Mistress of Hardwick Page 5

  Gilbert Talbot seems to have done his best to make peace between his father and step-mother. He drew such a touching picture of Bess's grief and 'perplexity' at her husband's unkindness, of her conviction that his heart was hardened against her, that all his love and affection had turned to hate and that he preferred her absence to her presence, in spite of her 'dear affection and love to him both in health and sickness', that Shrewsbury began to

  melt. ' "I know", quoth he, *'her love hath been great to me, and mine hath been and is as great to her: for what can a man do more for his wife than I have done and daily do for her?"'

  Gilbert told Bess that he believed Shrewsbury wanted a reconciliation, *if he knew which way to bring it to pass'. But mutual suspicion, jealousy and the effects of continual nervous tension had eaten away the foundations of the marriage and by the early 1580's there was little left but a facade. It was a long time now since the Earl had written tender love letters to Bess.

  It was a long time, too, since Bess and the Queen of Scots had sat gossiping together over their needlework. The cooling of this particular friendship seems to date from soon after the birth of Arbella. According to Mary's account, 'nothing has alienated the Countess from me more than the vain hope she has conceived of setting the crown of England on the head of her grand-daughter Arbella'. It is true that once Bess had her own candidate for the succession, Mary and her son became obstacles in the path of her ambition, and Bess had a habit of riding roughshod over obstacles in her path. However, Arbella was eight years old before she took the first practical steps to rid herself of the Queen of Scots.

  Some time in the autumn of 1583 she apparently instructed her two younger sons, William and Charles, to start spreading rumours of an illicit relationship between Mary and the Earl of Shrewsbury. There was no love lost between the young Cavendishes and their step-father and no doubt they thoroughly enjoyed the task their mother had set them - they certainly performed it well. Mary's reaction was predictably violent. Through Mauvissiere, the French ambassador, she begged that Queen Elizabeth would 'see justice done to me against the Countess of Shrewsbury and her children touching the scandalous reports which they have circulated about me. This is a

  thing', she went on, Vhich I have so much at heart that I shall never have any pleasure until their wickedness is known'.

  The rumours naturally grew more and more lurid as they swirled about the Court. Soon it was being openly said that the Queen of Scots had had at least two children by Shrewsbury and Mary wrote furiously to Mauvissi^re demanding a public vindication of her honour and the ^exemplary punishment' of the scandalmongers. *I have twice informed you minutely of the scandalous reports which have been circulated of my intimacy with the Earl of Shrewsbury. These have originated with no one but his good lady herself. If the Queen of England does not cause this calumny to be cleared up, I shall be obliged openly to attack the Countess of Shrewsbury herself.'

  The Earl clamoured to be allowed to come to Court and clear himself before the Queen of *the reports and treacheries towards him', but Mary, mewed up at Sheffield, thirsted for revenge. Goaded beyond endurance at her helplessness, the Queen of Scots' rage and frustration presently found expression in her famous 'scandal' letter to Elizabeth, a letter written, so she unblushingly called God to witness, 'without passion and from motives of true sincerity'. In this remarkable document, the Queen of Scots proceeded to inform the Queen of England *that what the Countess of Shrewsbury has said of you to me is as nearly as possible as follows . . . Firstly, that one to whom she said you had made a promise of marriage before a lady of your chamber, had made love to you an infinite number of times with all the licence and intimacy which can be used between man and wife. But that undoubtedly you were not like other women . . . and you would never lose your liberty to make love and always have your pleasure with new lovers.'

  But Bess, it seemed, had not merely accused the Queen of being a raging nymphomaniac. Worse was to follow, in

  what must surely be one of the most venomous attacks ever made by one woman against another. 'The Countess', wrote Mary, 'in fits of laughter, advised me to place my son among the ranks of your lovers as a thing which would do me good service . . . When I repHed that such would be considered an act of mockery, she answered that you were so vain, and had such a good opinion of your beauty - as if you were a goddess from heaven - that she wagered she could easily make you take the matter seriously . . . She said you were so fond of exaggerated adulation, such as the assurance that no one dared to look full into your face since it shone Hke the sun, that she and other ladies at Court were obliged to make use of similar flattery; that on her last appearance before you, she and the late Countess of Lennox scarcely dared to exchange glances for fear of bursting into laughter at the way in which they were openly mocking you.'

  Just what sort of explosion this letter might have provoked had it reached its destination, we shall never know. But either Lord Burghley kept it from the Queen deliberately, or Mary herself thought better of it and never sent it. There is no evidence that EUzabeth ever read it. No doubt it was just as well.

  The Queen did, however, take steps to put an end to the Shrewsbury scandal. The Earl came to Court and was officially exonerated before the Council of any undue famiharity with the Queen of Scots. He also had a private interview with Elizabeth. 'His lordship came to her Majesty into her privy chamber. She made him have a stool and to sit down by her, and then talked with him at the least two hours. Amongst other things, my lord took knowledge how he had been slandered by sundry bruits and desired that he might justify himself, saying he would defend his honour and loyalty to her Majesty before all the world. Her Majesty was well pleased with his words, and told him she did account him for a loyal and faithful

  servant, and esteemed and trusted him as much as any man in England.'

