No. 49 Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex
BORN 1567, EXECUTED 1601.
Full length. White dress. Embroidered vest. George, Ribbon, and Garter. Left hand resting on the pommel of his sword; right hand holding a cane.
The eldest son of Walter, first Earl of Essex of the Devereux family, by Lettice, daughter of Sir Francis Knollys, Knight. He succeeded to the title and estates before he had reached his ninth year. But his father’s solicitude had provided him with worthy guardians; Lords Burghley and Sussex, and Dr. Waterhouse, of whom, in his last moments, Walter, Lord Essex, took leave in these terms—‘Farewell, Ned; thou art the friendliest and faithfullest gentleman that ever I knew;’ and well did Waterhouse fulfil the trust imposed on him by his dying friend, he took the direction of the minor’s affairs, which he managed with great ability, and watched over the boy himself, with paternal care.
In 1577 young Essex went to Cambridge, where he bore an excellent character, and gained the reputation of ‘an elegant scholar,’ while his refined and genial manners made him generally popular. He remained at the University till 1581, when he retired to his country house in Pembrokeshire, and seemed to have ‘become enamoured of a rural life.’ In 1584, on his first presentation at Court, he found his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester, reigning supreme, with whom he was in no way inclined to stand on friendly relations. The sudden death of Essex’s father, and the indecent haste of his mother’s marriage with Robert Dudley, were too vivid in his remembrance. But the royal ægis had been thrown over the pair, and the matter had been hushed up. Lord Leicester strove by every means in his power to propitiate his wife’s son, and the young man was not proof against the professions of affection, or the prospects of advancement. At least so it would seem, for in the following year the two Earls went together to the Low Countries, Leicester as Captain-General, and Essex (though not more than eighteen at the time) as General of the Horse. Here the latter was greatly commended for his valour, more especially at the battle of Zutphen.
On his return to England he was made Master of the Horse, and not only intrusted with a high command in the army, at the time of the threatened Spanish invasion, but invested with the Order of the Garter—a proceeding which excited no little jealousy. Lord Leicester dying in the same year, the post of first favourite became vacant, and to that dangerous elevation was the new knight elected without loss of time; and now began afresh the disgraceful farce which Elizabeth Tudor had already enacted with Leicester, and in a minor degree with Sir Philip Sidney, and others. Alas! this time the curtain was to fall on a tragedy. The Queen’s coquetries, her advances and retreats, her attacks on the citadel of the handsome and accomplished courtier’s heart, are part of history, and need not be detailed here. Notwithstanding the honours she heaped upon him, his eager spirit was often ‘vexed past patience,’ even in these early days.
In 1589 he absented himself without leave from Court, even as Sir Philip Sidney had done before him, and sailed with Sir Francis Drake on his expedition to Portugal. Elizabeth ordered him to return in a most peremptory letter written with her own hand; but when he did so, she received him with open arms, keeping up for some time a skirmish of lover’s quarrels. At length her indignation was seriously aroused on learning the old story, that her favourite had married without her permission.
She called it a mésalliance, a word that could scarcely apply in the case of the daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham, and the widow of Sir Philip Sidney.
In 1591 he commanded troops sent to the assistance of Henry IV. of France, and on his return was made a Privy Councillor; but jealousy was rife, plots were hatching against him, and the train was laid which was to be fired some years later.
He was appointed to the joint command of the fleet in the expedition against Spain, with Admiral Howard, and on their return, the marked difference between the manner in which the Ministers received Essex and his coadjutor was most distasteful to the former. Howard was treated with honour and consideration, while Essex was exposed to blame and mortification. He now retired to the country in disgust, and would not even attend Parliament till the question arose of a proposed treaty with Spain, when he hastened up to London to be present at a Council, and to advocate war, which he did in such vehement and passionate terms that his quondam guardian, Lord Burghley, rose from the table, and drawing a prayer-book from his pocket, pointed to a passage in the Psalms which proved too prophetic—
‘The bloodthirsty and deceitful man shall not live out half his days.’
