CHAPTER NINE
Essex and Southampton tried every way to bring Sir Walter down without success. With Essex and those of the reformed religion, it was through political necessity - Raleigh was too much an unknown quantity to have the Queen's ear. With Southampton, the hatred came from pride and rebelliousness. It was not Essex's wise mentors , Sir Henry Lee and Sir Edward Dyer who devised a way to ruin Sir Walter. In the end, I am sure it was that tricky devil, Francis Bacon, who cared for nothing in the world but his own advancement. It pained my eyes to gaze at his jumble of black-tinged colours representing disharmony and evil. I doubt if he had an honest feeling to his name - self-gratification was the nearest he ever came to love. It was enough that Raleigh was his employer for Frankie to plot his downfall. This is the story.
The Queen, as is well known, could not bear her favourites or her Maids of Honour to marry. Worst of all was to do so without her express permission. When, just as Elizabeth had rewarded Essex with the rich Farm of Sweet Wines, he married Sir Philip's widow, Frances, the Queen's wrath knew no bounds, until her great need of her young favourite brought him back to court, but never his wife. Marriage, then was the first necessity for Sir Walter's downfall, but how to bring it about, when he had many times averred that he would live out his life alone. I have cause to remember that year, when I composed and played my most memorable music to date for Sir Henry Lee's retirement from the Accession Day Tilts. What praise I enjoyed then!
Memories, memories!
Back to the Queen, who could not abide the loss of a Maid of Honour. But there was one of whose lifelong service she was certain - ill-favoured, penniless Bess Throckmorton, who could never hope to catch a husband. Her brother, Arthur, had to spend money he could ill afford to buy Bess her place in the Queen's Chamber. Heaven forfend she should ever require a dowry from the poor inheritance left by Sir Nicholas, or, if the Queen should die, become a charge in her brother's house, where he had a wife difficult to please. In the hands of great lords like Essex and Southampton, Arthur Throckmorton was easy game.
Bess was sworn to secrecy and told that a great marriage would ensue if she obeyed instructions to the letter. All she had to do on the appointed night was to strip to her shift, wrap herself in a dark cloak and wait beneath a certain tree. Most like she thought there was witchcraft in it.
The final part of the plot was the most tricky - how to embroil the misogynist, Sir Walter, with a Maid of Honour, the breed against which he most strongly warned his charges? The Southampton coterie invited their Principal to a feast and, though he never touched strong drink, they persuaded him to take a little for a toast to the Queen, which he could not avoid. That drink they laced with just a suspicion of Cantharides, Spanish Fly, Leicester's well known aphrodisiac, that drove Mary of Scotland wild for the despicable Darnley. It can kill, Rob, if the dose is too large but they gauged it carefully just so as to make Sir Walter thoroughly and uncharacteristically lecherous.
Under the tree waited the inexperienced victim of his lasciviousness and Raleigh was led, not as a lamb to the slaughter, but as a randy old tup to his ewe. Next day, scared and shaken, Bess was even more ready to obey instructions and seek to cover her shame. And Sir Walter? He woke up next morning, remembering nothing, feeling worse than seasick and vowing never to touch a drop in his life again.
How do I know all this? Do you think they could keep it to themselves? The tale spread through the class-rooms of Durham House like wildfire, old 'Water's' prowess more prurient with each telling. And Raleigh, his head in the clouds, knew nothing of it all.
You ask why I am sure that viper, Francis Bacon had a hand in this. Not content with writing parts for plays, one of his chief enjoyments was inventing roles for others to play in real life. He was an arch manipulator. He tried it with Essex, who was too open, so blundered every time. Arthur Throckmorton was more easily managed. His diary was produced to add veracity to the tale and, I'll wager, our Frankie dictated every word of it, lawyer fashion. I can just see his snake's eyes gleaming and his quick tongue flickering. They needed all the times and dates on paper, for, in spite of some agonising moments for Bess, unluckily for them, she failed to find herself with child, which had been the whole purpose of the game.
