London, March 1603. Elizabeth I refuses to go to bed. For several days she sat on a cushion in her room at Richmond Palace, silent and withdrawn, while her courtiers awaited the end. These are the final moments that can be understood not only as the failure of her body but also as the final expression of a life defined by the pursuit of control.
Elizabeth’s energy had always been central to her image, so her retreat marked a significant change. The Venetian envoy Scaramelli and the courtiers John Clapham and Robert Carey described her long absences from court, insomnia and refusal of food. Clapham noted that Elizabeth stayed awake for six days, intent on death.
I believe Elizabeth I’s refusal to go to bed before her death was a calculated final act, shaped by a lifetime of political maneuvering, emotional restraint, and pending reckoning.
Elizabeth’s childhood shaped her formative need for survival. Her mother, Anne Boleyn, was murdered by her father before Elizabeth was three years old, influenced by an elite education and emotional neglect in her childhood. It shows her directly the dangers of female proximity, intimacy, and marriage at court.
The ill-fated stepmother followed. Neglected and politically vulnerable, Elizabeth learned to watch carefully and speak carefully. Her position was precarious, and her survival depended more on the careful management of palace politics than on the anticipation of future rule.
As historian Helen Custer has argued, these skills became the core of her subsequent authority. In fact, her childhood friend and long-time favorite Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, later recalled that Elizabeth told him at the age of eight that she would never marry. It is an important memory of the man who was most closely associated with her adult emotional life.
After experiencing the reputational risks of a scandal involving her husband Thomas Seymour, Catherine Parr was imprisoned by her sister Mary I at the age of 15. She survived through strength of character and circumstances.
Elizabeth witnessed the reign of her sister Mary I, the first reigning Queen of England. She used the underestimation they faced in a political culture wary of female dominance to examine what worked and what didn’t, and quietly shaped her own approach to power.
Women rulers of this period operated in a political system not designed for them. Elizabeth evoked her motto “semper eadem” and ruled by tightly controlling her image.
She cultivated the image of a “virgin queen,” carefully managing her contacts and intimacy and using her courtship tactics strategically. Writing after her death, the philosopher and statesman Francis Bacon described Elizabeth as “her own mistress.”
Further crises, from would-be assassins to outbreaks of smallpox to the threat of the Spanish Armada, reinforced the claims to rule. Towards the end of her life, the costs of longevity began to show. Ordering the execution of her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots, in 1587 has long been considered a moment of enormous personal and political consequence.
We may never know whether Elizabeth’s supposedly last, innocent lament over her cousin’s death was an expression of genuine emotion or an act of political showmanship.
In a world where people believe in eternal judgment, this dying protest seems designed to convince herself and anyone who hears.
cost of rules
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Elizabeth’s treatment of other contenders for the throne and relatives reflects the fragility of dynastic security and the cruelty required to maintain it.
Elizabeth felt an unparalleled attachment to Dudley, but the political realities in which she found herself meant that this relationship could not be fully realized.
On the deathbed of her closest lifelong adviser, William Cecil, Elizabeth said she “did not want to live any longer than she had with him.” This aptly shows the extent of Elizabeth’s dependence on him.
For the rest of her life, her lady-in-waiting Elizabeth Southwell recalled that when Cecil’s son and heir Robert urged her to go to bed, the Queen replied: “Little man, little man, ‘must’ is not a word fit for a prince. Your father, had he lived, would not have dared to use such a word; but you know I must die.”
Elizabeth outlived those closest to her, including Dudley, whose death in 1588 was a great loss. In 1601 she ordered the execution of his stepson, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, for his treasonous rebellion. This behavior is said to have had a profound impact on her.
Essex is a vague echo of his stepfather and a stark reminder of his absence. The death of Catherine Carey, her loyal female relative and long-time lady-in-waiting, at the end of February 1603, marked Elizabeth’s final downturn. The Queen withdrew.
Elizabeth’s reign is often seen as a triumph of stability and strength. Her final days, however, hint at something more complex: a code built on the pursuit of control, sustained through sacrifice and marked by isolation. Her story resonates not only because of what she accomplished, but also because of the price she paid.
Carey’s husband, the Earl of Nottingham, is summoned and only he can convince Elizabeth to sleep with her. Three days later, she left. In her final moments, the performance is lost, and what remains is not the carefully managed image of Gloriana, but a woman faced with the absence of those she depends on and the cumulative weight of the choices that maintain her dominance.
Elizabeth’s refusal to go to bed can be read not only as a defiance of the inevitable but, at her most vulnerable, as a last-ditch attempt to maintain control. SKS
SKS
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