seriously, and to mention the smallest at least by way of jest.'

You see by this that he was not at all insensible to sex attraction, and that there was that about the Irish ladies which specially charmed him. But he never forgot his work, he never lost his head, and his sense of humour helped to keep the balance between the big things and the little. One can well imagine his writing to Penelope, in after times, descriptions of his "entertainment" by Irish women, and all the comedy and tragedy of the weary days before he reaped the success for which Essex toiled in vain.

For a moment we must leave the "faithful Charles " and see how Essex plunged into the Irish bog of his final disaster by the conclusion of the hasty truce of September, 1599, with the rebel Earl of Tyrone.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GARBOIL

THIS "HIS word "garboil"1 is a proper old-English noun. One meets it often in Elizabethan literature. It is used in Arber's Garner in connection with a seething crowd penned into a church a-fire. To me it fully embraces the whole uproar, the panic, the whirlpool into which Essex, the populace, the Court, and his own family were flung by his actions and his fate.

Directly after the six weeks truce with Tyrone was signed he went to a quiet part of Ireland "to take physic" and recruit after the strain of a hard campaign, which had only resulted in indefiniteness. Little did he know what censure was in store for him. The Queen sent him a long letter of disapproval while still unaware that he had actually concluded the treaty. She criticised the whole conduct of his negociations and showed mistrust in every line. It is small wonder that her Lord Lieutenant lost his nerve. His sense of proportion was already sapped by the hourly knowledge of the schemes, at home, of those who hated him. In vain was it for Antonio Perez to conjure him to "be constant, and conquer your enemies." To be constant in this crisis meant to stay in Ireland, watch Tyrone like a cat, keep guard and wait, withdraw from active hostility only to pounce the better on the rebels, and drive the

1 From the French garbouille, a commotion, confusion, mental or physical.

campaign to an end through thick and thin directly the truce ended. This he was not wise enough to do. Instead, he hurried to England, upset by the Queen's disapproval, exaggerating the power of his enemies at Court, trusting foolishly to Tyrone's word of honour. Rowland White's description of his arrival at Nonsuch Palace, where the Queen was at the time, on Michaelmas Eve, has often been quoted. Travel-stained, breathless, after posting day and night from the coast of Wales, he burst into the Queen's presence :

On Michaelmas-Eve, about ten o'clock in the morning, my Lord of Essex lighted at the Court gate in post and made all haste up to the presence, and so to the privy chamber, and staid not till he came to the Queen's bed-chamber, where he found the Queen newly up, the hair about her face; he kneeled unto her, kissed her hands, and had some private speech with her; which gave him great contentment. . . . Tis much wondered at here that he went so boldly to Her Majesty's presence, she not being ready, and he so full of dirt and mire that his very face was full of it."1

How different a guise from that in which he danced with his Queen at the "Twelfth Day" entertainment before the Irish journey!

The Queen's favour was but a flash of light between storm and clouds. The augury of his departure was coming true. Inside a few days the Court was divided into two parties. On his side were his old associates, including Mountjoy, and Rutland, and Mr. Comptroller -his uncle Knollys. Even the sluggish Robert Rich openly sided with him still, and was not afraid to dine at his brother-in-law's table. Against Essex were many puissant peers and lords, entertained by Burghley's suc1 Sidney Memoirs.

cessor whom Essex deemed his sworn foe. By October Ist the Queen had formally handed him over to the Lord Keeper, and he was installed at York House, closely watched, isolated from kin and friends. It seemed at first as if this were only a temporary affair. The Queen, it seemed, looked upon him as a rather unusually naughty boy who must be kept rather longer than usual in the corner. Meanwhile his wife, who about this time gave birth to a daughter, was under her mother's care at Walsingham House, while the Southamptons and Lord and Lady Rich were housed at Essex House, which was kept open "for the family," as Rowland White explains. It was even necessary for Lady Walsingham to entreat the Queen's leave that Essex might write to his agonised and anxious wife on her sick-bed. At the beginning of October White has this entry:

"The ladies Southampton and Rich were at Essex House, but are gone to the country to shun the company that daily were wont to visit them in town, because it gave offence to the Court. His very servants are afraid to meet in any place to make merry, lest it might be ill taken. . . . At the Court my Lady Scrope is only noted to stand firm to him, for she endures much at Her Majesty's hands, because she doth daily do all the kind offices of love to the Queen in his behalf. She wears all black; she mourns and is pensive and joys in nothing but in a solitary being alone. And 'tis thought she says much that few would venture to say but herself. What the Queen will determine with him is not known, but I see little hope of any sudden liberty. My Lord Southampton and Lord Rutland came not to the Court; the one doth but very seldom; they pass the time in London merely in going to plays every day."

Matters were not improved by a conjugal quarrel between Penelope's sister, Dorothy, and her lord:

"There was a muttering of unkindness between the Earl and Countess of Northumberland, on which they were parted; she came late last night to Essex House."

And across it drifts pathetically the baptism of the newly born:

"My Lady Essex's daughter was christened by the Earl of Southampton, the Lady Cumberland, and Lady Rutland, without much ceremony."

It was at this period of the increasing "garboil" that the Queen decided to appoint Lord Mountjoy to the Lord Deputyship of Ireland. He hung back: "The Lord Mountjoy going into Ireland grows colder every day." Small wonder! No one could have coveted that post, least of all the friend of Essex. Anon, Penelope, working on her brother's behalf, returned to London. His wife might not go to him, but leave was granted to both his sisters "to come to Court and be suitors for him."

Again the Queen insisted upon Mountjoy's acceptance of the Irish responsibility:

"The Voice continues still that my Lord Mountjoy shall go to Ireland; but he, as men say, will find means to stay and lay it on some other."

It was well for him that he was practically forced in the end to yield and go. It saved his head and his reputation, as events will reveal. He had everything to keep him at home, apart from his love of Penelope. Essex put the utmost reliance on him, and when formally committed to confinement placed all his affairs in his hands and those of Southampton.