Nothing daunted, (I learned this later from Suzanne, who had it from Sir Robert) they invented a birth at the brother's house with his wife in the secret. They even playacted a christening with the Earl of Essex as gossip. The imaginary child received the mocking name of Damerei after the supposed father's supposed ancestor. A sorry business it was for gentlemen and 'men of honour'! Bess returned to court and none there suspected the role she had played. If there had in truth been a child, it would have been put out to nurse, in which circumstance, babes all too often died. There was no need for Raleigh ever to see his 'son' - the circumstances were all there in black and white written in Arthur Throckmorton's diary.
Sir Walter was away in Chatham, ignorant of these plots, collecting ships for his Panama expedition, so was not lying when he told his prudish little friend, Robert Cecil, that he knew nothing of a marriage, though the hunchback was quick to blame Raleigh's 'bestiality'. What was there in the Cooke women to make them bear devils like bossive Robin and tricky Frankie?
When the victim was acquainted with the whole, wretched story, what could he do but offer marriage to the lady? That was the end of the Academy and his relationship with the deceived and furious Queen. To be supplanted by that hideous and stupid Bess Throckmorton, whose father had dared criticise the young Elizabeth's behaviour with her lover, who became the Earl of Leicester! It was the Tower for Raleigh and his unchosen bride, and, after that, exile to Sherborne and loss to the unforgiving Queen of all the riches his ships brought home. Years later, she learned the truth and did not absolve the perpetrators or ever forgive Lady Raleigh. She tried to console Sir Walter with the Earldom of Pembroke, when the old man died. Cecil told William Herbert he had put a stop to that, but it was Raleigh himself who refused to rob Sir Philip Sidney's son of the title he expected.
~
Kit Marlowe had returned to Durham House the year before Raleigh's downfall and afterwards accompanied him to Sherborne.
"What a milk and water miss was that Arbella; clever, I grant you when she used her Latin to help me translate Ovid's 'Amores'. Oh yes, I kept her primed with love's young dream, as instructed. I nearly finished another amorous work for her, this time my own, the story of Hero and Leander. I hope that young Dudley lives up to my description of Leander. A deal of my own love and longing went into that poem. Three years without a lovely boy and my last one bearded and deep-voiced on my return! I shall never live long enough to make up for what Raleigh has stolen from my love life."
I showed him some of my poems. "Facile," he opined. "A little love and longing would put more life into them, I'll be bound." I was chagrined at that. I had thought my poems worthy of his praise.
Kit's reappearance at the Academy brought on another spate of playwriting. Nothing would please the young gentlemen now but a performance of their work on the public stage Twelfth Night at Whitehall or at the Inns of Court did not satisfy their appetite for applause. And as the plays they wrote as part of their English course had to be fit for professionals to act, they paid one of them, Will Shakespeare, to furbish them up for the groundlings.
Marlowe, Peele and Nashe had a University friend, poor as a church mouse and as dependent as they on his pen for a living. His name was Robert Greene and, naturally enough, he took umbrage at wealthy young gentlemen taking the bread out of the mouths of needy writers. He wrote a pamphlet, urging his three friends not to encourage these amateurs to take on the mantle of professional playwrights with a living to earn and warned them that their patrons would drop them like hot cakes when it suited.
The play whose popularity on the stage most incensed Master Greene was about Henry V1 and its author was that young Robert Dudley, whose name appears so often in my story. Greene knew better than to refer to him by name, but went as near as he could by dubbing the author 'Johannes Factotum'. All remembered his father, Leicester's nickname of 'Dominus Factotum', so it was easy to guess who was Jack to his King.
By the time Henry Chettle had printed Greene's diatribe, the author was no more, so it was the publisher who had to bear the brunt of the anger aroused. Without daring to mention the name of Robert Dudley, he printed an abject apology, which that cockscomb, Will Shakespeare, took to be meant for him. As time went on,Will grew so proud you would have thought he was the author of the plays instead of the mere refurbisher. We all laughed at his pretensions. There were not enough hours in the working day for him to have written those plays and the passages of exquisite poetry were quite beyond his powers. Still, someone's name had to be used for colour, since gentlemen did not publish plays and Will gained a coat of arms and made a small fortune out of it.
