THE QUEEN'S MARRIAGE AND FRESH TROUBLES.
It is hardly necessary to mention that Mary--a Queen renowned throughout
Europe for her beauty and accomplishments--was a prize for which the
royal bachelors of the Continent eagerly grappled; and that in Scotland
she was a rock upon which hopeless victims of her charms made shipwreck
of their lives. Under the spell of those charms, a cool-brained
Scotsman, the young Earl of Arran, went mad; and (what perhaps, should
not surprise us so much), the hot-brained French poet, Chastellar, not
only went mad, but was precipitated into acts of indiscretion that
brought him to the scaffold. In the question of the Scottish Queen's
marriage, however, Elizabeth wished to have a controlling voice, and she
left the young Queen under the impression that, if she married the
person of Elizabeth's own choice, her right of succession to the throne
of England, in case the English Queen died without issue, would be
declared. Accordingly, Elizabeth began proposing Robert Dudley,
afterwards Earl of Leicester, as her choice of husband for the Queen of
Scots. Leicester was a man of extremely doubtful reputation, and most
likely would never be accepted by Mary, so long as she was free to
reject him. He was the recognized favourite of Elizabeth, as well--a
fact that makes it hard to understand why she put him forward in this
connection. But, all the circumstances considered, it seems most likely
that Elizabeth never expected Mary to marry Leicester. Indeed, she
would rather see Mary remain unmarried; but William Maitland, the
Scottish Queen's able Secretary, had been urging on Cecil the necessity
of settling differences between the two Queens, and of recognizing the
Scottish right of succession. Cecil made fair or evasive promises. In
the meantime Elizabeth and he played the Leicester farce, to kill time,
and probably in the hope that Mary, with her Stewart impulsiveness,
would make some sarcastic remark on Elizabeth's policy, or that some
other event would transpire upon which they might seize, as a plea for
discontinuing negotiations, and as a screen behind which to develop
their long-settled design for the overthrow of the northern Queen. But
Mary became tired of Elizabeth's and Cecil's policy of evasion and
delay, and feeling that it would be unbecoming her dignity as an
independent sovereign, to allow herself to be played with and deceived,
she resolved to break away from their snares and to marry where she
would. She escaped Scylla only to be caught in Charybdis.
At the court of Elizabeth was an accomplished young lord of eighteen
years, connected by blood with both the royal houses of Stewart and
Tudor, whose father, although a Scottish Earl, had resided twenty years
in England. This youth was Henry Stewart--Lord Darnley. The question
of a marriage with Darnley had already been represented to Mary by his
friends, and now she decided to entertain it. In May, 1655, after some
opposition, especially on the part of Moray, Parliament gave its
unanimous consent to the projected marriage, which was consequently
celebrated on July 29th, and a new era opened in the life of Mary
Stewart.
Immediately after the marriage, the royal pair were called upon to take
the field against insurgent nobles. Moray, although he had given his
consent to the proposed marriage, had subsequently declared against it,
and had raised an insurrection in the country. He feared, so at least
he professed, that the Queen's union with a "Papist" threatened the
well-being of the "reformed" religion in Scotland. But whoever is
versed in the Earl's history can discover another motive for his
opposition, namely, his well-founded fear that Mary's marriage and the
return of the Lennox Stewarts to Scotland would forever shut himself out
from the throne. However, the marriage was completed and the insurgent
lords summoned to appear at court, under pain of being considered
rebels. They heeded not the summons, but prepared for war. With the
assured support of Elizabeth, who likewise was offended, or pretended to
be offended, at the Darnley marriage, what had they to fear? This was a
critical moment for Mary. Would she try to coax the rebels into
friendship by promises of pardon, and to conciliate Elizabeth by humble
apologies for whatever in the late transaction might have offended her
English cousin, or would she take up the gauntlet that had been thrown
down, and risk the consequences of an armed encounter with the rebels?
Her Secretary, Sir William Maitland, saw the danger that threatened his
mistress and, in his correspondence with Cecil, strove to secure an
adjustment of difficulties, by a reasonable and peaceful policy,
notwithstanding the Darnley marriage. But Elizabeth and Cecil would not
lose the favourable opportunity; they abandoned their attitude of
obstruction and delay, and assumed one of aggression and command.
