THE BIRTH OF JAMES VI.
Mary's vigorous conduct had again put her in possession of that rightful
authority of which so lawless an attempt had been made to deprive her; but
though restored to power, she was far from being likewise restored to
happiness. The painful conviction was now at length forced upon her, that
she had not in all the world one real friend. She felt that the
necessities of her situation forced her to associate in her councils men,
who were the slaves of ambition, and whose heartless courtesies were
offered to her, only until a prospect of higher advantages held out a
temptation to transfer them to another. She had not been long in her own
kingdom, before Bothwell and others contemplated seizing her person, and
assassinating her prime minister, the Earl of Murray;--she had hardly
succeeded in frustrating these designs, when Murray himself directed his
strength against her; and now, still more recently, the husband, for whose
sake she had raised armies to chase her brother from the country, had
aimed at making himself independent, and, to ingratiate himself with
traitors, had scrupled not to engage in a deed of wanton cruelty,
personally insulting to his wife and sovereign.
Ignorant where to turn for repose and safety, Mary began to lose much of
the natural vivacity and buoyancy of her temper; and to feel, that in
those turbulent times, she was endowed with too little of that
dissimulation, which enabled her sister Elizabeth to steer so successfully
among the rocks and shoals of government. In a letter written about this
period to one of her female relations in France, she says, touchingly, "It
will grieve you to hear how entirely, in a very short time, I have changed
my character, from that of the most easily satisfied and care-chasing of
mortals, to one embroiled in constant turmoils and perplexities." "She was
sad and pensive," says Sir James Melville, "for the late foul act
committed in her presence so irreverently. So many great sighs she would
give that it was pity to hear her, and over-few were careful to comfort
her." But the perfidy of her nobles Mary could have borne;--it was the
disaffection and wickedness of her husband that afflicted her most.
Anxious to believe that he told her the truth, when he asserted that he
was not implicated in the murder of Rizzio, she rejoiced to see him issue
a proclamation, declaring that he was neither "a partaker in, nor privy
to, David's slaughter." But the truth was too notorious to be kept long
concealed. Randolph wrote to Cecil on the 4th of April 1566:--"The Queen
hath seen all the covenants and bands that passed between the King and the
Lords, and now findeth that his declaration before her and Council, of his
innocency of the death of David, was false; and is grievously offended,
that by their means he should seek to come to the crown matrimonial."
Hence sprang the grief which, in secret, preyed so deeply upon Mary's
health and spirits. Few things are more calculated to distress a generous
mind, than to discover that the object of its affections is unworthy the
love which has been lavished upon it. The young and graceful Darnley,
laying at Mary's feet the real or pretended homage of his heart, was a
very different person from the headstrong and designing King, colleaguing
with her rebels, assassinating her faithful servant, and endeavouring to
snatch the crown from her head. "That very power," says Robertson, "which,
with liberal and unsuspicious fondness she had conferred upon him, he had
employed to insult her authority, to limit her prerogative, and to
endanger her person: such an outrage it was impossible any woman could
bear or forgive." Yet Mary looked upon these injuries, coming as they did
from the man whom she had chosen to be the future companion of her life,
"more in sorrow than in anger;" and though she shed many a bitter tear
over his unworthiness, she did not cease to love him.
In the midst of these anxieties, the time for the Queen's delivery drew
near. After a short excursion to Stirling and the neighbourhood, in which
she was accompanied by Darnley, Murray, Bothwell and others, she returned
to Edinburgh, and, by the advice of her Privy Council, went to reside in
the Castle, as the place of greatest security, till she should present the
country with an heir to the throne. During the months of April and May,
she lived there very quietly, amusing herself with her work and her books,
and occasionally walking out, for she had no wheeled carriage. She
occupied herself, too, in endeavouring to reconcile those of her nobility
whom contrary interests and other circumstances had disunited. It cost her
no little trouble to prevail upon the two most faithful of her ministers,
the Earl of Huntly her Chancellor, and Bothwell her Lord High Admiral, to
submit to the returning influence of their old enemy the Earl of Murray.