The playwriting part of Robert Dudley's life ended for the time when he married and settled at Kenilworth. He revelled in the country life and was the first to train dogs to fetch game. He often sent for me when he hosted some great entertainment for the Warwickshire gentry and I wrote galliards and pavanes for the local dignitaries, their wives, daughters and even servants. Oh, yes, my music was at the height of fashion then and I wrote for all the rich and famous of the day.
My good master, Henry Noel, who honoured me with his friendship, brought me to court often and, in the year of Sir Walter's disgrace, I joined the Queen's Summer Progress, stopping at Bisham, where I composed a pavane for Bacon's aunt, Lady Russell; at Rycote, commemorated by Mistress Norrishe's Delight, and so, playing and composing all the way, to Sudeley Castle, where, in the Entertainment, I roundly told the Queen that I had 'played so long with my fingers that I had beaten out of play all my good fortune.'
I was a fool to suppose that the Queen would employ me when others would bear the cost and she might enjoy my music with no expense to herself. I was also told that I must await the death of one of the Queen's lutenists before applying for a post. I did not relish the thought of waiting to fill a dead man's shoes, so gave up the hope of a permanent post at court. There was no time for musical magic and, now the Academy was closed, I had no room of my own in which to perform it. On progress, it was every man for himself and even the loyal Sir Henry Lee gave up following the Queen as he could find nowhere to lay his head. Unlike myself, however, he had a home to go to at Ditchley and a warm bedmate, Anne Vavasour, I mean, that had a child by the Earl of Oxford. I was loath to seek shelter in Robert Sidney's house. If I could not find a rich employer and a permanent home, I would manage as best I might as a snapper up of unconsidered trifles in the way of employment.
~
I have just enjoyed an idle hour with Henry Peacham, who heard I was sick again and came to cheer me with his newsmongering. There is great delay over the new Queen's arrival. Buckingham has returned to France, some say to expedite her coming, but the general rumour is that he has business of his own with Anne of Austria and has taken a great jewel to further his amours. Henry tells me the plague is worsening and he has plans to spend time in Norfolk and hopes to avoid all danger. I told him that I shall remain in Fetter Lane and look for your coming. May it be soon.
~
An unexpected summons came from Doctor Dee and I made my way to Mortlake. The house still looked uncared for and the part that had been burnt by the mob was not yet fully repaired. At my knock, the good doctor himself came to the door and led me into the library, its shelves sadly depleted.
"It was as well" said my host, cheerfully, "that I had several copies of each volume (as I remember you once remarked) and that I lent out so many to my friends and pupils, who have now returned them to restock my shelves. You will wonder why you are here and I shall not beat about the bush. I should be grateful if you would look into the future on a matter which concerns me greatly."Seeing my anxious look, he quickly added. "No, not a 'seeing'. We will proceed as we did previously. Have you the Spanish diamond?" I took the ring from where it always hung round my neck and he placed it on his little finger.
"Now, two questions only. It will be over in a trice. Gaze on the stone." As before, the diamond flashed to and fro and I lost consciousness of the world around me, though I heard both our voices from afar.
"What will be the fate of the Earl of Essex?" "The block."
"In what year?" "February, 1601."
Doctor Dee snapped his fingers and I opened my eyes.
"You have confirmed my belief, John, that the young man will come to no good. How much harm he will do if he gains real power is a cause for great concern. For the next eight years he must be watched carefully."
We talked for a while, then he said we were both ready for a meal and took me to the kitchen, where Mistress Dee, young Arthur and Katherine were waiting at table. Afterwards, in the doctor's study, I took the opportunity to confide in him about the musical magic. He was immediately enthusiastic and questioned me searchingly, afterwards urging me to conduct another experiment with himself present to keep vigil with me. Explaining how long I had waited for the opportunity, I said it would be my pride and pleasure if he would consent to assist me.
"But I have not brought my portrait, which I have used up to now. And how shall I find a likeness of the great Marsilio Ficino, whose voice and music I most long to hear?"
"All can be arranged," Doctor Dee replied, confidently. "My son has some talent at drawing and will be pleased to attempt your likeness. As Abbot Trithemius explains, it does not have to be perfect. The intention is all and you have the imagination required to bring success."