Maitland could do no more. But there is a force which diplomacy cannot
measure, and which cannot be applied through the ordinary medium of
governmental machinery. Such is the force of a brave, resolute and
inspiring character. Mary appealed to the loyalty of her people, and in
a few days thousands of brave men were arrayed under her standard. The
rebels, in spite of their attempts to raise the populace on their side,
were never strong enough to venture an engagement with the Queen's
forces; and after a few weeks they were seeking refuge where Scottish
rebels of that period always found themselves secure--across the English
border. The uprising served as a test of the popular feeling, and the
test proved that the nation was devoted to Mary.
In an historical question like this, on which so much divergence of
opinion has existed, one must be careful not lightly to dogmatize.
This, however, may be said, that it is not easy to read the
correspondence of that period between the English agents in Scotland and
Berwick and the Secretary of State's office in London, without being
driven to conclude that the subsequent rebellious movements that
afflicted Scotland were directed largely from Westminster and aimed at
the ultimate overthrow of Mary Queen of Scots.
The rebel nobles had suffered an inglorious defeat. Elizabeth, although
she had encouraged them, now, with her habitual duplicity, to clear
herself in the eyes of foreign princes, spurned them from her presence
as traitors to their lawful Queen. Indeed, it requires more than
ordinary mental insight to understand how Moray, if he was the
conscientious and high-minded worthy that many of his friends claim him
to have been--that "_vir pietate gravis_" of Buchanan--could have acted
the part he did in that "scene of farce and falsehood" which Elizabeth
contrived for her own justification. When he and the secularized Abbot
of Kilwinning, as representatives of the discomfited rebels, approached
their English patroness for consolation, she refused to give them
audience, until they consented to make a solemn declaration in the
presence of the French and Spanish Ambassadors, that she had given them
no encouragement in their rebellion. When the humiliated Scotsmen
finished their part, Elizabeth immediately added: "The treason of which
you have been guilty is detestable; and as traitors, I banish you from
my presence."
What was next to be done? Having given such great cause for displeasure
to their Queen, the rebel nobles might well fear that the grants of
property which many of them had received from her childlike lavishness,
would be revoked at the first opportunity. It was necessary, therefore,
that something should be done to prevent any measure of this kind and to
cripple the power of the Queen. What means could be employed to this
end?
Darnley, at the time of his marriage, was handsome and accomplished, but
Cardinal Beaton, Mary's Ambassador at Paris, warned her, unfortunately
all too late, against the match, saying that he was a "quarrelsome
coxcomb." The truth of the remark was verified shortly after, when the
boyish follies and profligate habits of the young King began to reveal
themselves. Instead of being a comfort and support to his consort, who
scarcely knew where to turn for trustworthy advice, and who had known
nothing but suffering since she landed in the realm, Darnley only added
fresh trials to her life. He looked for position that she could not
grant him; he looked for authority that he had not judgment to exercise,
and he became wrathy and troublesome when refused. Besides, he
contracted the habit of drunkenness, and associated with low companions.
Here, then, was a tool whom the cunning conspirators could use to work
out their design.
There was in Mary's service, as Secretary, an Italian named David
Rizzio, a man fairly well advanced in years, rather unprepossessing in
appearance, but, according to the testimony of those who knew him well,
very clever in business affairs, and of inflexible fidelity. Rizzio had
so far been the faithful friend of Darnley; but the conspirators
represented to the young King that the Italian had too much influence
with the Queen, and was instrumental in withholding from him the
authority he desired. Finally, the traitors in Scotland and the rebel
lords sojourning in England, working on Darnley's ambition, entered into
a league with him and signed a bond--Moray, the "_vir pietate gravis_"
among the rest--by which they pledged themselves to give him the crown
matrimonial, to advance his cause, to be friends of his friends and
enemies of his enemies; Darnley in return promised the recall of the
rebels and the security of their estates. Provisions to justify their
rebellious enterprise were made in the alleged undue influence of Rizzio
with the Queen, and the helpless foreigner was marked for death. A more
shameful contract would be difficult to imagine. A few months earlier
these men had taken up arms against their Queen, because she had decided
on a marriage which (they said) was inimical to the interests of
religion, and now they are signing a contract to subvert her authority
and promote to unexpected power that self-same Darnley whose advancement
they had risen in arms to prevent. Of course, nobody versed in the
history of the movement believes that they intended to redeem their
pledge. They had need of Darnley until the Queen should be disposed of.
