never faltered in the decade that was to intervene between the Seymour Affair and the moment when her great aim came to fruition, and she was in fact the Queen!

We leave the subject of her studies with an extract from a letter dated from St. John's College, Cambridge, the 4th of April, 1550, almost exactly a year after the death of Seymour. The writer is Roger Ascham, who appears to have had, in company with John Cheke, the superintendence of Elizabeth's education, and is addressed to John Sturm, a lifelong friend, and rector of the Protestant college at Strasburg. There can be no doubt as to the worth of the information thus transmitted. There can be no suspicion of any ulterior motive in this private communication, no expectation of favours from its subject—it is the confidence of one schoolmaster to his fellow.

"There are many honourable ladies now who surpass Thomas More's daughters in all kinds of learning; but among all of them the brightest star is my illustrious Lady Elizabeth, the king's sister; so that I have no difficulty in finding subject for writing in her praise, but only in setting bounds to what I write. I will write nothing however which I have not myself witnessed. She had me for her tutor in Greek and Latin two years, but the foundations of her knowledge in both languages were laid by the diligent instruction of William Grindall, my late beloved friend, and seven years my pupil in classical learning at Cambridge. From this university he was summoned by John Cheke to court, where he soon received the appointment of tutor to this lady.

"After some years, when through her native genius, aided by the efforts of so excellent a master, she had made a great progress in learning, and Grindall, by his merit and the favour of his mistress, might have aspired to high dignities, he was snatched away by a sudden illness. I was appointed to succeed him in his office, and the work which he had so happily begun, without my assistance, indeed, but not without some counsels of mine, I diligently laboured to complete. Now, however, released from the Court and restored to my old literary leisure here, where by her beneficence I hold an honest place in this University. It is difficult to say whether the gifts of nature or of fortune are most to be admired in that illustrious lady. The qualities praised by Aristotle meet altogether in her

* Cf. Letter XCIX., p. lxii. of vol. i., Ascham, Works, Giles, London, 1865, and the original Latin on p. 191, idem.

beauty of person, greatness of mind, prudence and industry, all in the highest degree. She has just passed her sixteenth birthday, and exhibits such seriousness and gentility as are unheard of in one of her age and rank. Her study of true religion and learning is most energetic. Her mind has no womanly weakness, her perseverance is equal to that of a man, and her memory long retains that which it readily grasps. She talks French and Italian as well as English: she has often talked to me readily and well in Latin, and moderately so in Greek. When she writes Greek and Latin, nothing is more beautiful than her handwriting. She is as much delighted with music as she is skilful in that art. In adornment of person she aims at elegance rather than show, and by her contempt of gold and elaborate headdress she suggests Hippolyte rather than Phædra. She read with me almost all of Cicero and a great part of Titus Livius, drawing all her knowledge of Latin from these authors. It was her habit to devote the morning to the reading of the Greek Testament, later reading select orations of Isocrates and the tragedies of Sophocles. My idea in having her pursue this course was that thereby she might gain purity of style, and her mind derive instruction that would be of value to her in confronting any contingency that might arise in life. To these I added Saint Cyprian and Melanchthon's Common Places, etc., as seemed to me to be best, next to the Holy Scriptures, to teach her at once elegant language, sound learning and the foundations of religion. In anything she reads she at once notices any obscure or wrong word. She cannot put up with those foolish followers of Erasmus who have encumbered the Latin tongue with miserable proverbs. She likes a style that grows out of the subject-matter-free from barbarisms because it is suitable, and beautiful because it is clear. She very much admires metaphors when they are not too strained, and the use of antithesis when it is warranted and may be employed with good effect. Her attention is so practiced in the discrimination of all these things, and her judgment is so sound, that in all Greek, Latin, or English prose or verse there is nothing loose on the one hand or concise upon the other that she does not at once notice it and condemn it strongly or praise it earnestly, as the case may be. I am not inventing anything, my dear Sturm; it is all true: I am only seeking to give you an outline of her most remarkable genius and assiduity." *

* Nihil fingo, mi Sturmi, nec opus est: sed adumbrare tantum volui tibi speciem ejus excellentis ingenii et studii.