  As for Bess, she and her sons now found it prudent to issue official denials. 'Never have they known that the Queen of Scots had had any child since her arrival in this realm, nor had behaved otherwise than a Queen and Princess of her quality should do in honour and chastity', ran the Memorandum of what the Countess of Shrewsbury and her two youngest sons have to declare. Neither, of course, had they ever 'secretly or otherwise reported directly or indirectly anything against the honour of the said Queen of Scots', and held the rumours to be 'very false, scandalous lies, maliciously invented and set on foot'.

  All the same, after so much mud-slinging and bitter recriminations, it was obvious that the Queen of Scots would have to be moved and at the beginning of September, 1584 she left Sheffield Castle for the last time.

  Again we come back to the question - why did Bess do it? Was she really afraid that her husband had become emotionally, perhaps treasonably, involved with Mary? Or was she just bored with the position of gaoler which had brought no material advantages and was making her as much of a prisoner as the Queen of Scots? A more interesting question is why did Bess use this particular method of getting rid of Mary ? The weapon of slander could so easily have proved double-edged. As late as 1584, Elizabeth was trying seriously to come to terms with the Queen of Scots and her son. If a treaty had been concluded and Mary had regained even a limited form of freedom, she would have been a very dangerous enemy indeed. Besides, it was by no means impossible that Mary might yet succeed to the English throne. She was still only forty -ten years younger than her cousin Elizabeth.

  As so often in moments of crisis in Bess's life, her motives are either obscure or obscured, but it looks very much as if the Countess, in her usual single-minded fashion, had

  simply taken the shortest and most certain path towards her objective without too much thought of the consequences. After all, she had taken some pretty considerable risks in the past and got away with them.

  One consequence she does not seem to have foreseen, was the final break up of her marriage. This time the Earl of Shrewsbury showed no desire for a reconciliation. *As to my wife', he wrote to Lord Burghley from Sheff
ield in 1585, *she hath sought to impoverish me and to enrich herself. She hath sought the ruin and decay of my house and posterity, to raise up her house and name into that honour. She hath sought my discredit and slander in the face of the world; and albeit she hath a little changed the air, yet she doth carry the old mind, which hath nothing now left to work upon but mine old carcase, whereof I do think she would make a sacrifice if I should receive her again.'

  Shrewsbury wanted a separation from Bess, but Queen Elizabeth disapproved of marital disputes among her nobility and ordered the Earl to take his wife back and * treat her with courtesy'. But the bitterness between them had become too deep, the breach too wide for healing, even by royal command. 'Since that her Majesty hath set down this hard sentence against me', wrote Shrewsbury to the Earl of Leicester, *to my perpetual infamy and dishonour, to be ruled and overrun by my wife, so bad and wicked a woman, yet her Majesty shall see that I will obey her commandment though no curse or plague in the earth could be so greatly grievous to me.'

  Bess, for her part, declared she had *a great desire for a good and Christian reconciliation' and told the Queen she wanted to live with her husband *as the bond and knot of matrimony required', but although Shrewsbury had reluctantly agreed to go on supporting her, he flatly refused to be at bed and board with her. He made it quite clear that he had no intention of forgiving and forgetting unless his wife would confess that she had

  ofiended him, in writing, on her knees 'and before such as her Majesty shall appoint'.

  Bess's proud spirit would never agree to the humiliation of a public apology, but she kept her temper and answered Shrewsbury's accusations of greed with becoming meekness. *I assure you, my lord,' she wrote, 'my meaning is not to molest or grieve you with demanding, neither I trust it can be thought greediness to demand nothing, for I desire no more than her Majesty's order giveth, and wish your happy days to be many and good . . .'

  The Shrewsburys' quarrel was to drag on for another five years - the Earl complaining of his 'wicked and malicious wife' who planned to ruin him in order to benefit her Cavendish progeny - the Countess complaining with equal fluency of her 'strange miseries' and the hard usage of her husband. Rather surprisingly, public sympathy was all with Bess, although the Bishop of Coventry did show some understanding of Shrewsbury's point of view. 'Some will say in your lordship's behalf, he wrote, '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 and sharpness 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.'

  In spite of many well meant efforts to bring them together, Bess never kept her husband company again. Shrewsbury had had enough - too many demands had been made on him by his wife and his sovereign, and his mind as well as his body began to fail. His last years were spent in the clutches of a mistress who robbed him without compunction, and he died in November 1590, prophesying that by his wife's devices the Lady Arbella Stuart would bring much trouble to his house.

  ^ An Insatiable Dream

  The Earl of Shrewsbury's death can only have come as a relief to Bess. She was seventy when she became a widow for the fourth time and there would be no question of any more matrimonial ventures on her own account. Marriage had served her well, in spite of the troubles of the past ten years, but now she meant to steer her own course, alone and unafraid. There was still a lot to be done, and the Dowager Countess looked forward to a busy, exciting future.

  Bess was an extremely wealthy woman and now at last she was free to dispose of her fortune as she pleased. It is probably no coincidence, therefore, that barely a month after Shrewsbury's death the new Hardwick Hall began to rise from its foundations.