After that the mad youth could be easily cast aside, and the way to the
throne would be clear for Moray. In defence of these nobles it may be
answered, that they were acting in the interest of religion, which they
were persuaded would be in danger as long as a Catholic monarch occupied
the throne. I admit the interests of religion are preferable to the
interests of a dynasty, and, if one must be sacrificed, it should be the
dynasty. So far we might put ourselves in the place of the conspirators
and frame a defence of their conduct. But unless we likewise admit that
the end justifies the means we cannot deny the baseness and villany of
this plot.
The work proceeds. Moray is notified to be within convenient distance
of Edinburgh. On March 9th, 1566, about seven o'clock in the evening,
while Mary is at supper with a few attendants and Rizzio, a door opening
into a private stairway leading from Darnley's apartments to the
Queen's, opens, and Darnley enters in an apparently friendly mood. The
meaning of this unexpected entrance soon becomes evident. The
evil-boding figure of Lord Ruthven, in full armour, appears in the door,
his face haggard and his eyes sunken, for he has risen from a bed of
sickness to direct the work of blood. A number of associates follow
him. Rizzio, understanding their purpose, flees for protection behind
the Queen, and cries out for justice. The Queen attempts to protect her
faithful servant, but is rudely thrust aside, and the defenceless
Secretary, being dragged, wounded and bleeding, to the door, is
dispatched with fifty-six stabs. "Ah, poor Davit" (says Mary as she
hears the dying Rizzio's groans)--"ah, poor Davit, my good and faithful
servant; may the Lord have mercy on your soul!"
Three months after this tragedy James VI. was born. Considering the
time and place chosen for the murder, we have good reason to suspect
that harm was intended to the Queen herself, and to the future heir to
the throne, as well as to Rizzio. Add to this the remarks dropped by a
certain confidant of the conspirators, and suspicion gives place to
conviction. Randolph, the English Ambassador, writing nearly a month
before to Leicester, referred to the plot, and said that if it should
take place "David shall have his throat cut within these ten days. Many
things," he adds, "grievouser and worse than these are brought to my
ears, yea, of things intended against her own person, which, because I
think better to keep secret than to write to Mr. Secretary (Cecil), I
speak of them but now to Your Lordship."
Mary was kept closely guarded, and Darnley himself, observing the
movements of the traitors, began to fear for his own safety.
Darnley could be led by ambition into a rash act, but he had not reached
that depth of wickedness in which the heart becomes callous to the
feelings of humanity.
Stricken partly by remorse for his unfaithful and ungrateful conduct to
his wife, and partly by fear of his threatened ruin, in the gray of the
morning succeeding the night of murder, while all was still in Holyrood,
the wretched and repentant youth stole quietly up to the Queen's
chamber, and, throwing himself on his knees before her, said: "Ah, my
Mary, I am bound to confess at this time, though now it is too late,
that I have failed in my duty towards you. The only atonement which I
can make for this, is to acknowledge my fault and sue for pardon, by
pleading my youth and great indiscretion. I have been most miserably
deluded and deceived by the persuasions of these wicked traitors, who
have led me to confirm and support all their plots against you, myself,
and all our family. I see it all now, and I see clearly that they aim
at our ruin. I take God to witness that I never could have thought, nor
expected, that they would have gone to such lengths. I confess that
ambition has blinded me. But since the grace of God has stopped me from
going further, and has led me to repent before it is too late, as I
hope, I ask you, my Mary, to have pity on me, have pity on our child,
have pity on yourself. Unless you take some means to prevent it, we are
all ruined, and that speedily."
This report of Darnley's prayer for pardon is taken from a fragmentary
sketch of Mary's life, written most probably by Claude Nau, her
Secretary during the most part of her imprisonment in England, who,
during the long hours of conversation with his captive mistress, had
special opportunities of hearing her own account of that painful ordeal
through which she had passed. It is all the more interesting,
therefore, to note the answer that Nau attributes to the Queen. "The
Queen," he continues, "still troubled with the agitation and weakness
arising from the emotions of the previous night, answered him frankly,
for she had never been trained to dissemble, nor was it her custom to do
so: 'Sire,' she said, 'within the last twenty-four hours you have done
me such a wrong that neither the recollection of our early friendship,
nor all the hopes you can give me of the future, can ever make me forget
it. As I do not wish to hide from you the impression which it has made
on me, I may tell you that I think you will never be able to undo what
you have done. You have committed a very grave error. What did you
hope to possess in safety without me? You are aware that, contrary to
the advice of those very persons whom you now court, I have made earnest
suit to obtain for you of them the very thing which you think you can
obtain through their means and wicked devices. I have been more careful
about your elevation than you yourself have been. Have I ever refused
you anything that was reasonable, and which was for your advantage, by
placing you above those persons who to-day are trying to get both you
and me into their power, that they may tread us under their feet?
