In the middle of March Queen Elizabeth, most unexpectedly, most perplexingly, sent Leicester to announce her intention to visit me in Mortlake. What can she want!? I asked myself at the time. Dudley had appeared on the Queen’s errand. To my astonishment, to my horror even, he asked me abruptly and in forthright words about a certain “glass” or magic crystal that was said to be in my possession and which the Queen would like to see. I was so taken by surprise that I could not conceal the truth and deny the stone, which Bartlett Greene had given me and through which I had already achieved so much. In a few brief words Dudley revealed that Her Majesty was informed of the stone, having seen it in my possession in a dream one night the previous autumn. My heart stood still for a moment when Dudley repeated his message but I managed, with some difficulty, to keep my composure, and recommended myself through him to my Lady’s favour, saying that, of course, everything in my possession was hers to command.
As Dudley left – oh, how long ago it all is! – he kissed the hand of my former wife, Ellinor, which she withdrew in unseemly haste. Afterwards she confessed to me, with a dark look, that as the lips of the noble Lord had touched her hand she had felt the breath of Death brush her skin. I rebuked Ellinor for such unbecoming words.
So the Mistress of Windsor came with Dudley and one squire. She knocked at my window with her riding crop. Ellinor was much startled, clutched at her heart and collapsed to the floor in a swoon. I bore her to a couch but ran out without examining her to greet my Lady. But she asked me how my wife did and, when she heard of the incident, told me to see to Ellinor – in the meantime she would rest in the park. She would not enter my house, however much I did entreat her. Then I went to the room where my wife lay and found her dying. With my heart full of dread, I crept away to my Mistress and took the “glass” to her; but no word was spoken between us of Ellinor. I could see from Elizabeth’s face that she knew my wife was at Death’s door. After an hour the Queen rode off. And that evening Ellinor was dead. A stroke had put an end to her life. – – – That was on the twenty-first day of March in the year 1575.
In the time before and after these terrible events my life force was at its lowest ebb. There is no need to say more on this than: I thank Heaven that today I can look back on those times of distress sound of mind and soul.
Whenever demons enter upon our frailty we are always touched with a premonition of the death of the body or, what is worse, the death of the spirit, and it is only by grace if we escape it.
After that day Queen Elizabeth never came again to Mortlake. Nor was I again commanded to court, and right glad I was of it. I had taken an aversion to my Mistress which was worse than hate, for it meant we were as far apart as possible and yet cursed with inward closeness.
To conclude, I decided to do of my own free will what once my Mistress had compelled me to: after three years as a widower and in the fifty-fourth year of my life I took a wife after my own heart, a wife who had never known nor seen Elizabeth and London, the court and the great world, an innocent and healthy child of nature; Jane Fromond was the daughter of a yeoman farmer, a commoner and therefore unworthy ever to be presented to her Majesty. But what did that matter? She was a sweet young woman of twenty-three years and completely devoted to me. And soon I sensed, by some strange knowledge of the blood and the certainty within my heart, that I had deeply wounded my Mistress and that far from me the impotence of her anger embittered her days. It doubled the pleasure I felt in the arms of my young wife that I was knowingly and wittingly hurting the one who had caused me so much pain. Then one day I heard that Elizabeth was sick with the ague in Richmond and when I heard it I was pierced with the dagger of remorse and sped, uncalled, to Richmond, to my Mistress; and I was not turned away but presently commanded to her sick-bed where I found her in great danger.
When I approached her she ordered with a wave of her hand all those, nobles and servants, who were about her to leave the chamber, and I was alone with her for half an hour and will never forget our talk for the rest of my days.
“Thou hast wounded me sore, friend John”, she began. “Twice thou hast put the witch between us, twice, with the potion and then with dreams, thou hast allowed another influence to step between us; little hast thou profited by it.”
My immediate response was to reject the imputation, for through my Jane’s simple and natural affection I had recovered my peace of mind and I did not intend once more to be caught up in equivocal games of lustful glances and cold rejection such as the