  Today Hardwick stands proud, elegant and graceful, dominating the Derbyshire landscape just as it did on a day in October nearly four hundred years ago when Bess first saw it completed - a statement in glass and stone of her own individual genius, and the latest of a string of houses she had been building and re-building for more than forty years. Hardwick Hall is the only one of those houses to survive, but it is the one which most completely expresses the personality of the yeoman's daughter who had risen in the world by her own efforts, her own shrewdness, courage and determination.

  It has been said that Bess intended Hardwick to be a showcase for Arbella Stuart, who, if all went well, might one day become Queen of England. Bess's enemies never hesitated to accuse her of insatiable ambition, but was her most splendid achievement merely another status symbol ? Was it, perhaps, all part of a subconscious need to go on proving herself? Or was her building fever the outlet for

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  a creative impulse which would not be denied? Bess may simply have been thinking of her own sons. Chatsworth, which had been the centre of the bitterest disputes with Shrewsbury, was intended for Henry Cavendish, but there were also William and Charles to be considered. Whatever it was that drove her on to build more and yet more houses, she was certainly not alone.

  'There was never the like number of fair and stately houses as have been built and set up from the ground since her Majesty's reign', remarked Francis Bacon; 'insomuch that there have been reckoned in one shire that is not great, to the number of thirty-three which have been all new-built within that time - whereof the meanest was never built for two thousand pounds.' All over the country, in fact, 'fair and stately' houses were rising to proclaim the accumulated wealth and self-confidence of the Tudor age.

  Villiam Harrison, who has left us such a vivid picture of England in the second half of the sixteenth century, wrote that: 'Such manors and houses of our gentlemen as be lately builded are commonly either of brick or hard stone, or both, their rooms large and comely, and houses of office further distant from their lodgings. Those of the nobility are likewise wrought with brick and hard stone, as provision may best be made, but so magnificent and stately as the basest house of a baron doth often match in our days with some honours of princes in old time.' The fact that there was more money about, was not the only reason for this new luxuriance in domestic architecture. The Elizabethan man of property no longer needed to anticipate unfriendly visits from his neighbours. He no longer needed to encumber himself with moats and bastions and other such defensive outworks. True, Hardwick has its turrets, six of them, silhouetted dramatically against the skyline, but Bess's turrets were not intended as vantage points for marksmen. They added height, grace and symmetry to the building. They were decorated with coronets

  and strap^vork and, catching the eye from every angle, the initials E.S. Elizabeth Shrewsbury was justly pleased with her handiwork. She saw no reason to conceal the fact, and high above the front door her coat of arms flaunted pride of ownership, pride of achievement before an admiring or an envious world.

  The most startling feature of Hardwick, though, is the lavish use of glass - another sign of a new outlook, literally, on life. *Of old time', commented William Harrison, 'our country houses, instead of glass, did use much lattice, and that made either of wicker or fine rifts of oak in checker-wise. I read also that some of the better sort did make panels of horn instead of glass. But as horn in windows is now quite laid down in every place, so lattices are also grown into less use, because glass is come to be so plentiful. Only the clearest glass is most esteemed and each one that may will have it for his building.'

  In spite of some disparaging remarks about 'Hardwick Hall more glass than wall', Bess was determined that her new house should be 'lightsome' and during the building operations she insisted in 'highing' the great windows still further. Her influence is everywhere apparent, pervading Hardwick like a physical presence. She knew how to use grandeur to make a dehberate effect. She also knew how to make a home. Compared with the magnificent facade, the low, pillared entrance is invitin
g, almost cosy in its welcome. Bess would have agreed, at least in part, with Francis Bacon's dictum that: 'Houses are built to live in, and not to be looked upon; therefore let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had. Leave the goodly fabrics of houses, for beauty only, to the enchanted palaces of the poets, who build them with small cost.'

  Hardwick took seven years to complete and was certainly not built at small cost; though, as always, Bess kept a sharp eye on the accounts and on November 14th 1591

  decided to change her clerk of works. ^Memorandum', she wrote, 'Sir Harry Jenkinson to take charge of the workmen and keeping of the book.' She also kept a sharp eye on the progress of the work and tolerated no slackness or scamping. 'Because the walls rise and be not well nor all of one colour, the most to be whited at the plasterers' charge.'

  There is no mention of an architect in Bess's account books, though the *platt' for Hardwick was probably drawn by Robert Smythson who had designed nearby Wollaton Hall. But any professional architect's plans were subject to constant revision and alteration by Bess herself. During the time the new Hardwick was going up, she was living within sight of the work at Hardwick Old Hall. The Old Hall is now a ruin, but Bess had enlarged and rebuilt her birthplace, wishing, so it was said, 'to keep her cradle beside her bed of state'.

  Materials for the new building were drawn from her own resources. Timber came from her broad estates, lead from the mines bequeathed by her first husband, the long dead Robert Barlow. Alabaster was brought from Tut-bury, which had once housed Mary Queen of Scots, blackstone from Ashford near Bakewell. Skegby and Crich supplied lime, Wingfield the famous glass.