As I sat to the young artist, Doctor Dee spoke to me of Ficino, saying, "Philip greatly loved Marsilio's translation of Plato' works. Do you know, Ficino learned Greek at the age you are now, and, in those days, it was a language known to few. He always remained poor and never sought favour, though Cosimo di Medici loved and honoured him. He believed, as do I and as did Philip, that philosophy consists in the study of truth and wisdom, properties of God alone, therefore, philosophy is religion, and true religion, genuine philosophy. But you will have learned much of Ficino in your studies at the Academy."
"Very little of his music," I replied, "and that we must discover through musical magic." As I spoke, young Arthur handed me his finished sketch, rather too flattering, as I recall, but still apt for the purpose.
"You are anxious now as to where we can find a likeness of Marsilio Ficino. It so happens that I have on my shelves Philip's own copy of his Plato in which is the very portrait we require. We will place your picture next to it inside the cover." As we climbed the stairs to his study, the doctor said, "A pity you do not wish to 'see'. Ficino played on a Lyra Orphica decorated with pictures of Orpheus among the rocks and animals. That would be worth the viewing."
I refused to be drawn. "Ficino also said, if I remember correctly, that hearing has a greater effect on the spirit than seeing, so I shall hold to that tenet, Doctor Dee, though I am not sure that I can define his 'spiritus'."
"He writes of it as the link between body and soul," explained my mentor. "Music is the most important food of the spirit because they are both living forms of air. He says that musically moved air is actually alive like a disembodied spirit. Oh, that I too might express myself in music and transcend mere words! You are truly blessed, John, in your talent."
"As to words, I have never heard the speaking voice of any musician from the past. All I hear is a confused humming, though the songs are clear. As you have had so much experience with angel magic, Doctor Dee, you might be successful in obtaining from Ficino an answer to your question."
"Yes, yes, I am impatient to begin." He watched as I wrapped the portraits and placed them deep under the rushes at the threshold, then joined me in the opening invocation. Once more, I used the diamond to help my concentration. When we became sleepy, we each perused a work of Ficino as we paced about the chamber. After what seemed endless waiting, the music came into my head. Snatching up pen and music manuscript paper, I began to record the hymn, writing the tablature at the greatest speed of which I was capable. I knew well that there was no second chance to repair omissions. Concentrating with all my power, I took scant notice of Doctor Dee's movements, but as my playing broke the silence, he was engaged in some magic of his own.....
"I recognised some of the Greek words, Doctor Dee, but was not quick enough to memorise them, though I seem to recognise the invocation to Apollo used in this house when I 'saw' the death of William of Orange."
"Yes, that was an Orphic hymn. I have the words here. But, before Ficino returns to his other world, ask him if he is certain that his was the genuine music of Orpheus." Doctor Dee's magic had effect. This time a clear voice emerged from the buzzing in my head. The Italianised Latin, reminiscent of Bruno's, seemed impatient. "When I lived on earth, I firmly believed in my Orphic hymns." The humming resumed and I could distinguish no more. When I transmitted the sentence to the Doctor, he was obviously disappointed but eager to hear me sing the Orphic hymn.
"There is a difference," I explained diffidently, "between hearing Ficino's singing and reproducing it accurately. His tones were high and strange and I would wish to practise carefully before chanting it for your approval."
"What am I thinking of?" interposed Doctor Dee. "We both need food and sleep after our long vigil. I often think I was too demanding with Edward and, in my enthusiasm, drove him too hard." And he shook his head, sadly.
The next day, the Doctor listened with awe to the Orphic hymn. "Do you, realise, John Dowland, what a great discovery you have made, which will surely enable us to bring about the longed-for and peaceful union of the religions? Keep this music in your mind and heart until I have found the means to work on the German princes and convince them that the hymn that preserved the great Cosimo di Medici, for which scholars have sought since its sad loss, will give them the strength and inspiration to work unceasingly for concord and tranquillity. We have the word of Ficino himself that, in this world, he believed this Orphic hymn to be genuine. What more can be asked?"
