In such a case as that before us the difficulty of proof is almost
insuperable. But fortunately we are dealing with a point not of law
but of history. Proof is not in the first instance required, but only
surmise, to be followed by an argument of probability. Such records as
still exist are all the proofs that can be adduced; and all we can do
is to search for such records as still exist, without which we lack
the enlightenment that waits on discovery. In the meanwhile we can
deduce a just conclusion from such materials as we do possess. Failing
certitude, which is under the circumstances almost impossible, we only
arrive at probability; and with that until discovery of more reliable
material we must be content.
Let us therefore sum up: first the difficulties of the task before us;
then the enlightenments. “Facts,” says one of the characters of Charles
Dickens, “bein’ stubborn and not easy drove,” are at least, so far as
they go, available. We are free to come to conclusions and to make
critical comments. Our risk is that if we err--on whichever side does
not matter--we reverse our position and become ourselves the objects of
attack.
Our main difficulties are two. First, that all from whom knowledge
might have been obtained are dead and their lips are closed; second,
that records are incomplete. This latter is the result of one of two
causes--natural decay or purposed obliteration. The tradition of the
Bisley Boy has several addenda due to time and thought. One of these is
that some of those concerned in the story disappeared from the scene.
The story runs that on Elizabeth’s accession or under circumstances
antecedent to it all who were in the secret and still remained were
“got rid of.” The phrase is a convenient one and not unknown in
history. Fortunately those who _must_ have been in such a secret--if
there was one--were but few. If such a thing occurred in reality, four
persons were necessarily involved in addition to Elizabeth herself:
(1) Mrs. Ashley, (2) Thomas Parry, (3) the parent of the living child
who replaced the dead one; the fourth, being an unknown quantity,
represents an idea rather than a person--a nucleated identity typical
of family life with attendant difficulties of concealment. Of these
four--three real persons and an idea--three are accounted for, so far
as the “got rid of” theory is concerned. Elizabeth never told; Thomas
Parry and Mrs. Ashley remained silent, in the full confidence of the
(supposed) Princess who later was Queen. With regard to the last, the
nucleated personality which includes the unknown parent possibly but
not of certainty, contemporary record is silent; and we can only regard
him or her as a mysterious entity available for conjecture in such
cases of difficulty as may present themselves.
We must perforce, therefore, fall back on pure unadulterated
probability, based on such rags of fact as can be produced at our
inquest. Our comfort--content being an impossibility--must lie in the
generally-accepted aphorism; “Truth will prevail.” In real life it is
not always so; but it is a comforting belief and may remain _faut de
mieux_.
A grave cause of misleading is inexact translation--whether the fault
be in ignorance or intentional additions to or substractions from
text referred to. A case in point is afforded by the letter already
referred to from Leti’s _La Vie d’Elizabeth_. In the portion quoted
Elizabeth mentioned her intention of not marrying: “I have not the
slightest intention of being married, and ... if ever I should think
of it (_which I do not believe is possible_).” Now in Mr. Mumby’s book
the quotation is made from Leti’s _La Vie d’Elizabeth_ which is the
translation into French from the original Italian, the passage marked
above in italics is simply: “ce que je ne crois pas.” The addition of
the words “is possible” gives what is under the circumstances quite
a different meaning to the earliest record we have concerning the
very point we are investigating. When I began this investigation, I
looked on the passage--neither Mumby, remember, nor even Leti, but
what professed to be the _ipsissima verba_ of Elizabeth herself--and
I was entirely misled until I had made comparison for myself--_Quis
custodiet ipsos custodes?_ The addition of the two words, which seems
at first glance merely to emphasise an expression of opinion, changes
the meaning of the writer to a belief so strong that the recital of it
gives it the weight of intention. Under ordinary circumstances this
would not matter much; but as we have to consider it in the light of
a man defending his head against danger, and in a case where absolute
circumspection is a necessary condition of safety so that intention
becomes a paramount force, exactness of expression is all-important.
The only way to arrive at probability is to begin with fact. Such is
a base for even credulity or its opposite, and if it is our wish or
intention to be just there need be no straining on either one side or
the other. In the case of the Bisley Boy the points to be considered
are: