ELIZABETH UNMOVED BY HER CAPTIVE'S APPEALS.
Reading the history of Mary's prison life in England, one is surprised
at the frequent expressions of hope in Elizabeth's good will which are
found in her letters. How she could continue to hope in one who had
repeatedly deceived her is difficult to explain, except on the
supposition that she was constitutionally incapable of believing that
misery such as hers could fail to awaken sympathy in the heart of a
woman. There can be little doubt, however, that she believed
considerably less in Elizabeth's friendship than she professed. But the
absence of all well-founded hope, except through the favourable action
of Elizabeth, led her to employ every subtle means in her power to
induce her "good cousin" to break the fetters of her captivity, and
restore her once more to liberty. Still, she did not always restrain
her actions within these diplomatic lines; she was human,--noble and
courageous, it is true, but only human--and the desire of freedom, the
sense of the injustice she suffered, and the pains of her illness,
occasionally broke forth in angry and impassioned language. But she
never lost the consciousness that she was a Queen, nor did she hesitate,
when mild and guarded language proved vain, to speak with bold and
dignified straightforwardness, that seemed almost designed to challenge
the direst resentment of her royal captor. Her letter to Elizabeth,
dated from Sheffield, November 8th, 1582, is a good specimen, both of
her plain, outspoken style, and of her insinuating pathos, and likewise
witnesses the clearness and vigour of her mind, despite long years of
bodily and mental suffering. The document is lengthy, and I shall omit
those paragraphs which I may consider of lesser interest to the
reader:--
"Madam,--
"Upon that which has come to my knowledge of the last conspiracies
executed in Scotland against my poor child, having reason to fear the
consequence of it, from the example of myself; I must employ the very
small remainder of my life and strength before my death, to discharge my
heart to you fully of my just and melancholy complaints, of which I
desire that this letter may serve you, as long as you live after me, for
a perpetual testimony and engraving upon your conscience; as much for my
discharge to posterity as to the shame and confusion of all those who,
under your approbation, have so cruelly and unworthily treated me to
this time, and reduced me to the extremity in which I am. But, as their
designs, practices, actions and proceedings, though as detestable as
they could have been, have always prevailed with you against my very
just remonstrances, and sincere deportment; and as the power which you
have in your hands, has always been a reason for you among mankind, I
will have recourse to the living God, our only judge, who has
established us equally and immediately under him for the government of
his people.
"I will invoke to the end of this, my very pressing affliction, that he
will return to you, and to me (as he will do in his last judgment), the
share of our merits, and demerits, one towards the other. And remember,
Madam, that to him we shall not be able to disguise anything by the
paint and policy of the world; though mine enemies, under you, have been
able, for a time, to cover their subtle inventions to men, perhaps to
you.
"In his name, and before him sitting, between you and me, I will remind
you, that by the agents, spies and secret messengers sent in your name
into Scotland while I was there, my subjects were corrupted and
encouraged to rebel against me, _to make attempts upon my person_, and,
in one word to speak, to emprise and execute that which has come to the
said country during my troubles. Of which I will not at present specify
other proof than that which I have gained of it by the confession of one
who was afterwards amongst those that were most advanced for this good
service, and of the witnesses confronted with him. To whom, if I had
since done justice, he had not afterwards, by his ancient intelligences,
renewed the same practices against my son, and had not procured for all
my traitorous and rebellious subjects, who took refuge with you, that
aid and support which they have had ever since my detention on this side
(i. e., in England); without which support, I think, the said traitors
could not since have prevailed, nor afterwards have stood out so long as
they have done.
"During my imprisonment at Lochleven, Trogmorton counselled me on your
behalf to sign that demission, which he advertised me would be presented
to me, assuring me that it could not be valid. And there was not
afterwards a place in Christendom where it was held for valid, except on
this side, where it was maintained, even to have assisted with open
force, the authors of it. In your conscience, Madam, would you
acknowledge an equal liberty and power in your subjects?