~
Doctor Dee begged me to prolong my visit, and, in the course of conversation, I questioned him on a matter which had long puzzled me, the significance of his Monas Hieroglyphica sign. He explained to me that it includes the symbols of all the planets; how it absorbs into itself the sign Aries, representing fire and, therefore, the alchemical processes; how the cross below the symbols for sun and moon represents the elements of earth, water, air and fire, and how different formations of the four lines of the cross can turn it into a sign of both three and four, both triangle and square, thus solving a great mystery. He told me that he had been privileged to give the same explanation to the Queen.
"Not as easy for my poor brain to grasp," I said. "When I first saw that sign on your wall, Doctor Dee, it frightened me. I must confess, I saw it as resembling one of the devils I saw as a child in my Orpheus picture."
"I am sure many older folk would consider it a diabolical omen as they did the mathematical signs at one time, in their ignorance, destroying the books containing them. Fear and superstition once more, alas!" His face suddenly brightened. "Let me tell you this idea which has just come to me. I have been pondering an easy way to communicate with my followers in Europe, who all know and can copy my Monas sign. Suppose, by gazing on the symbol with intense concentration at an agreed time on an agreed day (say Wednesday, the day of Mercury the messenger) I was able to send an intelligence to and obtain an answer from one of my friends, commit it to paper, get it by heart and then destroy the writing, we would have an instant and secret means of communication. No spies could break our code and no courier could move with such speed. I shall begin my experiments in Monas magic this day."
~
Sometimes, during my stay, we spoke of less weighty matters.
"What will you do now, John? Will you return to Wilton or join Sir Walter at Sherborne?" inquired my friend.
I told him that I was wearied with teaching and playing at the behest of others and that I had thought of obtaining a quiet lodging where I might give myself up to composing and musical magic. "I have saved a little money and I have patrons at court who may help me if I find myself lacking the wherewithal to live."
"Excuse me, John, if I seem to pry. I understand you have a wife and child. How is it that you have no home with them?"
I quickly explained the circumstances. "But do not suppose that my love for Annie is less than if I were her true father and I visit her often. Although Suzanne and I have never lived together as man and wife, I love her as my best friend. We keep no secrets from each other and I depend on her wise advice. There is one point, however, on which I insist, that she bears no more children to Sir Robert and to this she agrees. I learned ways in Italy which safely prevent conception and these she uses carefully. She knows that, if her lover tires, I shall be solely responsible for her and the child and she is loath to add to my burdens. This is as much her wish as mine."
"I fear I am out of touch with such matters," admitted the good Doctor. "How may she live with a clear conscience as Sir Robert's mistress in the same house as his wife?"
"Do you in your great wisdom, Doctor Dee, understand the distaff side? I have learned to accept women without seeking to fathom their motives. Suzanne was convent bred and perhaps thinks that her first love should be her last. Certainly she seems to hold Sir Robert in true affection. At the same time, she tells me, as his wife's tiring woman, she has become her chief confidante and loves her well. I can assure you that, in her simplicity, she feels no guilt, believing that love excuses all."
"I realise that guilt destroys, and should be eschewed, but still I find this hard to comprehend. There was a shameful time in Bohemia when Edward insisted, that to forward the angel magic we must exchange wives. This greatly distressed my own dear helpmate, though even that sacrifice she made for the great work. All for little," and he shook his head sorrowfully before continuing. "I feel for you, John, it is sad for a young man like you to live without true love."
"Oh, I have seen enough of other men's loves to know they bring more sorrow than delight. My lute must remain my mistress."
~
I found my private room but continued to play at Court when commanded. On one of his rare visits from Flushing, I met Sir Robert Sidney there. He was reproachful.
"I thought you promised to help Lady Barbara with her luteplaying, yet, she tells me, though you visit your wife and child, you have never once paid your respects to her. If you can play for that misbegotten Robert Dudley," here his face darkened, "you can at least repay the many favours the Sidneys have conferred by showing proper politeness to my lady wife."
Drawing in my breath sharply, I could manage no more than a nod of the head in acknowledgement. What courtesy was he showing to his lady wife, when he spent the cold December nights in the arms of her tiring woman? But perhaps Lady Barbara had another lover and cared not a jot for Sir Robert. Christmas over, he had to return to his Governorship - the Queen was ever loath to grant him long leave of absence. I took the opportunity to visit Suzanne, who was perplexed by a problem she said I alone might solve.
