THE QUEEN OF SCOTS DETAINED A PRISONER.
Mary's cause, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, was now hopeless,
although the unfortunate Queen was not given to understand as much. She
was removed from Carlisle, which was too near her English friends and
her faithful Scottish Borderers. The danger of leaving her at Carlisle
is thus hinted by Mr. Skelton, where he describes the effect she
produced on Sir Francis Knollys:--
"When she first flashed upon him in her dishevelled beauty and strong
anger--travel-stained though she was from her long ride after the
Langside panic--the puritanic veteran warmed into unpremeditated
welcome. When we read the remarkable letters in which he describes the
fugitive Queen, we cease to wonder at the disquietude of Elizabeth; a
glance, a smile, a few cordial words, from such a woman might have set
all the northern counties in a blaze. The cold and canny Scot, whose
metaphysical and theological ardour contrast so curiously with his
frugal common sense, could stolidly resist the charm; but the Catholic
nobles, the Border chivalry, would have responded without a day's delay
to her summons."
It will not be amiss to give, as recorded from time to time in his own
words, the impression which the fugitive and impassioned Queen made on
Sir Francis during the short time she was under his care.
"We found her," he writes, "in her chamber of presence ready to receive
us, when we declared unto her Your Highness' (Queen Elizabeth's)
sorrowfulness for her lamentable misadventure. We found her in answer
to have an eloquent tongue and a discreet head; and it seemeth by her
doings she hath stout courage and liberal heart adjoining thereto."
Later: "This lady and princess is a notable woman. She seemeth to
regard no ceremonious honour besides the acknowledgment of her estate
royal. She showeth a disposition to speak much, to be bold, to be
pleasant, to be very familiar. She showeth a great desire to be
revenged of her enemies. She shows a readiness to expose herself to all
perils in hope of victory. She desires much to hear of hardiness and
valiancy, commending by name all approved hardy men of her country,
although they be her enemies; and she concealeth no cowardice even in
her friends. The thing she most thirsteth after is victory; and it
seemeth to be indifferent to her to have her enemies diminished either
by the sword of her friends, or by the liberal promises and rewards of
her purse, or by division and quarrels among themselves. So that for
victory's sake, pain and peril seem pleasant to her; and in respect of
victory, wealth and all things seem to her contemptuous and vile. Now
what is to be done with such a lady and princess, and whether such a
lady and princess is to be nourished in our bosom, or whether it be good
to halt and dissemble with such a lady, I refer to your judgment. The
plainest way is the most honorable in my opinion." Yes; "the plainest
way is the most honourable," but "to halt and dissemble" was esteemed
the most profitable. Again Knollys writes: "She does not dislike my
plain dealing. Surely she is a rare woman; for as no flattery can
lightly abuse her, so no plain speech seemeth to offend her, if she
think the speaker thereof to be an honest man." If we knew nothing of
Mary but what we have learned from the pen of this cold and critical
adversary, who saw her only when misfortune and disappointment might
well have soured and irritated her nature, yet found her "eloquent,
discreet, bold, pleasant, very familiar," unmoved by flattery and
unruffled by "plain speech," we could legitimately infer that
fascinating beyond all ordinary measure must have been the days of her
unclouded girlhood in France, and even the less cheerful years of her
prosperity in Holyrood;[#] and we could well understand why
Elizabeth--who hated her for her claim to the English throne and for her
surpassing personal beauty--was anxious to place her as far as possible
beyond reach of her friends and sympathizers. The necessity of doing
this was emphasized nearly a year later, when Mary was at Tutbury in
charge of the Earl of Shrewsbury, by a certain friend of Cecil's named
Nicholas White, whose curiosity had lead him to seek an audience with
the far-famed captive. In a letter to Cecil, which, as its
parenthetical clauses clearly demonstrate, was intended also for the eye
of Elizabeth, he wrote:--
[#] Randolph, the English Ambassador to Scotland, has left us, in a
letter to Queen Elizabeth, a lively picture of the Scottish queen at the
age of twenty-two. He had waited on her at St. Andrews, whither she had
withdrawn to pass a few quiet days with some friends, and he describes
how good-humouredly she upbraided him for interrupting their merriment
with his "grave matters." Among other things he wrote:--"Immediately
after the receipt of your letter to this Queen, I repaired to St.
