Queen Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen, Good Queen Bess, Gloriana, died on 24 March, 1603, in Richmod Palace, her favourite residence, just 6 months short of her 70th birthday. Her’s had been a glorious reign, the unwavering defender of the Protestant faith, the victor over the Armada, the shield of England; Elizabeth who had placed the safe-keeping of her country and her people before the pursuit of personal happiness. She had ruled England for 44 years and most people had never known another Monarch. Such was her lustre that to many people her death was unthinkable. It soon became evident to those who served her that death was unthinkable to Elizabeth herself.

The Virgin Gloriana, in her 40’s

 For years previous her friends and close advisors had been dying, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, her childhood friend and many believed her lover, had died in the year of the Armada, 1588. William Cecil, Lord Burghley, her long-time advisor, had died on 4 August, 1598. In 1601, she had been forced to execute her young suitor (she had always had a soft-spot for pretty young men) the Earl of Essex for treason. His remark before his rebellion that “her word was as crooked as her carcass”, had wounded her deeply. But it was the death of Catherine Howard, the Countess of Nottingham, on 24 February, 1603, that plunged her into a depression from which she would never recover.

Aware that her days were numbered she banned all talk of the Succession and refused to name or nominate a successor to her crown, although everyone knew it would have to be James VI of Scotland, the son of her cousin, rival, and nemesis, Mary, Queen of Scots, no one dared broach the subject.

The Golden Years of her reign had long-passed and people knew that it was not just Elizabeth who was dying but an era. A series of famines had hit England hard, the economy was ailing, and vagrancy and crime was on the increase. The gallows had never been so busy, and Elizabeth was losing her grip. The people would be sad to lose their Virgin Queen but they were desparate for change, and they waited with bated breath for her demise.

Elizabeth was ill, but she wouldn’t permit her physicians to examine her, she wouldn’t change her clothes, and she refused to retire to bed or to go to sleep. She would stand, mostly unaided, for hours on end in complete silence refusing to speak to anyone or to answer any questions. She would sometimes slump in a chair sullen and morose. Her ladies-in-waiting placed cushions upon the floor and she would sometimes lie down, but still she stubbornly refused to go to bed, or to go to sleep. She was lost in her thoughts but she hadn’t lost her mind, her attendants knew that she was aware of what was going on around her. It is intriguing to know what she was thinking in these final moments, but as in life she would not go quietly to her death that was for sure. If God wanted her He would have to take her. 

On the evening of 23 March, 1603, Elizabeth slumped into semi-consciousness. Now too weak to argue her attendants were able to put her to bed. Musicians were brought in to play soft music (she had always loved music) to ease her on her way, as Archbishop Whitgift said prayers at her bedside. She soon went into a deep sleep from which she never woke up. It was said that she died, “mildly like a lamb, like a ripe apple plucked from a tree.”

As Elizabeth breathed her last, her people breathed a sigh of relief. Her funeral was a grand affair conducted with great dignity. There were more than a thousand official mourners, and Londoners lined the streets to watch her funeral procession pass. She was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey. It could be said that she had reigned too long, but for all her foibles she had kept the peace, she had kept England safe, within 40 years of her death England would be plunged into a devastating civil war.