It was especially galling to them, that Murray and Argyle were the only
persons, in addition to the King, allowed to reside in the Castle with
Mary. But it was her own wish to have her husband and her brothers beside
her on the present occasion; and no representations made by Bothwell or
Huntly could alter her resolution. Yet these two Earls went the length of
assuring the Queen, that Murray had entered into a new conspiracy with
Morton, and that they would probably put in ward both herself and her
infant, as soon as it was born. Surrounded as Mary was by traitors, she
could not know whether this information was true or not; but her returning
affection for Murray prevailed over every other consideration.[139]
Elizabeth was all this time narrowly watching the progress of affairs in
Scotland. Murray's restoration to favour pleased her much; and, to
reconcile Morton and his friends to the failure of their plots, she
secretly countenanced and protected them. With her usual duplicity,
however, she sent to Edinburgh Henry Killigrew, to congratulate Mary on
her late escape, and to assure her that she would give directions to
remove Morton out of England. She likewise recalled Randolph, of whose
seditious practices Mary had complained; but, as if to be even with the
Scottish Queen, she commanded Killigrew to demand the reason why a certain
person of the name of Ruxby, a rebel and a Papist, had been protected in
Scotland? It would have been better for Elizabeth had she allowed this
subject to rest. Though Ruxby feigned himself a refugee from England on
account of religion, he had in reality been privately sent to Scotland by
Elizabeth herself, and her Secretary Cecil. The object of his mission was
to find out whether Mary carried on any secret correspondence with the
English Catholics. For this purpose, he was to pretend that he was a
zealous supporter of her right and title to the crown of England; and that
he had some influence with the English Catholics, all of whom, he was to
assert, thought as he did. Having thus ingratiated himself with Mary, he
was immediately to betray any discoveries he might make to Cecil. The
scheme was ingeniously enough contrived; coming as an avowed enemy to
Elizabeth, and she herself actually supplying credentials to that effect,
no suspicion was for some time entertained of his real designs. That he
was able to learn any thing which could afford the English Queen
reasonable ground of offence, is not likely; for though several
communications in cipher passed between him and Cecil, their contents were
never made public. Shortly before Killigrew's arrival, Ruxby's real
character had been accidentally discovered; and when the ambassador, more
for the sake of aiding than of hindering the spy in the prosecution of his
object, made a _pro forma_ request that he should not be harboured any
longer, Mary instantly ordered him to be apprehended, and all his writings
and ciphers to be seized and examined. The indubitable evidence which they
afforded of Elizabeth's systematic cunning, forced a smile from Mary, and
might have brought a blush to the cheek of her rival. The Queen of Scots,
however, did not condescend to give any utterance to the feelings which
this affair must have inspired; and nothing further is known of
Elizabeth's disgraced and detected minion.[140]
Early in June, perceiving that the time of her delivery was at hand, Mary
wrote letters to her principal nobility, requiring them to come to
Edinburgh during that juncture. She then made her will, which she caused
to be thrice transcribed;--one copy was sent to France, a second committed
to the charge of her Privy Council, and the third she kept herself. The
day preceding her delivery, she wrote, with her own hand, a letter to
Elizabeth, announcing the event, but leaving a blank "to be filled," says
Melville, "either with a son or a daughter, as it might please God to
grant unto her."
On Wednesday the 19th day of June 1566, between nine and ten in the
morning, the Queen was safely delivered of a son. The intelligence was
received every where, throughout Scotland, with sincere demonstrations of
joy. "As the birth of a prince," says Keith, "was one of the greatest of
blessings that God could bestow upon this poor divided land; so was the
same most thankfully acknowledged by all ranks of people, according as the
welcome news thereof reached their ears." In Edinburgh, the triumph
continued for several days; and, upon the first intimation of the event,
all the nobility in the town, accompanied by most of the citizens, went in
solemn procession to the High Church, and offered up thanksgiving for so
signal a mercy shown to the Queen and the whole realm.
When the news was conveyed to England, it was far from being heard with so
much satisfaction. It was between eleven and twelve on the morning of the
19th, that the Lady Boyne came to Sir James Melville, and told him, that
their prayers being granted, he must carry Mary's letter to London with
all diligence. "It struck twelve hours," says Sir James, "when I took my
horse, and I was at Berwick that same night. The fourth day after, I was
at London,"--a degree of despatch very unusual in those times. Melville
found Elizabeth at Greenwich, "where her Majesty was in great merriness,
and dancing after supper. But so soon as the Secretary Cecil sounded the
news in her ear of the prince's birth, all merriness was laid aside for
that night; every one that was present marvelling what might move so
sudden a changement. For the Queen sat down with her hand upon her haffet
(cheek), and bursting out to some of her ladies, how that the Queen of
Scotland was lighter of a fair son, and that she was but a barren stock."
Next morning, Elizabeth gave Melville a formal audience, at which, having
had time for preparation, she endeavoured to dissemble her real feelings;
though, by over-acting her part, she made them only the more apparent. She
told him gravely, that the joyful news he brought her, had recovered her
out of a heavy sickness, which had held her for fifteen days! "Then I
requested her Majesty," says Melville, "to be a gossip unto the Queen, for
our _comers_ are called gossips in England, which she granted gladly to
be. Then, I said, her Majesty would have a fair occasion to see the Queen,
which she had so oft desired. At this she smiled, and said, that she would
wish that her estate and affairs might permit her; and promised to send
both honourable lords and ladies to supply her room."[141]