Andrews. So soon as time served, I did present the same, which being
read, and as appeared in her countenance very well liked, she said
little to me for that time. The next day she passed wholly in mirth,
nor gave any appearance to any of the contrary; nor would not, as she
said openly, but be quiet and merry. Her grace lodged in a merchant's
house, her train were very few; and there was small repair from any
part. Her will was, that for the time that I did tarry, I should dine
and sup with her. Your Majesty was aftertimes dranken unto by her, at
dinners and suppers. Having in this sort continued with her grace
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, I thought it time to take occasion to utter
unto her grace that which last I received in command from your Majesty,
by Mr. Secretary's letter.... I had no sooner spoken these words, but
she saith, I see now well that you are weary of this company and
treatment. I sent for you to be merry, and to see how like a Bourgeois
wife I live with my little troop; and you will interrupt our pastime
with your great and grave matters. I pray you, sir, if you weary here,
return home to Edinburgh, and keep your gravity and great embassade
until the Queen come thither; for I assure you, you shall not get her
here, nor I know not myself where she is gone; you see neither cloth nor
estate, nor such appearance that you may think that there is a queen
here; nor I would not that you should think that I am she, at St.
Andrews, that I was at Edinburgh."
"If I (who in the sight God bear the Queen's majesty a natural love
beside my bounded duty) might give advice, there should be very few
subjects in this land have access to, or conference with, this lady.
For besides that she is a goodly personage (and yet in truth not
comparable to our Sovereign), she hath withal an alluring grace, a
pretty Scottish speech, and a searching wit, clouded with mildness." We
are indebted to Mr. White for the following piece of information also:
"Her hair of itself is black; and yet Mr. Knollys told me that she wears
hair of sundry colours."
From this time forward Mary's history is the history of sustaining hope
and depressing disappointment. Hopes of an accommodation with her rebel
subjects were held out to her by Elizabeth; non-committal promises of
her restoration were made; kill-time negotiations were sometimes entered
into. It is distressing to read the history of her nineteen years of
imprisonment. She never ceased to hope for her release, and yet her
hopes were repeatedly disappointed. She continued to write Elizabeth in
a friendly tone, hoping, no doubt, to touch a chord of sympathy in her
cousin's heart; but she never cringed, she never abased herself. The
proud spirit of her forefathers, which she had so fully inherited, lent
courage and dignity to her utterances. Various plans were laid for her
rescue; but her great distance from any point from which she could be
carried out of the realm, rendered them ineffectual. She was removed
from place to place, more than a dozen times. The close confinement and
the advance of years began to tell on her once lithe and beautiful form.
And, indeed, what suffering could be more terrible to a young woman of
Mary's lively temperament, than prolonged confinement under a rigorous
regime and complete separation from the society of friends. No wonder
the Bard of Ayr indignantly addresses Elizabeth:--
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee,
Nor the balm that draps on wound of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
If Mary continued to languish in an English prison, it was not because
the majority of the Scottish people had not the good-will to liberate
her and place her on the throne. But now, as in the days of her
imprisonment in Lochleven Castle, the very love they bore her paralyzed
their efforts in her behalf. A miscarried attempt at rescuing her would
most probably involve the loss of her life. Elizabeth had received
assurance that Mary would never be allowed to pass the precincts of her
prison alive. The most distinguished and powerful nobles in
Scotland--Argyll, Huntly, Chatelheraut, Athol, Herries, and many
others--continued to support her cause, and there is hardly room to
doubt, that if Scotland had been left to settle its own internal
disputes, Mary would have been restored. But Elizabeth was resolved
that Scotland should not settle its own disputes. She laid aside the
mask, when she could no longer wear it, and, according as the need
arose, sent her soldiers into Scotland to help overpower the friends of
Mary. From the day on which Moray returned to Scotland from the
Westminster farce, the Queen's party began to gain strength. But what
could this avail, since Elizabeth was determined that the cause of the
helpless captive should not prosper. The Regent was shot at Linlithgow
in January, 1570, and the Earl of Lennox, who succeeded him in the
Regency, gave notice to the Ambassador of Elizabeth that English aid
would be necessary for the maintenance of his position. The aid, of
course, was granted, and the English auxiliaries, under Sussex, by the
severity which they exercised against the adherents of the Queen, fully
demonstrated their claim to the title of "auld enemies." Mary's party
had done enough to prove their loyalty, but when Elizabeth unreservedly
cast her lot with the opposite side, they could not hope for permanent
success, and they ultimately came to terms with the Regent.
