The ‘Female University’

Elizabeth Russell, née Cooke, was born around 1540 and raised in an unusual home. Her father, Sir Anthony Cooke, was tutor to the young Edward VI. Unlike many of his fellow educators, Cooke believed ‘that souls were equal, and that women are as capable of learning as men’. His five daughters therefore received an education fit for a king at their home, Gidea Hall in Essex.

When Elizabeth was ten, the Cambridge academic Walter Haddon visited the Cookes. He was astonished to find the girls reading philosophical and theological works in Latin, Greek and Hebrew with a fluency that would rival many a noted classical scholar. In between studies in ancient poetry and drama, translation and modern European languages, they learned how to play musical instruments. Seeing this, Haddon was moved to declare rapturously that he had entered a ‘little university’ in which ‘the studies of women were actually thriving’.

Although Elizabeth’s mother worried that such ‘vain study’ could only be ‘sown in barren, unfruitful ground’ – a concern soon to be laid aside when her daughters married – the Cooke girls’ progressive education made them renowned throughout Europe. Their accomplishments more than made up for their four brothers’ lack of notable achievements, and ensured that Gidea Hall would come to be known as the ‘female university’.

Something of Elizabeth’s fire and sharp intellect can be gleaned from a description by a contemporary poet, George Whetstone, who warned, ‘when she speaks the wisest silent stays’. But it was Haddon who was most prescient, in his comparison of Elizabeth to a warrior-woman who ‘marched in battle-gear’.

Keeper of Donnington

In the 16th century women were not permitted to be keepers of castles. As one early legal manual put it, ‘Keeper of a Castle in England is Knight’s service’ – and only men could be knights.

The role of keeper, or custodian, of a castle, as defined under feudal law, meant that person was required to make the stronghold and its weapons available for the defence of the realm in the event of war.

Elizabeth became intent on acquiring her own castle, and set her sights on the royal castle of Donnington, near Newbury in Berkshire, which stood not far from her country estate in Bisham. To achieve her aim, she began sending bribes to the queen: lavish gold-embroidered curtains of crimson taffeta for her bed; two hats, each set with a sparkling jewel; a pendant of translucent orient pearl; and sumptuous gowns and furs from the finest emporia. In total, Elizabeth had spent a staggering £500 on gifts, the equivalent of over £70,000 today. When this failed to have the desired effect, she dispatched purses stuffed full of cash, including a New Year’s gift of ‘fair gold’ worth £30.

After two years of bribery, cajoling and complaining, Elizabeth finally wore her royal namesake down. On 17 March 1590 she was awarded the keepership, which came with further influential offices normally reserved for men. These gave her significant administrative powers over the area and the right to collect rents from leaseholders on castle grounds. As warden and paymaster of the local almshouses, she was also respected as a charitable figure in Donnington.

Shakespeare’s Nemesis

Elizabeth Russell was just as fiercely territorial in London, where she maintained a mansion in the upmarket district of Blackfriars. In 1596 the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, the playing company to which William Shakespeare belonged, was facing a crisis. The lease for the land where the acting troupe’s main venue, the Theatre in Shoreditch, stood was about to expire. Facing an uncertain future, the impresario James Burbage, who had created the Theatre, sunk a fortune into a new venture: a playhouse in Blackfriars. It cost a colossal £1,000 to purchase and renovate the property.

Unfortunately for Burbage and the players, the theatre was just over 120 feet from Elizabeth’s doorstep. Neither she nor her neighbours had objected to a previous theatre nearby, which had operated under the guise of a ‘private’ rehearsal space for the queen’s choristers (even though the paying public had attended performances there). But when she discovered that a ‘common playhouse’ was about to open in her elegant neighbourhood she was furious.

Galvanising her local community into action, Elizabeth got up a petition against the opening of the Blackfriars Theatre. Among its 30 signatories were Richard Field, Shakespeare’s first publisher, and Sir George Carey, the playing company’s patron. Neither dared object to Elizabeth’s anti-theatrical uprising.

The petition was sent to the Privy Council, the Queen’s political advisers, of which Elizabeth’s Cecil kinfolk were prominent members. She was triumphant, and the players were forbidden from using the Blackfriars Theatre.

Elizabeth and her fellow signatories nearly bankrupted James Burbage, who died shortly after. To rescue the playing company his sons, Richard and Cuthbert, created the Globe Theatre on Bankside, making Shakespeare a part owner of the playhouse. Opening in 1599, the Globe would never have come into being had it not been for the machinations of Elizabeth Russell, which changed the course of Shakespeare’s career.

‘Let me have justice’

Elizabeth knew that to keep Donnington Castle she would need help from the highest authority in the land. But when she went to see the new king, James I, she did not get the reception she was expecting.

James encouraged her to seek the mediation of ‘some honourable personages’ – by which he meant men – to effect a reconciliation between her and the Lord Admiral. Elizabeth refused, as she so often had in her life, to be guided by any man. ‘Madam,’ the king responded, ‘is there none within the kingdom that you dare or will trust?’ To which she replied defiantly: ‘I beseech Your Majesty, let me have justice, and I will trust the law.’

The king urged her not take the matter to the courts. But Elizabeth ignored him and began a legal suit, during which the Earl of Northampton got more than he bargained for when, in support of the Earl of Nottingham, he accused her of not being a real dowager countess. Lunging at him, she pulled him by the cloak and physically assaulted him on the spot.

She then insisted on speaking in her own defence, without the mediation or permission of her legal counsel, despite women in this period rarely being permitted to represent themselves in court. A witness that day was shocked when ‘violently and with great audacity’ she began a long oration lasting more than half an hour and, despite protests and attempts to stop her, ‘would not by any means be stayed or interrupted’. Even her own legal team left the bar in protest.

The witness, with an equal mix of amusement and admiration, referred to her as having a ‘very great spirit and an undaunted courage’, which he found to be ‘more than womanlike’. The king, however, had little affection for the Dowager and threw his weight behind Nottingham’s suit.