Elizabeth was fond of multiplying pictures of herself, and so far encouraged painting. One of her most characteristic ordinances is a proclamation forbidding all manner of persons from drawing, painting, graving, &c., her majesty's person and visage, till some perfect pattern should be prepared by a skilful limner, "for the consolation of her majesty's loving subjects, who were grieved, and took great offence, at the errors and deformities committed by sundry persons in this respect." She was so little capable of judging of works of art, that she would not allow a painter to put any shadows upon the face, "because," as she said, "shade is an accident, and not in nature."
During her whole reign, Elizabeth was subjected to the influence of favorites. The most celebrated of these are the Earls of Leicester and of Essex. The first was a most weak and worthless man, contemned and feared by the nobles, and odious to the people; yet, in spite of all his vices and incapacity, he maintained his influence for nearly thirty years. Her partiality for Essex seems to have been the dotage of a vain old woman. She could not appreciate his fine qualities; she would not make allowance for his faults; and he was too frank and spirited to cringe at her footstool. "I owe her majesty," said he upon an occasion when she had repaid some want of obsequiousness by a blow, "the duty of an earl, but I will never serve her as a villain and a slave!" Essex was too rash and unsuspecting to be a match for the cool and wily ministers, whose interest it was to have him out of their way, not only as the favorite of the present sovereign, but as likely to be all powerful with her successor; and partly by their arts, and partly by his own fiery temper, he was brought to the block in the thirty-fourth year of his age. In the exasperation of offended power and jealous self-will, the queen signed the warrant for his execution, and pined away the remainder of her life in unavailing remorse. This grief, with which she long struggled in secret, at length broke forth superior to control. The occasion was as follows:--
The Countess of Nottingham, a near relation, but no friend, of Essex, being on her death-bed, entreated to see the queen, declaring that she had something to confess to her before she could die in peace. On her majesty's arrival, the countess produced a ring, which she said the Earl of Essex had sent to her, after his condemnation, with an earnest request that she would deliver it to the queen, as a token by which he implored her mercy; but that, in obedience to her husband, she withheld it. Elizabeth at once recognized the ring as one which she had herself presented to her favorite, with the tender promise, that of whatsoever crimes his enemies might have accused him, or whatever offences he might actually have committed against her, on his returning to her that pledge, she would either pardon him, or admit him, at least, to justify himself in her presence. It was in a moment of pique at his supposed pride and obstinacy in refusing to ask her forgiveness, that she had signed the death-warrant. She now learned that he had been the victim, and herself the dupe, of the most barbarous treachery. Transported with grief and rage, she shook the dying countess in her bed; and, vehemently exclaiming, "God may forgive, but I never will," she flung herself out of the chamber.