even though it must be from a distance—his Queen. That seemed to me the ultimate gesture of love.

He had been a clever man and only had seemed less so because he had to stand beside greater statesmen like Burghley and Walsingham—and above all my incomparable Leicester.

So, another bitter loss.

I needed refreshing company, so I brought Essex back to Court.

I asked about the child which had now been born and was pleased that it was a boy and to be called Robert.

Essex and I were on the old terms. We played chess and cards together into the early hours of the morning. But I did not want to see the new Lady Essex. So Frances did not come to Court, but I believe lived nearby with her widowed mother, as she had before her marriage.

IT WAS GRATIFYING to me that although I was growing old my people did not love me less. I had lost a tooth or two; my skin was becoming lined, though it never lost its whiteness which I preserved most carefully; and my hair was growing scanty so that I had to resort to more false pieces and mostly wigs; but whenever I went out I was greeted with acclamations of joy and admiration. The people were uplifted by the defeat of the Spaniards; but other monarchs had been victorious in battle, yet none of them had ever had that firm hold on the people's affections which I had.

Never since the day of my accession had I failed to see the importance of this. I could be a virago in my private apartments—and often was. There was scarcely one of my ladies who had not had a blow or painful nip from me. I made no attempt to control my temper among them and if I was irritated I expressed my feelings forcefully. It was the same in the Council Chamber. My temper was quite uncontrolled. But on my progresses I never showed the slightest rancor toward my people. They could bring me absurd petitions; they could even criticize me to my face and I received all this with a degree of charming attention and tolerance. I was playing a part—that of the great benevolent monarch—and I knew that through it I kept my hold on my people's affections and I was determined never to lose that.

It was the reason for the firmness of the crown. My grandfather had suffered all his life as King from the fear of having come to the throne in circumstances which could be questioned; he must be looking over his shoulder all the time lest someone was preparing to snatch the crown from him. My father had had no fear of losing it. He saw himself as divine. He had a natural charm and an appearance of immense strength and he kept the approval of his people throughout his reign. He ruled through fear and great self-confidence which fostered an attitude of certainty that he would always do so. I held my people to me with love, and the bonds of love are the strongest in the world.

I tried always to act as my people would wish me to. We had persecuted the Catholics; we had hounded priests from their priest holes in the great Catholic houses and brought some of them to a barbarous death. I had allowed this because it was what the people wanted. They had an inherent fear of Catholicism, and it would linger I was sure. None of them could forget the terrible burnings at the stake during my sister's reign. People still talked in hushed whispers of Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer and Hooper. Certain seamen had been captured by the Spaniards and escaped to give accounts of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition. We wanted none of that in peaceful England. Pray God it would never come to that. So we must keep out the Catholics. I knew there were good Catholic gentlemen. They had supported us against the Spaniards in war. But the whole country was against that form of religion as practiced by Spaniards and upheld by the Pope.

On the other hand we had the Puritans—toward whom I felt a great abhorrence. They wanted to create what they called an English Sunday. This would ban fairs, hunting, rowing, cockfighting and bear-baiting—in fact any kind of sport. The Council would have passed that measure but I vetoed it. I could imagine what those people who had cheered me on my pilgrimages throughout the land would say to that. They worked hard, I said. They should have a little respite on Sundays and amuse themselves in whatsoever way they thought best. I was sure I was right as I was when someone tried to bring in an act which would mean the death penalty for committing adultery, blasphemy and holding heretical opinions.

No, no, no! I insisted. That would bring us close to what we had been fighting against. Why did men fight as they had against Spain? How was it a few men in inferior ships gained a great victory? Because they were fighting for freedom, was the answer.

No, I wanted no more religious bickering. I wanted my people to be free, happy and prosperous—and that meant to live good honest lives in peace. No wars! And freedom to worship as they thought best. As long as they obeyed the laws of Christ I could see no reason why they were not good Christians.

Let be, I wanted to cry all the time.