Burghley, who died soon after, was indeed a tried and trusty friend, ever ready to defend him against all his enemies, even the worst of all, Essex’s own self. Peace was concluded, however, and Robert Devereux added to his general unpopularity, while he angered the Queen, by rushing into print on the occasion, and that in most unmeasured terms. Not long afterwards, occurred the well-known scene at the Council, where was a hot discussion relative to the choice of a Governor for Ireland, and Lord Essex’s language was so intemperate that Elizabeth in a rage rose from her seat and struck him on the cheek. Stung to the quick, he half drew his sword, and swearing he would not endure such treatment, left the royal presence in a fury, and once more hurried off to his country house, whence it required much persuasion to induce him to return to his allegiance. The ill-fated man did not realise (after he had made a species of proud apology) how far he was playing into his enemies’ hand, by accepting the command now given him, to put down a rebellious outbreak in Ireland. The complete failure of this expedition is well known. Essex incurred the unmitigated censure of the Government, and of the Queen herself.
His mind was at this time in a very wretched and unsettled state, and on the receipt of a letter from Elizabeth full of reproaches, he left Ireland, and drew no breath till he stood suddenly in her presence at Nonsuch Place, coming, he said, to throw himself on her mercy, and implore her to listen to his vindication. After a conference of some duration, she dismissed him with the desire that he should remain in the custody of the Lord Keeper. In this species of honourable imprisonment he continued for some time in suspense, probably relying on Her Majesty’s constancy to pardon him. But there were those who whispered distrust and slander in the royal ear.
Alas for the proud spirit of Robert Devereux! he was examined for eleven hours before the Privy Council, during most of the time compelled ‘to remain on his knees.’
When released, he once more retired to the country, and then came up to London, where he made his house the centre of the disaffected; and although still professing unshaken loyalty, yet his actions and the companions he drew around him were well calculated to excite the suspicions both of the Queen and of her Ministers. Again summoned before the Council, he refused to appear; and when the Lord Keeper and the Lord Chancellor went to his house to expostulate, he detained them prisoners. A climax to his rashness was the step he took in sallying forth into the city to enlist volunteers, at the head of a large body of armed adherents, and on his return to his house he fortified himself therein. He was proclaimed a traitor, besieged, and taken prisoner on the 8th of February 1601, and on the 19th brought to trial, and condemned to die.
The struggle between anger, tenderness, and compassion in the breast of Elizabeth has been recorded in history, drama, and fiction; and the story of the ring, which will be found in another page, is one of the widest circulated of historical romances. There is little doubt that Elizabeth never recovered the shock of Essex’s death, although her own hand dealt the blow to both.
On the night preceding his execution, the noble prisoner opened his window, and addressing the guards and pages, regretted he had nothing to give them; ‘for I have nothing save what I am going to pay the Queen on the morrow.’ He rose soon after midnight, and prayed with the chaplain, saying, ‘God bless you, as you shall comfort me.’ He dressed himself with care in a black suit, velvet gown, felt hat, and starched ruff. On his road to the scaffold he continued instant in prayer. ‘God grant me true penitence, true patience, true humility, and put all worldly thoughts from my mind.’ No one can deny that Robert Devereux made a noble end.
He spoke earnestly to the crowd, asking them to join in prayer with him, repeated the Lord’s Prayer with great fervour, desired forgiveness of God and of the Queen, ‘whom he had never intended to harm,’ and answered the executioner with gentle courtesy, who kneeling, asked his forgiveness. ‘Thou art but the minister of justice,’ said Essex; then taking off his velvet gown and doublet, he continued to pray till the cruel blow silenced that noble voice for ever. He was deeply mourned by many. ‘My Lady of Essex,’ says a contemporary writer (she had made strenuous efforts to save him), ‘is a most sorrowful creature, she wears black of the meanest price, and will receive no comfort.’
She loved him dearly, and was his chosen companion in the quieter moments of his life, sharing and lightening his literary studies and labour. They had an only son, Robert, the last Devereux who bore the title of Essex, and two daughters—Frances, married to William, Marquis of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset; and Dorothy, married, first, to Sir Henry Shirley of Stanton Harold, county Leicester, and secondly, to William Stafford of Blatherwyck, county North Hants.