Examine your conscience, Sire, and see the blot of ingratitude with
which you have stained it. You say you are sorry for what you have
done, and this gives me some comfort; yet I cannot but think that you
are driven to it rather by necessity than led by any sentiment of true
and sincere affection. Had I offended you as deeply as can be imagined,
you could not have discovered how to avenge yourself on me with greater
disgrace and cruelty. I thank God that neither you nor anyone in the
world can charge me with ever having done or said aught justly to
displease you, were it not for your own personal good. Your life is
dear to me, and God and my duty oblige me to be as careful of it as of
my own. But since you have placed us both on the brink of the precipice,
you must now deliberate how we shall escape the peril.'"
Such we can well believe to have been the feeling words of the outraged
wife and queen. She had been humiliated by her husband in the eyes of
the nation and of the world; and the ingratitude of him to whom she had
been so devoted had inflicted on her heart a wound that she feared time
could never heal. The bonds of love, which had been severed in spite of
her and could not be reunited by an act of her will, no longer bound her
to him, but "God and her duty" did, and his life would still be dear to
her.
A plan of escape was arranged, and Darnley, acting with more coolness
and shrewdness than was his wont, had the guards removed from the royal
apartments, and, two nights later, he and Mary, accompanied by a few
faithful attendants, having stealthily escaped from the palace by a back
way, mounted their horses and hurried off to Dunbar.
Once more free to appeal to the loyalty of her people, the Queen had
nothing to fear. The traitor lords, outwitted and alarmed, dispersed
and fled, some--especially those most prominent in the execution of the
murder--betaking themselves across the border, and others withdrawing to
retreats in the country. Mary was now in a position in which, had she
been of a vindictive nature, she could have taken complete revenge on
her enemies. But her habitual clemency prevailed, and her ear was soon
again open to the prayers for pardon that reached her from the
conspirators.
Her generous conduct could not fail to win hearts even among her former
foes, and when, three months afterwards, James VI. was born in Edinburgh
Castle, hearty demonstrations of joy marked the event throughout the
whole realm. "I never," wrote the French Ambassador, Le Croc, to
Cardinal Beaton, "saw Her Majesty so much beloved, honoured and
esteemed, nor so great a harmony among all her subjects as at present is
by her wise conduct; for I cannot perceive the smallest difference or
division."
But the seeds of dissension were still alive. A new Cabinet had been
formed in which hitherto discordant elements were mechanically united.
Atholl, Huntly and Bothwell held prominent places; and Moray, who, by a
plausible story, had exonerated himself from responsibility in the
Rizzio murder, was taken into confidence. Maitland was afterwards
admitted to his former post of Secretary. Darnley was furious against
Moray and Maitland; against Bothwell he had no complaint, a circumstance
worth noting. He was displeased with Mary because she allowed herself
to be influenced by Moray and Maitland, whom he believed to be traitors.
There may, perhaps, be some justification for the unfortunate Darnley's
conduct at this juncture. It is possible that his brief complicity with
the late conspirators had taught him a lesson which Mary, who was
clement and forgiving almost to a fault, had yet to learn, namely, the
deep treachery of some in whom she was putting her trust. Be this as it
may, Darnley soon began to reap the bitter fruits of his mad crime. The
nobles that he had left in the lurch cordially hated him; the Queen,
whom he had so grievously betrayed, while she did what she could to
please and pacify him, could not entrust him with the power he desired.
He became the source of keen and uninterrupted grief to Mary, which
added to her partial loss of health since the birth of her son, and the
political dangers that threatened her independence, made her wish for
death. She was brought to the point of death by an illness with which
she was stricken during a visit to the remote border hamlet of Jedburgh,
in October, 1566, but recovered to drag on her weary life. Her health
and spirits, however, seem to have been considerably broken. "The Queen
breaketh much," wrote Drury, "and is subject to frequent fainting fits."
Melville, her close acquaintance, says, "she was somewhat sad when
solitary." The French Ambassador gives his opinion as to the cause of
her troubles: "I do believe the principal part of her disease to consist
of a deep grief and sorrow, nor does it seem possible to make her forget
the same. Still she repeats these words: 'I could wish to be dead.'"
The touch of care had blanched her cheek, her smile was sadder
now;
The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on her brow.