Showing posts with label Robert Dudley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Dudley. Show all posts

Thursday, February 2, 2023

Elizabeth I at Table

 by Sandra Byrd

"Queen Elizabeth was an intellectual," Colin Spencer tells us in his book British Food: An Extraordinary Thousand Years of History, "highly civilised, and greatly disdained soporific indulgence in huge banquets and orgies of drinking. The menu for her dinner on 17 November 1576, a date that marked the eighteenth anniversary of her succession, was not a special one... A first course of choice of beef, mutton, veal, swan or goose, capon, conies, fruit, custard and fritters, manchet (the best white bread made up in small loaves) ale and wine.  Second course provided lamb or kid, herons or pheasants, cocks or godwits, chickens, pigeons, larks, tart butter and fritters."

Although this may seem like quite a bit of food to us, historian Eric Ives tells us in The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn that at a feast held at the 1532 Field of the Cloth of Gold celebrated by Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII, there were 170 dishes.  As can be seen by the regularly increasing size of Henry's armor (his waist measured 52" at the end of his reign!) these dishes were not only presented to display his wealth but were regularly indulged in. Elizabeth, on the other hand, wore her small rings clear through to the end of her reign.

She cared, too, that her friends ate well for their health. Toward the end of his life, the queen teased her favorite Robert Dudley about his girth. Author Anne Somerset, in her biography, Elizabeth I, says the queen "chaffed him that he should cut his daily meat consumption to 'two ounces of flesh ... and for his drink the twentieth part of a pint of wine.'"

Syllabub
If the Queen herself indulged immoderately in any course it was sweets.  She was known to prefer syllabubs: sweetened wine or cider blended with milk and sugar and whipped into a light, sweet foam, as well as marchpane, an almond paste candy most often known to us as marzipan. Tradition tells us that Elizabeth had bad teeth and that for a while, women attempted to blacken their teeth cosmetically to fit in with her royal appearance.

Elizabeth's sparse eating habits likely contributed to her long life, but her sweet tooth may have brought about her end.  Biographer Alison Plowden says, "The immediate physical cause of the queen's last illness seems to have been a streptococcal throat infection, possibly connected with dental sepsis."

Spencer says, "Elizabeth was keen to bolster the fishing industry by making sure that people consumed fish in Lent and on fast days, because her fleet partly depended on the availability of the fisherman and their craft."  According to author Richard Balkwill in Food and Feasts in Tudor Times, the fish the queen ate so often of would have been kept fresh by being wrapped in cool seaweed and stored in a wet larder at Hampton Court Palace.  England's first sushi?
Hampton Court Kitchens

By the end of the Tudor era, food choices for all were not so much predicated by religious calendars and royal decree as by the wealth of the individual. Author Spencer writes, "It was now becoming possible for individuals to rise in the world, and if you had money, you flaunted it." Sumptuary laws were flouted, and "nothing could stop the gentry from flaunting their riches in food and clothing."  Which meant, of course, black teeth properly earned for the well-to-do of any rank.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The author of more than fifty books, Sandra’s work has received many awards, nominations, and accolades, including a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly and multiple starred reviews and Best Book selections from Library Journal. Other awards include the Historical Novel Society’s Editor’s Choice award, two Christy Awards finalists, a Bookpage Top Pick for Romance, and inclusion on Booklist’s Top Ten Inspirational Books of the Year list.

As an editor and an in-demand writing coach, Sandra is passionate about helping writers develop their talents and has mentored hundreds of writers at all stages of their writing careers. 

A dedicated foodie, Sandra cooks through the topic and location of every book she writes. In addition, she collects vintage glass and serve ware in her free time, loves long walks with her husband, and Sunday Suppers with her growing family. 


Find the Tudor Ladies in Waiting series here.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Conversations with Angels: The Strange Life of Edward Kelley

By Nancy Bilyeau

The castle of Hrad Krivoklat, built forty kilometers west of Prague in the 12th century, possessed a Gothic chapel known for its statues of the twelve apostles, gazing at worshippers from high above. Also of note was a statue of Jesus at the altar, flanked by angels with golden wings.

Hrad Krivoklat: 
In 1591, a lone Englishman of middle age and cropped ears, Edward Kelley, was confined in this castle, which began functioning as a prison in the 16th century. Kelley, held in a cell at the command of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II, had decisions to make. He was no doubt forbidden to avail himself of the castle chapel while making his decisions. But if he had, those winged angels might have carried special significance to him. Perhaps they would have comforted him.

