"The Queen," says Sir Rowland Whyte to Sir Robert Sidney, in 1600:
hath of late used the fair Miss Brydges (daughter of the Lord Chandos), with words and _blows_ of anger; and she with Miss Russell, were put out of the coffer-chamber, lying three nights at Lady Stafford's, before they could return to their wonted waiting.
And what was their offence? They had ventured to take medicine without leave; and had broken some rule of court etiquette by "going through the private galleries to see the lords and gentlemen play at the _ballon_." This was early in 1600. But shortly afterwards the queen, with one of her capricious changes of temper, made the full _amende_ for her words and blows of anger to poor Bess Russell, on the occasion of her sister Anne's marriage to Lord Herbert, son and heir to Edward, fourth Earl of Worcester. On June 9, 1600, Lady Russell went to court to fetch her daughter Anne away, "of whom the queen in public used as gracious speeches as she had been heard to indulge in of any." She sent her lords and maids in waiting to escort the bride and her mother to their house at Blackfriars. "All went in a troop away"--the court attendants filling eighteen coaches.
The marriage took place on June 16 at Blackfriars, and the queen honored the ceremony with her presence. The bride met the queen at the waterside, where Lord Cobham, who had offered Her Majesty the use of his house, had provided a "lectica made like half a litter, wherein she was carried by six knights to Lady Russell's house." The mere name Blackfriars now conjures up a vision of the smokiest and dirtiest parts of smoky, dirty, dearly-beloved London. A vision of grimy houses crowded together, and piled up story on story to utilize every inch of the space that is now so valuable--of tall factory chimneys; Powell's glass-works; bustling wharves; huge warehouses; of yelling railway trains, whistling and thundering over the great iron bridges that span the Thames; of penny steamboats; of heavy barges on the muddy river all defiled by the great city that presses down to its banks. St. Paul's dome, the grand old Tower of London, and the towers and spires of Sir Christopher Wren's "fifty new churches," pierce the smoke and the haze, and rise above the roofs of the busiest part of the city. The only trees to be seen are the planes on the embankment, along that waterside where the bride met the queen. Is this a fit place for a brilliant court to come to a gay wedding?