Notwithstanding this, my authority has been by my subjects transferred
to my son, when he was not capable of exercising it.
"When I was escaped from Lochleven, ready to give battle to my rebels, I
remitted to you, by a gentleman, express a diamond jewel, which I had
formerly received as a token from you, and with assurance to be
succoured by you against my rebels; and even that, on my retiring
towards you, you would come to the very frontiers in order to assist me,
which had been confirmed to me by divers messengers. This promise
coming, and repeatedly, from your mouth (though I had found myself often
abused by your Ministers), made me place such affiance on the
effectiveness of it that, when my army was routed, I came directly to
throw myself into your arms, if I had been able to approach them. But
while I was planning to set out to find you, there was I arrested on my
way, surrounded with guards, secured in strong places, and at last
reduced, all shame set aside, to the captivity in which I remain to this
day, after a thousand deaths which I have already suffered for it.
* * * * *
"In the meantime my rebels, perceiving that their headlong course was
carrying them much farther than they had thought before, and the truth
being evidenced concerning the calumnies that had been propagated of me
at the conference, to which I submitted, in full assembly of your
deputies and mine, with others of the contrary party in that country, in
order to clear myself publicly of them; there were the principals,[#]
for having come to repentance, besieged by your forces in the Castle of
Edinburgh, and one of the first among them poisoned, and the other most
cruelly hanged, after I had twice made them lay down their arms, at your
request, in hopes of an agreement which God knows whether my enemies
aimed at, I have been for a long time trying whether patience would
soften the rigour and ill-treatment, which they have begun, for these
ten years particularly, to make me suffer. And accommodating myself
exactly to the order prescribed me for my captivity in this house, as
well in regard to the number and quality of the attendants, which I
retain, dismissing the others; as for my diet, and ordinary exercise for
my health, I am living, even at present, as quietly and peaceably as one
much inferior to myself, and more obliged, than with such treatment, I
was to you, had been able to do; even to deprive myself, in order to
take away all shadow of suspicion and diffidence from you, of requiring
to have some intelligence with my son, and my country, which is what, by
no right or reason, could be denied me, and principally with my child;
whom, instead of this, they have endeavoured by every way to persuade
against me, in order to weaken us by our division.
[#] Secretary Maitland and the Laird of Grange, whose defection from the
Regent's party has already been mentioned.
"It was permitted me, you will say, to send one to visit him there,
about three years ago. His captivity then at Stirling, under the
tyrrany of Morton, was the cause of it; as his liberty was afterwards,
of a refusal to make the like visit. All this year past I have several
times entered into divers overtures for the establishment of a good
amity between us, and a sure understanding between these realms in
future. To Chatsworth, about ten years ago, commissioners were sent for
that purpose. A treaty had been held upon it with yourself, by my
ambassadours and those of France. I even myself made, concerning it, the
last winter, all the advantageous overtures to Beal that it was possible
to make. What return have I had thence? My good intention has been
despised, the sincerity of my actions has been neglected and
calumniated, the state of my affairs has been traversed by delays,
postponings and other such artifices. And, in conclusion, a worse and
more unworthy treatment from day to day, anything which I am compelled
to do in order to deserve the contrary, my very long, useless and
prejudicial patience, have rendered me so low that mine enemies, in
their habits of using me ill, think this day they have the right of
prescription for treating me, not as a prisoner, which, in reason I
could not be, but as some slave whose life and whose death depend only
upon their tyrrany.
"I cannot, Madam, suffer it any longer; and I must in dying, discover
the authors of my death, or, living, attempt, under your protection, to
find an end to the cruelties, calumnies and traitorous designs of my
said enemies, in order to establish me in some little more repose for
the remainder of my life. To take away the occasions pretended for all
differences between us, clear yourself, if you please, of all which has
been reported of you concerning my actions; review the depositions of
the strangers taken in Ireland; let those of the Jesuits last executed
be represented to you; give liberty to those who would undertake to
charge me publickly, and permit me to enter upon my defence; if any evil
be found in me, let me suffer it, it shall be patiently when I shall
know the occasion of it; if any good, suffer me not to be worst treated
for it, with your very great commission before God and man.