The disgust which Moray's conduct towards his sister had excited among
the moderate Scottish nobles is apparent in the action of two leading
personages, shortly after the breaking up of the Westminster Conference.
William Maitland of Lethington--the "flower of Scottish wit"--and
William Kirkaldy of Grange--the "mirror of chivalry"--had been attached
to the Regent's party, although it is certain that at least Maitland
aimed at a compromise with the Queen and opposed extreme measures.
Seeing that a middle course was no longer possible, they unequivocally
went over to the Queen's party. Kirkaldy was Governor of Edinburgh
Castle, and in April, 1571, Maitland, broken down in body, but mentally
the recognized leader of the Queen's men, passed within its walls. From
this inacessible height Kirkaldy could look down with indifference on
the futile efforts of the Regent's forces to dislodge him, and Maitland
could send forth to his associates his letters of advice and
encouragement. Throughout the country the opposing forces met in many a
bloody conflict. Lennox was killed in an engagement with Huntly in
1571; the Earl of Mar, who succeeded him, died the following year, and
the Regency passed into the hands of the fierce and licentious Earl of
Morton. Morton renewed the conflict with redoubled vigour. But
Kirkaldy's position remained impregnable. "Mons. Meg," the old monster
gun, so famous in Scottish history, continued to roar defiance from the
ramparts of the Castle, and the Standard of Mary still floated over
David's tower. But the old story was repeated; English troops were sent
from Berwick to reinforce Morton; and on May the 9th, 1573, the Castle
surrendered.
In England the sympathy for the fallen Queen had already burst forth in
sudden but ill-directed revolt, under the leadership of two of the most
ancient and powerful peers of the realm,--the Earls of Northumberland
and Westmorland. Slight success at the outset was soon succeeded by
disorder and disaster. The Earls fled to Scotland, whence Westmorland
passed safely to Flanders. Northumberland was taken by the Regent
Moray, and was afterwards, to the great disgust and humiliation of all
honest Scotsmen, handed over to Elizabeth by the Regent Morton, in
return for a suitable sum of money. Needless to say the Earl was put to
death. Sir Walter Scott, always ready to view transaction from the
standpoint of chivalry, makes the following reference to this bargain:--
"The surrender of this unfortunate nobleman to England was a great
stain, not only on the character of Morton, but on that of Scotland in
general, which had hitherto been accounted a safe and hospitable place
of refuge for those whom misfortune or political faction had exiled from
their own country. It was the more particularly noticed because when
Morton himself had been forced to fly to England, on account of his
share in Rizzio's murder, he had been courteously received and protected
by the unhappy nobleman whom he had now delivered up to his fate. It
was an additional and aggravating circumstance, that it was a Douglas
who had betrayed a Percy,[#] and when the annals of their ancestors were
considered, it was found that while they presented many acts of open
hostility, many instances of close and firm alliance, they never till
now had afforded an example of any act of treachery exercised by one
family against the other. To complete the infamy of the transaction, a
sum of money was paid to the Regent on this occasion, which he divided
with Douglas of Lochleven." (_Tales of a Grandfather_.)
[#] Northumberland was a Percy; Westmoreland, a Nevil.