Or perhaps not.

Edward Kelly, from a 19th c drawing
After months of imprisonment, Kelly was due to be released  but for a single purpose. The emperor expected much of the man who came to Prague with the renowned John Dee in 1586. Rudolf had favored him, enriched him, spoiled him. The English commoner even held an imperial title: He was Sir Edward Kelley of Imamyi, "Baron of Bohemia," and he lived in high style in Prague.

Why did this bounty rain down on Kelly? Because Rudolf, an emotionally erratic Hapsburg obsessed with art, philosophy and magic, was convinced that Kelley possessed a secret of alchemy. There had been tantalizing glimpses of his power. However, Kelly had not come through as yet with what the emperor sought. He'd been arrested for dueling. But it was believed the true reason for his imprisonment was to force him to produce what Prague wanted to see.

While deciding what to do, Kelley reflected. This is only speculation--but might not these be the turning points that flitted through his mind:

March 1582: John Dee, scholar, astrologer, mathematician, physician, and philosopher, was in residence at his house, Mortlake, when a knock at the door produced a young man who called himself Edward Talbot, in the company of a Dee friend, Mr. Clerkson. Talbot was a name used by Edward Kelley.

John Dee
They had arrived at a prestigious address. Dee had a unique relationship with Queen Elizabeth. He was her personal astrologer--Dee selected her date of coronation--and adviser, but their meetings were discreet and their communications guarded. Courtiers at the pinnacle of her court--Robert Dudley and Christopher Hatton--also believed in Dee. But endorsement could not be open because Dee's methods skirted heresy. During the reign of Elizabeth's half-sister, Mary I, he was arrested under suspicion of casting the horoscopes of Queen Mary and Princess Elizabeth with an eye to predicting the succession. This was treason. He managed to exonerate himself, and found favor with Elizabeth but she did not financially reward him to the extent that he wished. Money worries dogged Dee for his entire life.

As for "Talbot," he was born in St. Swithin's, Worcester on August 1, 1555, according to a discovered astrological chart. Kelley may or may not have attended Oxford. He always wore his hair long or donned a monk's cowl or cap with hanging flaps to conceal the fact that his ears were missing. It was said he had been pilloried for "coining" (forging or adulterating coins) and lost his ears as punishment.

Mr. Clerkson brought Kelley to Dee because he had heard that the Queen's conjurer was in need of a new "skryer," or crystal gazer.  Such men were not uncommon. "Almost every parish, and apparently several aristocratic households, boasted a 'cunning man,' who for the price of a beer or a bed would summon spirits or tell fortunes," says The Queen's Conjurer: the Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee, Adviser to Elizabeth I.

Elizabeth I, Dee's patron
Dee had lofty motives for wanting to communicate with spirits of the other world: to elevate and unite mankind in an era of religious wars, hunger and disease. He sought to understand the universe. On his next visit to Mortlake, Kelley gave him what sounds like a winning audition. After looking into one of Dee's crystals for a quarter of an hour, Kelley said he'd made contact with an angel named Uriel, "the angel of light." Uriel had a number of messages for Dee.

Kelley was hired.

1583: A boat sailed from England, carrying Dee, Kelley and their respective families. Destination: Poland. Dee had a much younger wife named Jane and small children; Kelley had recently married a widow with children.  The trip was paid for by Albert Laski, a Polish count who came to England as an envoy to Elizabeth and was introduced to Dee and Kelley by Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester. Laski was a known dabbler in the occult, and soon spent much of his time at Mortlake.

Dee and Kelley had been focusing a tremendous amount of time on their "conferences" with angels. Kelley acted as medium, and Dee pondered the communications, which had to be decoded. The language that the various angels--Uriel was joined by Michael as well as other celestials--used was "Enochian." These were the pure words God spoke to Adam, before the Fall.  Dee sought to decode the entire language and capture the wisdom of the angels in a book.

In recent weeks, the angels, through Kelley as medium, had begun to urge Dee to leave England, at the same time that Laski was making his offer. Dee was also worried that Elizabeth's support of his work was wavering. Rumors abounded that Dee and Kelley were practicing necromancy,  which was communication with the dead. Dee did not want to clarify to anyone that it was actually angels they spoke to. Not yet. So it was time to leave England.

Dee & Kelley, raising the dead?
March 1587: Dee and Kelley, full of dread, were summoned to appear before the papal nuncio Germanico Malaspina, bishop of San Severo, in Prague, the cosmopolitan city of Bohemia.