And the smallest understanding of Ascham indubitably convinces any careful inquirer that there was not then, and is not now, a person more competent than he to judge not only of ability, learning, and accomplishments, but of greatness of mind and soul. He was easily the first teacher of his time in England. He ranks with More, Chaucer, and Philip Sidney. He was the first to make known by his writings (if indeed he was not their inventor) modern methods of instruction. The world has added little if anything substantial to his methods of teaching, because the centuries in their passing have only served to prove that he was fundamentally correct.

To this tribute of Ascham's to Elizabeth, many might be added of similar import by other contemporaries, but this would seem tautological. We therefore hasten to lay before the reader, as briefly as possible, some salient and pregnant features of the girl's history during, and immediately following, the Seymour Affair, features which must be comprehended if we are intelligently to weigh the evidence, pro and con, for the subsequent charges against her morality. We must be enabled to picture her psychologically and historically, exactly as she appeared at twenty-five years of age, when the death of Mary broke the barriers that had kept Elizabeth from the fulfilment of that great ambition, so long the chief object of her life. We must know exactly what manner of woman she was, what her dominating, controlling inclinations and ambitions, her views of life, of her prerogative, and her obligations as ruler. We must, in short, know the real Elizabeth; for she, like all other human creatures, was an entity, a complete being, made up of many diverse traits, yet subject inexorably to the laws of psychology. We must have the whole story of Elizabeth-and we have it, at least in substance.

CHAPTER III

HEALTH FOR EVER WRECKED BY SEYMOUR AFFAIR

T must be fully realized that so tragic an episode as the Seymour Affair, with its prolonged mental strain, its mortal dangers, its shame and mortification, must have

I

had a most powerful effect upon Elizabeth; but we believe that there was a still more cogent element at work upon her character-one whose influence and aspect would vary with each new year of her life, a sinister influence which could never be forgotten from the day when its presence was first perceived. To this we have so far only incidentally referred; but it is deserving of more detailed consideration.

We allude to the history of her parents, first of all in their relations to each other. We have no records to tell us when Elizabeth discovered that there had been trouble between her father and mother. We do not even know that she, who was but two years and eight months of age when her mother was killed, recollected anything about her. Nor do we know that Elizabeth ever had any affection for her or she for her daughter; nor that Elizabeth ever mentioned her mother, although this cannot be surprising, for she could not, of course, refer to the tragedy of the mother without reflecting upon the conduct of her father; and whatever else Elizabeth might and did do, there is one thing that she never was tempted into betraying, and that is any disrespectful or critical attitude towards any of her predecessors upon the throne.

She was aware that the throne depended altogether upon the consent of the people. She had no army except when actually at war; and speaking generally, there was never a time when five hundred trained soldiers could not have seized London and the Queen. A country peasant rabble had sacked

the city in 1381-and Elizabeth guarded the sanctity of her order with the most scrupulous fidelity.

This, however, cannot mean that she did not think, that she did not know, about her parents. We must believe that the story of Anne Boleyn, and the other marital details of Henry's life, came very early to the precocious girl. So much we all know from our own observation.

Let us try to put ourselves in the place of Elizabeth when first she encountered this troubling thought. Save for some overwhelming, shocking scene of farewell (of which there is no record) it is probable that Elizabeth never recollected seeing her mother. She was, however, a practical little body who thought for herself, and had an independent way; when only six years of age she made a cambric shirt for her brother, and presented it to him as her offering upon his second birthday, while all the rest of the world overloaded him with gold, silver, and precious stones. No governess or servant suggested that a princess should give that sort of present. That was the original thought of a girl child.

At any rate, we cannot believe but that the girl very early made inquiries, and very embarrassing ones. And we may be sure that she probed the mystery to the bottom. How far we are from appreciating the awful shock to which she was subjected when she was told that her mother's head had been cut off! And then she learns that her father had ordered the execution! Whose imagination can comprehend what flew through the little girl's mind at such a blow? She is told that her father married the next day; and she notices that he never speaks of her mother, and that nobody else wanted to do so. Everybody she asked to tell her of Anne Boleyn seemed to lose the power of speech at the mention of her name; and then her father did not seem to care very much about her -the little Elizabeth-for it was only rarely that they met. For months at a stretch she was not allowed in the palace where he lived. At times she had been left even without sufficient clothing.

What sort of a man was her father? She would see if she could find out. There is always somebody not far distant in the guise of the candid, helpful friend to tell us the unkind truths, and we may feel certain that before very long after the