On February 4th, 1568, Mary passed to the care of the Earl of
Shrewsbury, who was destined to be her keeper for the next fifteen
years. In November, 1570, she was brought to Sheffield where she was
detained, almost without interruption, for fourteen years. Personally,
Shrewsbury bore no ill-will to his charge. He appears to have been an
upright and cultured man, and was evidently disposed to treat his
prisoner with the consideration and leniency her rank and misfortune
would seem to demand. But he was a loyal subject of Elizabeth's, and
until she should be pleased to relieve him of his unpleasant duty, he
would faithfully execute her will in regard to the restrictions which
she thought fit to place on the liberty of the Scottish Queen.
Great as were the bodily and mental sufferings which close confinement,
disappointed hopes and the ingratitude of men produced, they would have
been greatly aggravated, had Mary only known by what a slender thread
her life sometimes hung. Elizabeth entered into negotiations with
successive Regents, from Moray to Morton, for the delivery of Mary into
their hands. The remonstrations of the French and Spanish Ambassadors,
who represented that such an action would be equivalent to condemning
her to instant death, arrested the progress of the first negotiations
till the death of Moray brought them to an abrupt ending. During the
regency of Mar, the project was revived and almost realized, the
necessary condition that Mary should be quickly put to death having been
agreed to by the Regent and Morton. But here the death of another
Regent intervened to save the doomed Queen from assassination or
judicial murder. On the death of Mar, Morton, who had hitherto been the
real, though not the nominal Regent, assumed the reins of government.
He had no scruples about executing the will of Elizabeth, but he
demanded a higher price for his services than she cared to pay. Morton
and Elizabeth were well matched; they both knew the value of money, and
were unwilling to close a bargain that would not promise to be a safe
business transaction. Morton was, no doubt, confident that he would not
be hampered by competition in the work he was undertaking, and that he
could exact what wages he pleased for his expert labour. Killegrew, the
agent of Elizabeth, understood this, and was anxious that the bargain
should be clinched before Morton took it into his mind to demand a
greater reward. "I pray God," he wrote; "we prove not herein like those
who refused the three volumes of Sibylla's prophecies, with the price
that they were afterwards pleased to give for one; for sure I left the
market here better cheap than now I find it." But Elizabeth would not
be outwitted--and Mary lived on.
A never-failing source of sorrow to Mary was the knowledge that her son,
whom she had seen for the last time an infant, scarcely twelve months
old, at Stirling, was in charge of those who had contrived her own
overthrow, and was under the tutorship of the venal and ungrateful
Buchanan. The burden of her captivity would have been immeasurably
lightened, could she have been assured that he had learned to love her
and feel for her misfortunes. But the young James, whatever may have
been his desire, was in the hands of her enemies, and could communicate
with his mother only in the manner and through the means that they were
pleased to specify. Nevertheless, as he grew older he had ample
opportunity of learning the real character of the men who had dethroned
her, and would, it must be presumed, have done what he could to procure
her release, did not the promptings of human interest run counter to the
dictates of natural love. He was not of that stuff of which heroes are
made. The bravery and chivalry for which his forefathers had long been
distinguished, found no abode in his bosom. A sound skin and the
prospect of succeeding to the English throne weighed more with him than
the thought of adopting a firm and uncompromising policy in defence of
his mother. While the projects of Mary's friends on the Continent gave
promise of being carried to a successful issue, he was not averse to
plotting with the Guises and seeking the aid of the Pope in behalf of
his "dearest and most honoured lady mother"; but when these projects
came to naught, he was found closely allied to the winning cause. Later
on, it is true, when Mary was declared a party to a conspiracy against
the life of Elizabeth, and her execution was imminent, he dispatched
Ambassadors to the English Court to intercede for her life; and when at
last the fatal blow was struck, he gave vent to angry feelings and
expressed a desire of revenge. A large number of the Scottish nobility
were anxious to avert by armed force the contemplated insult to their
nation, and to secure Scotland against a humiliation such as their
ancestors would never have tolerated. But a cowardly King and a divided
nobility were not the forces which, in earlier days, had awakened terror
in the heart of England. Elizabeth and her advisers know this, and were
well aware that the fear of never reaching the goal of his ambition--the
united thrones of England and Scotland--would curb within harmless
limits the half-hearted anger of the selfish James.