The last four years had been difficult ones. Laski ran out of money almost the instant they arrived in Poland, and the two men and their families wandered through Central Europe, conducting their "actions" with the angels as they sought aristocratic sponsors.

They finally were given permission to present themselves in Prague, where Emperor Rudolf held court. Although Rudolf was intensely interested in magic, his court was dominated by papal and counter-Reformation forces. It was a treacherous climate. Dee had managed to obtain an audience with the reclusive Rudolf but that didn't prevent him from falling under suspicion of necromancy again. It also didn't help that Rudolf's uncle, King Philip II, was planning to declare war on Elizabeth I and all English Protestants were anathema.

Dee acquitted himself well under questioning by Bishop Malaspina, professing himself a pious man who would never cause religious discord in Prague or traffic in the black arts. Then it was Kelley's turn to speak. What he chose to say was astounding:
"It seems to me that, if one looks for counsel or remedy that might bring about a reformation in the whole church, the following will be good and obvious. While there are some shepards and ministers of the Christian flock who, in their faith and in their works, excel all others, there are also those who seem devoid of the true faith and idle in their good works. Their life is so odious to the people and sets so pernicious an example that by their own bad life they cause more destruction in the Church of God than  they could ever repair by their most elaborate, most long and most frequent discourses. And for that reason their words do not carry the necessary conviction and are wanting in profitable authority."
The papal representative remained calm. But he said later, privately, that he had wanted to "throw Kelley from a window"--a common way to resolve conflict in Prague. For a time Kelley and Dee were able to evade arrest or formal censure. But eventually the emperor turned on them. The order came to leave Prague within six days.

Vilem Rozmberk
May 1587: Dee and Kelley found a new sponsor: the wealthy Bohemian noble Vilem Rozmberk. He had a passion for alchemy and had set up several laboratories for experiments--Dee and Kelley now had one of their own. Although Dee was less than enthusiastic, Kelley threw himself into this work. Alchemy was the quest to transform base metals into noble ones--silver and gold--through the  Philosopher's Stone, a legendary elixir.

Kelley had brought with him from England a mysterious red powder he said he'd discovered buried in the ground. As a demonstration before dignitaries visiting the laboratory, Kelley dropped a speck of it into mercury held in a crucible. To all who witnessed it, shimmering gold appeared. Soon the news spread across Prague, Europe and even back to England: Kelley had discovered the Philosopher's Stone and could produce gold.

Now the balance of power between Dee and Kelley shifted. Dee wanted Kelley to communicate with the angels and obtain the wisdom of the universe. But his skryer wanted to focus on the alchemy experiments that were earning him fame. This was the time, when the angels communicated something new and shocking: Dee and Kelley must share wives.

With great reluctance, Dee's young wife slept with Kelley. Nine months later, Theodorus Dee was born. In 1589, the Dees returned to England. Kelley would never see them again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emperor Rudolf II
It was not long after Dee's departure that Kelley reached his height of riches and renown. The Emperor's interest in alchemy went deeper than filling the imperial treasury. Rudolf was as unusual a ruler as Elizabeth I. He never married, recoiled from religious mania, and maintained a cautious stance among war-crazed relatives. "Wise hesitation" is what his supporters called it. His enemies found him inert and unfit to rule a Catholic empire.

One aspect of Rudolf's personality was fear of death. Alchemy's ultimate promise was immortality. He threw money, property and titles at Kelley, but there was a catch. The Englishman must deliver. He must turn base metal into gold. Despite his tantalizing experiments, Kelley could not prove his abilities to the emperor's satisfaction.

And so Kelley was imprisoned in Hrad Krivoklat. After his release, he was again given a chance to perform successful alchemic experiments. He failed. Kelley tried to flee Prague, but was captured and jailed in another imperial castle.

It is said that Edward Kelley died in 1598 after he crawled out of a Bohemian prison window and fell to the ground. Other reports say he survived to see 1600, but maintained a low profile.

He is considered a charlatan today, someone who was able to convince wise and astute people of mystical abilities ... until his tricks ran out.