"The vilest criminals that are in your prisons, born under your
obedience, are admitted to their justification; and their accusers, and
their accusations, are always declared to them. Why, then, shall not
the same order have place towards me, a Sovereign Queen, your nearest
relation and lawful heir? I think that this last circumstance has
hitherto been, on the side of my enemies, the principal cause of it, and
of all their calumnies, to make their unjust pretences slide between the
two, by keeping us in division. But, alas, they have now little reason
and less need to torment me more upon this account. For I protest to
you upon mine honour that I look this day for no kingdom but that of my
God; whom I see preparing me for the better conclusion of all my
afflictions and adversities past."
Reverting to the injustices to which her son was then subjected by
traitors in Scotland, she exhorts Elizabeth not to give countenance to
their actions, and proceeds in the following amazingly naive manner:--
"I shall be contented then, only at your not permitting my son to
receive any injury from this country (which is all that I have ever
required of you before, even when an army was sent to the borders to
prevent justice from being done to that detestable Morton), and that
none of your subjects directly or indirectly intermeddle any more in the
affairs of Scotland, unless it is with my knowledge, to whom all
cognizance of these things belongs, or with the assistance of some one
on the part of the most Christian King, my good brother; whom, as our
principal ally, I desire to make privy to the whole of this cause,
because of the little credit that he can have with the traitors who
detain my son at present.
"But, Madam, with all this freedom of speech, which, I foresee will in
some sort displease you, though it be the truth itself, you will find it
more strange, I assure myself, that I come now to importune you again
with a request of much greater importance, and yet very easy for you to
grant, and release to me. This is, that having not been able hitherto,
by accommodating myself patiently so long a time to the rigorous
treatment of this captivity, and carrying myself sincerely in all
things, yea, even to the last, that could concern you a very little, to
gain myself some assurance of my entire affection towards you; all my
hope being taken away by it of being better treated for the very short
time which remains to me of life; I supplicate you, by the honour of the
sorrowful passion of our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, again I
supplicate you, at once to permit me to withdraw myself out of your
realm, into some place of repose, to search out some comfort for my poor
body, so wearied as it is with continual sorrow, and with liberty of my
conscience to prepare my soul for God, who is calling for it daily."
* * * * *
"Your prison, without any right or foundation, has already destroyed my
body, of which you will shortly have the end, if it continues there a
little longer; and my enemies will not have much time for glutting their
cruelties on me; nothing remains of me but the soul, which all your
power cannot make captive. Give it, then, room for aspiring a little
more freely after its salvation, which alone it seeks for at this day,
more than any grandeur of this world. It seems to me that it cannot be
to you any great satisfaction, honour, and advantage, for mine enemies
to trample my life under foot, till they have stifled me in your
presence. Whereas, if in this extremity, however late it be, you
release me out of their hands, you will bind me greatly to you, and bind
all those who belong to me, particularly my poor child, whom you will,
perhaps, make sure to yourself by it.
"Two things I have principally to require at the close; the one that,
near as I am to going out of this world, I may have with me, for my
consolation, some honourable church-man, to remind me daily of the
course which I have to finish, and teach me how to complete it according
to my religion in which I am firmly resolved to live and die.
"This is a last duty which cannot be denied to the most mean and
miserable person that lives; it is a liberty which you grant to all
foreign embassadours; as also all other Catholick kings give to your
embassadours the exercise of their religion. And even I myself have not
hitherto forced my own subjects to anything contrary to their religion,
though I had all power and authority over them. And that I in this
extremity should be deprived of such freedom, you cannot, with justice,
require. What advantage will redound to you, when you shall deny it to
me? I hope God will excuse me if, oppressed by you in this manner, I do
not render to him any duty but what I shall be permitted to do in my
heart. But you will set a very bad example to the other Princes of
Christendom, to act towards their subjects with the same rigour that you
shall show to me, a Sovereign Queen, and your nearest relation; which I
am, and will be as long as I live, in despite of mine enemies."