But that is incorrect. Edward Kelley did perform an act of alchemy. It was on himself.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post is part of a continuing blog series on necromancy & prophecy in history:

From Homer to The Hobbit, the History of the Necromancer

The Duchess and the Necromancer

Prophecy: The Curse of the Tudors


U.S.: On sale $2.99 on amazon and Kindle
U.K. publisher: Orion
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nancy Bilyeau is the author of The Crown and The Chalice, historical thrillers set in 16th century England. The protagonist is Joanna Stafford, a young novice of the Dominican Order. The next book in the trilogy will be The Covenant. To learn more, go to www.nancybilyeau.com







Thursday, February 16, 2012

Elizabeth I's Royal Progresses and Kenilworth Castle


Nonsuch Palace

It’s well-known that Queen Elizabeth I moved her court away from her great palaces during the summer months, visiting the homes of various favoured courtiers in turn. This was largely to allow the palaces to be ‘purged’ after several months of residency, especially once the stench of human ordure had become too much to tolerate.

In the Queen’s absence, the royal apartments would be swept and scrubbed clean, with aromatic herbs burnt to dispel bad smells and the palace cesspits dug out. But a very real fear of plague was also behind this mass exodus. It was widely believed that fresh country air was a protection against plague, and that diseases could be caught from the polluted stench of towns and cities. Elizabeth herself always carried or wore a pomander of herbs and spices that she sniffed at constantly when the air was bad.

Elizabeth I, the Rainbow portrait

What is less well-known is the sheer scale of Elizabeth’s removals from court. Not only did the Queen take the bulk of her courtiers with her on these annual ‘Progresses’, as her trips around the country were known, but she was also accompanied by a fleet of her own household servants, including laundresses, seamstresses, cooks and grooms, plus all the usual accoutrements of a court on the move. These included selections of gowns and finery for the Queen and her ladies, hats, shoes, jewellery, goblets and tableware, precious books, even a selection of her palace furniture in case the house she visited was too humble for her taste. All this was transported in a vast convoy of carts laden with great wooden chests and dozens of servants. Sometimes as many as three hundred carts would set off in advance of the Queen's party.

Further servants would be on hand to tend to the courtiers, and in particular those members of the Privy Council who had been ordered to accompany the Queen. A few courtiers were permitted to bring their wives and children, so an array of wetnurses, maids and tutors might be added to the tally. The unfortunate courtier whose home was hosting the Queen’s Progress would be expected to bear the cost of almost every expense incurred by housing, feeding, and entertaining this vast travelling circus. Yet to host the Queen's Progress was considered a great honour, and many courtiers no doubt hoped to recoup their losses by increasing their status at court.

When Elizabeth I descended on Kenilworth Castle in July 1575, she arrived with such a vast entourage that Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, her court favourite and host for the next few weeks, was left nearly bankrupt for the rest of his life. Nonetheless, the stakes he was playing were equally high. For the ambitious Earl had not yet given up hope of persuading Elizabeth to marry him, and had planned every detail of her stay to underpin his final – and most desperate – proposal.

Robert even had the castle clock stopped at the moment of Elizabeth's arrival, a romantic gesture to indicate she had now entered a ‘magical world’ where outside time and reality ceased to matter. The theme of his entertainments rather daringly suggested that Kenilworth had become a kind of Camelot for her visit, with the Earl promoted to the status of King Arthur - and Elizabeth as his Queen.

Kenilworth Castle, Warwickshire: J.D. Forrester

The Earl’s entertainments were among the most lavish and elaborate ever seen in Tudor England, with giants playing trumpets on her arrival, nymphs and a Lady of the Lake on a floating island, outrageously extravagant banquets with goblets made of golden sugar and a gigantic salt cellar in the shape of a silver galleon, plays and mummers offered at every turn, even a staged attack by a Green Man in the forests where she loved to hunt every fine afternoon. Small wonder he was left bankrupt!

And the Queen and her courtiers were not the only ones to benefit from these amazing entertainments. It is widely believed that the young William Shakespeare, then a boy of eleven living in nearby Stratford, may have been brought to Kenilworth to witness one particularly spectacular firework display, since references to it crop up in his plays.

We know the Earl’s proposal was not successful. Something occurred to upset the Virgin Queen during those idyllic weeks at Kenilworth, for Elizabeth cut short her intended stay and remained at the castle only nineteen days before abruptly departing for the north. One tale goes that the Earl sent his friends to ride after the Queen, begging her not to miss the final entertainments that still awaited her, but Elizabeth ignored them and rode on. We can only speculate as to why.

Victoria Lamb’s debut historical novel "The Queen’s Secret" is set entirely at Kenilworth Castle during Elizabeth I’s visit in July 1575. It is available as a hardback and ebook in the UK, and as an ebook in the US.