Here she enters upon a justification of her conduct in view of a charge
which had been brought against her, namely, that contrary to her
promise, and without the knowledge of Elizabeth, she had entered into
certain political negotiations with her son in Scotland. She reviews the
circumstances of the case, indicates her own and Elizabeth's respective
practices, and then refers to her cousin's consideration "which of us
has proceeded with the greatest sincerity." Finally she closes her
lengthy letter with the following appeal:--
"Resume the ancient pledges of your good nature; bind your relations to
yourself; give me the satisfaction before I die that, seeing all matters
happily settled again between us, my soul, when delivered from this
body, may not be constrained to display its lamentations before God for
the wrong which you have suffered to be done me here below; but, rather,
that being happily united to you, it may quit this captivity to set
forward towards him, whom I pray to inspire you happily upon my very
just and more than reasonable complaints and grievances.
"At Sheffield, this 8th of November, one thousand five hundred and
eighty-two.
"Your very disconsolate, nearest relation, and affectionate cousin,
"MARIE E."
But no appeal, however deeply it might possibly touch the heart of the
Tudor Queen, could turn her from that one purpose which, in her
ever-changing policy, remained forever fixed, of preventing the
possibility of Mary's returning to public life. With all her unwomanly
qualities, however, it cannot be presumed that she was always insensible
to the pathos of her captive's language, or even to the better impulses
of her own heart. She was not, as certain tyrants seem to have been,
cruel from the mere love of inflicting pain. The fierce outbursts of
anger and the arbitrary commands with which she overawed Parliament when
other means of carrying her point failed, did not prevent her from being
sincerely interested in procuring the happiness of her people; and it is
not wholly without cause that she has received, from a portion of her
subjects, the title of "Good Queen Bess." But woe to him who stood
between her and her interest. Her ambition would not be thwarted by any
inconvenient delicacy or dictate of conscience. Whether in her more
peaceful hours she practised "modest stillness and humility," is
irrelevant to the present question; it is beyond doubt however, that
when the blast of jealousy, suspicion, or hatred, blew in her ears she
knew how to "imitate the action of the tiger." It must in truth be
admitted that her position in relation to the Scottish Queen, was a
difficult one; but it should, in equal truth, be admitted that her own
dishonesty was cause of the most part of her trouble. To have within
her realm the one whom a large portion of her subjects considered by
right Queen of England, and through whom the Pope and the Catholic
powers hoped to see the island restored to the obedience of the Holy
See, was eminently calculated to make her life uncomfortable. She was
conscious that she was an object of hatred to many who had power to do
her no end of mischief. But she must have foreseen these troubles when
she elected to detain Mary a prisoner. At any rate she must soon have
learned that so long as she chose to be the jailer of the most
beautiful, accomplished and renowned woman in Europe, she could not hope
for a peaceful career. Who so foolish as to think that Mary would not
use all her energy to regain her liberty, or that powerful parties at
home and abroad would not make the captive's cause their own? Certainly
not the crafty Elizabeth. Yet a simple act of justice--the release of
the prisoner whom she unjustly and ungenerously detained--would have
removed the cause of half her anxieties. Elizabeth's troubles,
therefore, were voluntarily assumed, and were part of the price which
she was content to pay for the gratification of having in her power the
woman and queen whose superior beauty, and title to the throne of
England, had long before aroused her undying hatred. It is childish and
ridiculous for historians to excuse Elizabeth's harshness on the plea
that Mary's plotting and intriguing rendered severe treatment necessary.
The same argument would justify the bandit in maltreating his victim who
would be so ungrateful as to attempt escaping from his custody.